Of Brown Bags and Carryouts

There are three sure things in life, at least in my experience: death, taxes, and people missing "The Good Old Days." Every teenager in America, and I'm certain there are international versions, has heard their parents, or various other adults wish for the days of their youth. Eye rolls tend to commence afterwards.

As I have left childhood, and even young adulthood behind, and have had kids of my own, I have gradually discovered why people say it. I'm in my 40th year, and I find myself longing for the days of my youth. I'm not talking about just being young again, because that's life, and I wouldn't trade my experiences for anything. But I do miss a less complicated time.

My first job was working at one of the two grocery stores in town. It was the smaller of the two, but it had its own charms. As a kid my cousins and I would walk down there for candy. It looked huge at that age. It's special feature was on the end of one of the aisles, where rows of plastic bins full of different candy sat. On the front was a small, white, tin box with a slot for nickels at the top. Drop in a nickle, get a butterscotch, or gummy worm, or whatever else they happened to have. Enterprising (or broke) young lads would sometimes just tap the box, which sounded like a nickle dropping, and choose their candy. The candy was gone once I started working there, replaced by discount laundry detergent, or whichever dog food was on sale. The store looked smaller too. Maybe I was already missing earlier days and didn't realize it.

I worked at that store for three years, starting as a carryout, taking people's groceries to their car. The brown bags I remembered from my youth replaced by cheaper plastic ones. The brown bags were there, as a reminder of times past, but used only when specifically requested. Packing them was an art-form. Getting a combination of cans, meat, chemicals, and bread and eggs into them without damaging something was easier said than done. Still, the bags fit so neatly into both buggy and car. It was probably the choice of neat freaks everywhere.

Progress trumps common sense I guess. Now, I go to Wal-Mart or Kroger, and I get checked out by a kid young enough to be my child, am given a buggy full of cheap plastic bags, many of which will be torn before I get to the car, and sent on my own way to both load, and then unload, my groceries. Saving the company money has certainly become more important than making life easier for customers.

Those days are long gone. Baseball cards and candy are replaced by family meals and some of that discount laundry detergent. The world is so much more complicated, mostly in the name of progress. I find myself, more and more often, telling my kids stories about the way things used to be, while they roll their eyes at me. The days of five-cent candy, of having my groceries carried to the car for me, of simplicity, to be honest, are gone. Now, we shop online, check ourselves out at the store, and try our best to ignore everybody. The local grocery store is, by and large, an extinct idea, like leaving the front door unlocked or dodgeball. Everything is about speed and saving money these days, and though it has its conveniences, it lacks something.

As I enter my 40s, I prepare to watch my kids enter adulthood in a much faster, and scarier world. Kids can't ride their bikes around town anymore. They can't walk to the store for gum and pop. Letting them even play in the yard feels unsafe. I fear for them. I wish they were growing in the times that I did, you know, the good old days.