Bagged
This morning, realizing I'd left the super-nifty wheat-free flax muffins my wife had got for me at home, I stopped by our local Choices market to grab something quick I could take with me, before I hopped on the SkyTrain downtown to my training course.
I found some blueberry-lemon rice muffins, and took them to the cashier.
As I was paying, she stuffed my single purchase all by itself into a big plastic bag.
"No thanks," I said. "I don't need a bag." I gestured toward my backpack, and pulled the muffin package out of the plastic bag, handing the plastic bag back to her.
The cashier tossed the unused bag directly into the garbage can at her feet, and snapped, "Next time, maybe you can tell me before I bag it."
Next time, maybe I can assume you're not smart enough not to waste a bag on a single purchase, and not be surprised when you bag something so small, I thought to myself. Especially at a store which prides it self to such a degree on environmental responsibility. . . .
Of course, we never say these things out loud, but perhaps sometimes we should.
I found some blueberry-lemon rice muffins, and took them to the cashier.
As I was paying, she stuffed my single purchase all by itself into a big plastic bag.
"No thanks," I said. "I don't need a bag." I gestured toward my backpack, and pulled the muffin package out of the plastic bag, handing the plastic bag back to her.
The cashier tossed the unused bag directly into the garbage can at her feet, and snapped, "Next time, maybe you can tell me before I bag it."
Next time, maybe I can assume you're not smart enough not to waste a bag on a single purchase, and not be surprised when you bag something so small, I thought to myself. Especially at a store which prides it self to such a degree on environmental responsibility. . . .
Of course, we never say these things out loud, but perhaps sometimes we should.