“No one can resist the taste of America’s favorite potato chips,” that’s true,
especially for me. I am one of those who have their potato-bag-eating gene
dominant, not recessive or hidden by some obscure trait as some others have
it. “So go ahead, grab a bag, pop it open, and enjoy Lay’s, irresistibly thin
and crispy chips. They’re simple to share and a joy to eat. So what are you
waiting for?” Nothing. I am not waiting for anything. So potato chips are a
good way to unwind. For some it’s ice cream, for others chocolate. For me,
it’s potato chips. My eldest brother once remarked that it was the only thing
he ever saw me eating with true appetite.
Paradoxically, it all started with me having a chocolate crave. So I decided to
put some clothes on (After all, I was shaved and showered, so all I had to do
was get dressed) and grab a Snickers from a small store next to my brother
lives. The shop is “World food” but basically, most of the sign is eaten away
with a description of what it sells: “Cold beer and wine Groceries, deli” It is
run by a couple whose accent is somewhere between Armenian and Greek.
Although, demographically, I would say Greek because had they been Arme-
nian, they’d be on the West Coast. The shop is right across the street from the
backdoor of the apartment building.
The only thing that stand between the shop’s door and the building’s back-
door is a garbage can and a street. As I walked out of the store with two
“king size” Snickers bars, I marveled at the trash can: There it was overflow-
ing with bags of potato chips. I could barely hold myself: Not only were
they potato chips, but they were closed bags of potato chips tossed away in a
garbage can, free of charge and for anyone to take. I immediately recognized
the flaw in them: Their expiry date was due, but everyone knows that the real
shelf life of products is some three to six months after the printed date.
There was no question in my mind, I immediately grabbed two: A blue bag
and a black one. I hesitated before grabbing more, but I thought of the hobos
who might be passing there and who might be in need of an instant meal.
And so eventually, I just settled for two, and only examined by loot once I
got inside the building: Salt and vinegar, and Barbecue. Not bad for a blind
choice.
One of the other reasons I decided to hang on to two bags only was that I
knew there’d be questioning about the bags from my brother and his wife,
and I will have a lot of justification to do.

Especially that, the night before, they threw away a perfectly good pile of
mortadella because supposedly it hanged in the refrigerator for a long time. I
smelled the lot and frankly judged it good for eating, which they didn’t think
so. And it was tossed away.
My loot consisted of Lay’s bags, and reading the reverse of the bag made me
feel better about myself: “So go ahead, grab a bag, pop it open, and enjoy
Lay’s, irresistibly thin and crispy chips.” All I did was following the instruc-
tions, the bag didn’t specify if you could or could not grab it from a garbage
can. One thing I found misleading in all the warnings present on that poly-
propylene bag was “Guaranteed fresh *until printed date*” The printed date
in question read July 25th for both bags. And this is where I beg to differ:
They’re still fresh even though we’re some two weeks after the mentioned
date. The reason I know is because I just had a satisfying snack eating the
salt and vinegar bag.
But then an idea starting coming to my mind that I just couldn’t chase away.
Were there any other people in Bethesda ready to take bags of potato chips
out of the dumpster? And if so, who were they? I immediately got down
again with the purpose of hiding somewhere and looking and who might
be the other people ready to make such a move. I was ready to wait till the
evening while I observed. But even as I was still perfecting my stake out
plan, as soon as I got to the backdoor, I saw a man in his late thirties, wearing
a pair of beige shorts and deep brown polo shirt rummaging in the garbage
can.
“Oh, I just couple of them, they’re great!”
“Really, I was just checking them.”
“Take them before someone else does.”
“They’re for my boys, you know.”
“Sure, want some help? Here I’ll take a few with you.”
In his pick up tuck, loaded with flower pots, there waited a small boy with
the same uniform. He couldn’t believe his eyes, and ran to the dumpster to
get the remaining bags.
“So you own a landscaping business?”
“Yes, in Baltimore.”
“Is this your only kid?”
“No, got four of them. I’m sure they’ll be happy with the bags. Look at this,
the Tostitos bags are barely two days due. I am sure if I asked the guy he
would have given me the whole box instead of throwing it away. But these
should keep the kids off the streets for some time now.”

“Cool. You take care then.”
It felt comforting to meet the other ones, the ones ready to take bags of
potato chips from garbage cans, the ones who wouldn’t throw perfectly good
stashes of mortadella, and right there an image came back to my mind: A
controversial print by Heinz with the headline “Everything tastes supreme
with Heinz salad cream.” And the image was that of the hand of a butler,
complete with white gloves, opening the lid of a trash can. Well, Lay’s, if
I may say so, tastes supreme per se and need not to be complemented with
Heinz salad cream.