Slice of Life Story: It’s in the Blue Bag
I slid my feet into my flip flops and grabbed my keys from the “Do Not Forget” Key Holder that is around my door knob. I didn’t bother to dead-bolt the door since I knew I’d be back in a couple of minutes.
I walked to the elevator and hit the down button. It came right away. I was so excited that I just walked inside nearly bumping into my neighbor who was exiting.
“Sorry,” I said sheepishly.
“No problem,” he replied.
I quickly pressed “1” and headed down to the lobby.
When the elevator doors opened, I walked down the hall to the newsstand where all of the papers are located. I immediately saw the familiar blue bag. It’s been years since my paper came in a blue bag. Not since growing up in NJ has The New York Times been in a blue bag. In NYC, the newspaper carrier plops the paper down on your doorstep, without a bag.
I took the top blue bag and checked for my label. No label. I checked the next bag, no label. I guess they don’t put the mailing labels on the papers here in Rhode Island. So, I took the top paper in the blue bag in my hand and walked back to the elevator, trying to peer at the day’s headlines through the blue plastic.
The way my Sunday Times gets delivered now might be different than the way it got delivered when I lived in NYC, but that feeling of holding the most important newspaper in my hands on a Sunday Morning is still the same. It feels great to hold the Times in my hands knowing that I’m about to read my hometown paper, even though I’m miles away from my hometown on this blustery Sunday Morning.