Sunday, February 20, 2011

'The Walgreens Bag Story'

What you are about to read is something that has been in the vault for nearly 20 years... (with the exception of a few moments of indiscretion caused both by a need for revenge and also when too much alcohol has been ingested). Now, for the first time ever, Katie has given her permission, her blessing even for this gem to be shared on a public forum. So...without further ado, I give you: 'The Walgreens Bag Story'...

I'm not sure why my dad decided to take us through the city that day, but as far as I can remember, we never took that route again after one sunny day in July 1984...

"I need my Cabbage Patch preemie baby, not Sally Mae." I sighed in annoyance as my mother tried to appease me with my old Cabbage Patch doll. I had just gotten a brand new preemie Cabbage Patch Kid for my birthday which had been on the 24th of that month, and you would think I would know exactly where he was, considering he was brand new, but I'll be honest, I was a pretty careless kid.

So anyway, I was looking everywhere for this doll. His name was James Sheldon. I know what you're thinking...pretty weird name for a baby, right? I know. I didn't name him. I adopted him. That's the way it worked with Cabbage Patch Kids. They were all the rage in the early '80s. Parents would wait in long lines during the middle of the night in order to get them. It was crazy! I heard one lady waited in line at Toys R Us for thirty-four hours, and when they finally opened the doors, she tripped...right there where the automatic doors had opened, and no one helped her up. They just kept right on pushing. It was a mob mentality. She got trampled. Broke 3 ribs and her nose. It was in all the papers.

When it came to Cabbage Patch Kids, people were serious and my mother was no exception. She told us that her and her friend Judy Kamlet once punched a person who tried to take the last doll from them.

Let me tell you, us kids? We were no different. We knew what was what. One kid I knew? His mom tried to pass off one of those craft fair look-alike Cabbage Patch Kids as the real deal one Christmas, but he knew right away and told her as much, too. I heard she broke down crying, saying that there just weren't enough dolls to go around. Tommy was still talking about that Christmas years later. It was a big deal in Indiana...and that was why I needed my new preemie Cabbage Patch, not just the regular, old kind.

We were headed to Kenosha, Wisconsin. Every summer, one of us kids, my brother, sister or I, got to go 2 hours north and spend one whole week with my grandparents at their house. It was a special treat, a chance to see how the other half lived, the kids that didn't have siblings...and the kids who got to eat sugar cereal. (As much as my brother and sister and I loved each other, we fought like cats and dogs! Any chance to get a week of attention with no competition was pretty awesome...)

It was a Saturday, and it was my brother, Chris' turn to be at my grandparents' house for the week. My dad was pacing in the kitchen, cussing under his breath about 'making good time'. I was, of course, looking for James Sheldon, and Kate was gathering a variety of markers, books and games to entertain herself during the long car ride. My mom was on the phone with my grandmother. "Yes, we're leaving in a few minutes. Ok. Yes. I know. MmmmHmmmm. Ok. Love you, too. Bye." As I heard my mother placing the phone back on its cradle that was attached to the wall, I started to panic. Where was he??

All of a sudden, I heard a loud thunk outside the playroom door. I ran out, and there was James, laying at an awkward angle, his legs pointing in either direction. I scooped him up and heard Katie yell, "I found him under your bed! Let's go! Papa's about to have a fit!" Despite being a little miffed about her callous treatment of my new preemie adoptee, I shouted back, "Coming!!!"

Twenty minutes later, we were packed into my father's Oldsmolbile Cutlass, on our way to retrieve my brother. I wondered what cereal he had chosen as we backed out of our driveway. (My parents only let us have Cheerios or plain Rice Krispies because they said all the other kinds would give us cavities. So, the week we spent up north, we got to pick any cereal we wanted...Actually, looking back on it as an adult, I think, 'Shit, we were fuckin' freaks...what kind of kid goes ape shit for Captain Crunch?? Us. We did. The Orth misfits, that's who...)

My mother sighed and lifted her arms to an awkward arc, holding her Sidney Sheldon book in front of her face in order to shield it from the smoke that was coming from my father. He was oblivious. He was too busy enjoying his Camel Regular as he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to the Roy Orbison song playing on the radio. "Cuz I need you, I'll treat you right...come with me baby. Be mine tonight..." I caught my dad's eye in the rearview mirror as he pushed the words to the song out between pursed lips that were holding tight to his lit cigarette. He winked at me before sending a sparkler-like explosion out the driver's side window.

