Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

Tall Kitchen Trash Bags

The Swiss Army, with their Swiss Army knives at the ready, invaded Lichtenstein last night. I suggested that the U.S.A. do this four years ago to bring democracy to the people of Lichtenstein. I went to college with a woman from Lichtenstein. She was a member of the royal family there, a princess. She probably would have benefitted from a good dose of democracy.

[I don't have a good segue here, but I'll try.] I read about the invasion of Lichtensten this morning before I threw away a used coffee cup in the trash can under the kitchen sink. I line the trash can, a rubber plastic one maid made by Rubbermaid, with tall, white kitchen trash bags from a box of tall kitchen trash bags I bought at Costco.

I'm trying to remember how long ago it was that I did that. It was before moving here; so, it has been over a year and a half since I bought that box. For those of you who don't go to Costco, the box is orange, as if that means anything. The box is made of heavy-duty corrugated cardboard; and it has a perforated flap that is pulled up, turning it into a dispenser box, revealing the big, white roll of individual bags, that is, not tear-off-the-roll bags. When a bag is pulled out, the end of another bag, folded very precisely, hangs out of the dispensing flap.

I hate this particular orange box of tall kitchen trash bags. I can't remember how long I have been pulling bags out of the orange box. It's been much more than a year and a half, come to think of it. The Gulf War was just starting, the first Gulf War, the one when the real George Bush was in the White House.

Here's the thing. One day I picked up the orange box and it felt a little light, like I was nearing the end of the roll of white kitchen trash bags; so, I bought another box, a generic box of tall, white kitchen trash bags, from Marc's, the close-out store.

That was four, five, six months ago. Six months ago. And still, the orange box produces, or reproduces, tall kitchen trash bags.

And I have cleverly tried to fool the orange box. I pulled out -- real fast, one right after the other, without pausing -- one, two, three, four, five, six bags, thinking that maybe the orange box was the vortex of a time-space displacement, and that speedily pulling the bags out might just change the inter-dimensional structure of the universe at that one particular place and time and stop it with the bags already. It didn't work. A bag end hung out of the dispensing flap.

I looked at the box just a few moments ago because I had to take the trash to the trash chute down at the other end of the hall. When you get off the elevator, the trash room, in which the trash chute is located, is to the right, in case you're wondering. It's not like that on all the floors. When Matt and I were doing physics experiments, he went down to the sixth floor; and the trash room wasn't to the right as he got off the elevator at the sixth floor. He figured out that he had to go to the left out of the elevator and then loop around, finally finding the trash room after a prolonged search. I called him on his cell phone, wondering where he was because he was supposed to yell up the trash chute that he was ready to make his observations, which were an integral part of our physics experiment, and he didn't yell for quite a while. I became concerned. Anytime that physics experiments are being performed, strange things could happen -- ask any physicist.

As I was saying, just a moment ago, I looked at the orange box to check how many bags the orange box is designed to hold. I wanted to know if it was two or three thousand, to give me an idea of when I would get to use the box of generic tall kitchen trash bags I bought six months ago. You know what? There's no number on the box.

Posted by Bill at March 4, 2007 04:34 PM