IN BROWNTOWN, RESIDENTS ARE LEFT HOLDING THE BAG

By Juan Montoya

I was in a rush traveling along Old port Isabel Road when I got a call on my cell phone that the kids needed sliced cheese, a loaf of bread and a package of flour tortillas.
Since I was near the Wal-Mart, I stopped there and rushed to the store. I knew the bread and tortillas were in one of the first aisles near the main doors and I got those first. The sliced cheese was further into the store and then along the west side in the farthest aisle.
I grabbed the items and looking over the "express" checkouts, I chose the one with the shortest line, one with two ladies talking to the cashier and perhaps two other people with a few items waiting. The rest had six or more customers in line.
As I stood in line I overheard the two ladies talking with the cashier and heard them arguing and holding up a pink pant and blouse outfit they had chosen "para Cindy para la iglesia." Apparently, they weren't sure about the size Cindy wore, and were discussing whether they should purchase it or not.
Meanwhile, the other lines were moving along and I debated whether to bail out and get into one of them. But other customers were already lining up and I decided to wait. The ladies decided that, indeed, Cindy would look good in the little outfit and told the cashier to ring it up.
You guessed it. The item didn't have a price tag.
The cashier got on the store intercom and called for a worker (associate) in the department to find the item's price. The harried clerk appeared a few minutes later and took the item in her hands to compare it to others on the racks. We waited.
Finally, when the clerk appeared and the cashier told them the price, the customers changed their minds. Apparently, neither Cindy nor the iglesia merited that amount.
They left.
The loaf of bread that I had placed atop the squares of cheese resting on the round foundation of the flour tortillas was wilting. As I waited on the cashier to attend to the two other customers ahead of me I noticed that one of the other "express" lines had closed and that the other had another six customers waiting.
After the one customer had checked and paid for her items, the lady ahead of me passed her debit card through the machine and it did not register. She and the cashier stood passing the card over and over. Finally, the cashier took a piece of a plastic shopping bag, covered the card, and presto, it registered.
I paid my $4.27 cents for my items and, not having had the foresight to carry a shopping bag with me, walked out with the three items in my hand.
Sure enough, when I walked outside to the crowded parking lot I could not remember where I had parked. I usually don't get a good parking space near the doors so I was very methodical in starting at the far end of the parking lot and making my way down the lines until I came upon my car. Of course, it was in the very last line. By then the cheese was melting, the bread resembled a big lump of dough and the tortillas were stuck together.
I looked across Old Port Isabel Road along the ditch and saw scores of plastic bags lining the sides caught on the shrubs on the banks. There and then I promised myself not to vote for whoever pushed their hare-brained scheme upon Brownsville residents to do away with the plastic bags. Dirty people will always throw garbage. Why should the rest of us be punished and be put through this inconvenience?