It was at that moment my mom seemed to notice her surroundings for the first time. "You're going through Chicago?" She made no attempt to hide the irritation in her voice. My dad never took his eyes from the road as he said, "Yep. Looks that way, doesn't it?" My mother crossed her legs, leaned forward to crack her window (back then, you had to work for fresh air...there were no automatic windows! You had to manually crank that shit down...) My parents were having one of their non-fights. They liked to pretend they weren't really fighting, but it was pretty much obvious that they hated each other's guts.

We had been driving for about an hour when my sister leaned forward (back then, cars were roomy! There was at least a full 5 feet between us and the front seat...) and she says to my parents, "I've gotta go to the bathroom." My dad checked his mirrors and started making his way over to get off at the next exit. My mom's head snaps up immediately, and she says, "Oh no....no way. We are NOT stopping here. This is a bad neighborhood. Sorry. You're going to have to hold it." My dad shrugged and said, "Well, I'm sure..." My mom interuppted him, sayind, "YOU were the one who wanted to drive through the city..." This shut him up. He looked at Katie in the rearview mirror, and said, "Sorry...I guess we can't stop right now."

Katie let out an anguished whine and said, "But I really, really have to go!!!" My mother reached under the seat, pulled out an old Walgreens shopping bag and tossed it over. "Here! You can go in this!" She giggled at her own joke as the empty bag slowly floated down and landed between my sister and I on the burgandy, velour seat. She looked at me for a minute and then looked at the bag. She looked at me again, her face twisted as she crossed and re-crossed her legs. Finally, she picked up the bag. "Will you hold it?"

At first, I wasn't sure what she was asking me. I just stared at her.

"Hold what?"

She was exasperated.

"THE BAG!!! I have to go so bad! I can't hold it! I just want to try to go in the bag like Mom said."

My eyes bulged. I said,

"But...I think Mom was joking when she said that. I'm not so sure..."

She was growing more and more impatient.

"It's fine. Come on, will you do it? I'd do it for you."

That was the clincher. "I'd do it for you..." How could I say no? I shrugged and accepted the bag. (On a side note, this reminds me, I still have this IOU in my backpocket, Kate! Who knows when I'll decide to cash it in???)

I held the two plastic loops that served as handles at a wide angle as Kate unbuckled her pants. (How my parents were oblivious to this whole scene, I have no idea...but like I said, that car was a boat. The backseat was practically in Siberia!) Once she felt that she had done everything necessary to prepare, she looked at me and said,

"Ok, are you ready?"

I nodded solemnly.

I was six years old...what did I know? I was just honored that my big sister was trusting me with such a huge responsibility.

What happened next can only be described as absolute bedlam.

Apparently, my sister had overlooked one minor detail when she commissioned me for the bag holding gig. She let me assume that only pee would be filling up this temporary receptacle. However, that was not that case. She was not waiting to get rid of number 1 OR number 2. Nope....it was a number 3....you know what I mean...ahem, soft serve? The big d? Scoots? Diarhea!!

When I first realized what was happening, I was in shock. (I had never been this close to something SO alarming...as a curious kid, you always think you want a front row seat to whatever is happening...no matter how gross, but then once you get there you realize it really isn't that awesome... and then there's always some know-it-all adult there with his arms folded across his chest, nodding, mouthing, 'I told you so...')

My sister's first thought when she started going, was

"Ah...shit."

Mine was

"Oh...shit!"

Instictively, I dropped the back and scooted myself back into the far corner of the car.

"Stop going! I dropped the bag!"

My sister looked over her shoulder and saw that I had left my post, betraying her.

"ERIN!"

I shrugged and looked at her sheepishly.

"You didn't tell me it was gonna be boo boos! STOP GOING!"

At this point, it looked like someone had put a jar of gravy in the microwave on high and it had exploded everywhere.

"I CAN'T!!!" she wailed.

A twinge of guilt nagged at me, and I thought about picking the bag back up, but the handles were now also covered with the brown liquid. I retracted my hands in horror, as I choked back a gag (I was known for being a loud vomiter...my mom always said I gagged like a 500 pound man. I tried my best not to let one of these escape me but it did and it still came out sounding like a bear in heat).

About 15 minutes into this whole ordeal, my dad, who had his right arm extended over the back of the front seat, casually glanced over his shoulder and quickly did a double take, as he let out a loud,

"JE - SUS CHRIST!!!!!!"

The car swerved and other cars honked. A semi truck let out a low, loud blast. My dad grabbed the steering wheel with both hands, regaining control after a few seconds. The jerking motion of the car caused my mother to looked up from her book for the first time,

"What on earth?? Larry, watch where you're going."

