So I am at Walmart scanning and bagging my almost $300 worth of groceries while the employee that wants $15 an hour “monitors” and then this happened.
Her – why are you double bagging all of your groceries?
Me – excuse me?
Her – you are wasting our bags!
Me – if you don’t likе the way I’m bagging the groceries, feel free to come on over here and bag them yourself.
Her – that’s not my job!
Me – okay, then I will bag my groceries how I please if that’s all right with you.
Her – why are you using two bags?!
Me – because the bags are weak and I don’t want the handles to break or the bottoms to rip out.
Her – well that’s because you are putting too much stuff in the bag. If you took half of that stuff out and put it in a different bag then you wouldn’t need to double bag.
*10 seconds of me just staring at her.
Me – so you want me to split these items in half and put half of them in a different bag so that I don’t have to double bag.
Her – exactly.
Me – so I would still be using two bags to hold the same number of items.
Her – no because you wouldn’t be double bagging.
*me pressing two fingers to my left eye in an attempt to make it stop twitching.
Me – okay so here I have a jug of milk and a bottle of juice double bagged. If I take the milk out and remove the double bagging and just put the milk in the single bag and the juice in that single bag I’m still using two bags for these two items.
Her- no because you are not double bagging them so it’s not the same number of bags.
*me looking around at about 10 other customers who at this point are enjoying the show.
Me- is this likе that Common Core math stuff I keep hearing about?
Her- never mind you just don’t get it.
And with that, she went back to her little Podium so she could continue texting or playing games on her phone or whatever it was she was doing before she decided to come over and critique my bagging skiIIs.
Beyond the Kitchen Table: Finding Her Own Way
The air in the living room hung thick with tension. Seventeen-year-old Maya sat across from her mother, her hands clenched tightly in her lap. “Mom, I’m serious. I’m ready to live on my own,” she declared, her voice firm.
Her mother, a woman whose face was etched with worry lines, sighed. “Maya, you’re only seventeen. You’re not ready for this.”
“Why not?” Maya countered, “I can cook, I can clean, I can even fix a leaky faucet. And I’ll have you over every weekend to help with the chores. What more do you want?”
Her mother shook her head, her expression a mixture of concern and exasperation. “It’s not just about chores, Maya. It’s about responsibility, about independence, about knowing how to handle yourself in the real world.”
Maya scoffed. “I’ve been handling myself just fine. I’ve been working at the coffee shop since I was fifteen. I pay my own phone bill. I even learned how to change a tire!”
Her mother remained unconvinced. “Living on your own is more than just paying bills and fixing a leaky faucet. It’s about dealing with emergencies, making difficult decisions, and learning to rely on yourself.”
“I can handle it,” Maya insisted. “I’ve been planning this for months. I’ve found a great apartment, and I even have a roommate. We’re going to split the rent and the utilities.”
Her mother looked at her, her eyes searching Maya’s face. “And what about college?”
Maya shrugged. “I’m not going to college. I’m not interested in getting a degree. I want to start my own business, maybe a small bakery.”
Her mother’s eyes widened. “A bakery? Maya, you’ve never even baked a cake.”
“I’ll learn,” Maya said confidently. “I’m a fast learner. And besides, I’ve already started taking online courses in baking and business management.”
Her mother was speechless. Maya had never been one to follow the traditional path. She had always been independent, always forging her own path.
After a long silence, her mother finally spoke. “Alright,” she said, her voice a mixture of resignation and pride. “But if you need anything, anything at all, you call me. And I expect you to keep your apartment clean. No dirty dishes piling up in the sink.”
Maya grinned. “Deal.”
Moving out was both exhilarating and terrifying. The first few weeks were a whirlwind of grocery shopping, furniture assembly, and awkward encounters with her new roommate. There were late-night panic attacks when the power went out, and frustrating moments when she couldn’t figure out how to fix the leaky faucet. But Maya faced each challenge with a mixture of determination and resourcefulness.
She learned to cook, to budget her money, to navigate public transportation, and to rely on herself. She made mistakes, of course. She burned a few meals, she missed a few deadlines, and she even had to call her mother for help (more than once) when things got overwhelming.
But with each passing day, Maya grew stronger, more confident. She discovered hidden talents, developed new skills, and learned to appreciate the freedom and independence that came with living on her own.
She even started baking, her apartment often filled with the delicious aroma of freshly baked bread and pastries. She sold her treats at the local farmers market, her small business slowly gaining popularity.
One day, her mother came to visit, a basket of homemade cookies in hand. “You know,” she said, watching Maya interact with her customers, “you’re doing a better job than I ever imagined.”
Maya smiled. “Thanks, Mom. I told you I could do it.”
As she watched her daughter thrive, her mother realized that Maya was right. She was capable, independent, and ready to take on the world. And while she might miss her daughter terribly, she knew that Maya was finally spreading her wings, ready to soar.
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