He ignored her as he stole another look back at us.

"SON OF A BITCH!!! GOD DAMMIT!!!"

My dad had the turn signal on and was making his way over to the shoulder.

My mom finally turned toward us, and she, too, did a double take of the scene in front of her. Me, in the fetal position, backed into the corner of the large, now stained, burgandy, velour bench seat; and Katie, now sitting in the Walgreens bag, her pants in a crumpled ball in the back window. She looked up at my mom scornfully, her eyes narrowed,

"YOU said to use the Walgreens bag!"

As soon as she had said this, my sister burst into tears and my mother stammered,

"Bu-But...I was just kidding! I thought you knew that!"

My sister pushed her hair out of her eyes, and shouted,

"I TOLD YOU I HAD TO GO!!!!"

Somehow, we eventually made it to Kenosha. When we got there, my dad took out the whole backseat, scrubbed it and hosed it down. I scrambled to get out of the car when we pulled into the driveway, partly because of the smell and partly because I couldn't wait to get into the house so I could be the first one to tell everyone what happened.

It was such a good story, I barely noticed the stains on my doll and pillow, but Chris didn't waste any time bringing them to my attention. I began to protest, squaking about the smell. My grandma led me into the bathroom and showed me how a little Soft Scrub and some elbow grease would take the splatter stains right out of James Sheldon's pale yellow romper (I was beside myself...he couldn't just ride home naked! He was a preemie for God sakes!!!)

Chris couldn't believe he had missed out on all the action. Katie was livid. To this day, she still insists that she could have gotten it all in the bag if I wouldn't have left my post. At which point, I blame my mother, asking her why she thought dry humor was a good idea when speaking to small children. So then, she usually blames my dad...because he was the bonehead that took the dangerous route through the city, and he usually blames my brother for being in Wisconsin in the first place...

So that's it. That's the famous Walgreens Bag Story. It has been the thing of legends now for decades. I have blackmailed my sister a countless number of times throughout the years with this one. (which reminds me, SORRY, KATE!!!! BUT look at it this way...now, the story has lost its power...)

To anyone reading, I hope I didn't build this story up so much that it was anticlimactic. I tried my best to do it justice, but to really enjoy this story, you must hear it in person...told from all viewpoints of the Orth misfits.

Again, I thank my gracious sister for releasing one hell of a story...and to everyone else, let this be a lesson to you, if you're going to have someone hold a bag for you, give them an idea of what to expect!

8 comments:

  1. I can't wait to see your sister at preschool now!! We used to use a charles chip can (remember those??) in the way way back of the sttion wagon and throw the pee out the back window at 60 MPH...moral of these stories...the world needs more rest stops!! BTW...my bday is July 24th too!!

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  2. Hi Meghan!
    Thanks for taking the time to read my blog! I LITERALLY spit out my coffee when I read your comment about throwing the pee out the back of the station wagon!!!! SOOOO FUNNY!!!! :)
    Erin

    p.s. We're bday buddies! Yay!

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  3. Erin, I laughed so hard I cried!!! Thank you for sharing. No in car bathroom incidents in my family, but if the need arose (which was often when there are 9 kids) my Dad would pull the car over to the shoulder (anywhere... freeway, farmland, you name it) where we were expected to relieve ourselves, while trying to keep our naked hineys hidden from passing motorist... actually due to my exposure to these practices as a small child I quickly learned with skill and precision how to most efficiently pee outdoors, a skill that has come in handy when camping, and in parking lots after bars are closed;).


    BTW ladies only the best and brighten are born on July 24th:) and I am one of them as well.

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  4. Rachel,
    Thanks for reading it! That practice is invaluable!!! You know how many times I have peed IN my pants or ON my feet when we are camping?!?! I SUCK at peeing outside! Maybe I should start practicing now?? Better late than never?
    E

    P.S. You are SOOOO right about our bday!!! :)

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  5. O-H M-Y G-O-D.....I am picturing your father and mother and Katie and you....I can not even fisnish this story, I am now dying laughing literally...rolling on the floor. Poor Katie. Oh my gosh.

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  6. Poor Katie! Poor ME! ;) kidding, kidding...

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  7. Awesome story Erin. Reminds me of a road trip from Ohio to Arizona that resulted in my sister wearing my underwear and suckinig on ice chips and french fries. I'll have to share it with you sometime :)

    Good work on keeping up your blog, it's always a good read!

    -Joe

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  8. Thanks, Joe!!! I can't wait to hear the story!! How has this not come up before?! ;) P.S. Thanks for being so encouraging! It really helps to motivate me!

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