Livin' and Dion: Gone in a flash: Purple bags (and mayors)

Maybe when it’s really, officially over, I’ll keep one purple bag.

Nostalgia?

Not really, but I might want something to remember the craziness provoked by these flimsy pieces of plastic, some relic to remind me of the columns I wrote, the mayors who came and went with little pomp under strange circumstances.

Oh, little bag, how you shook my little world!

I used the bags, of course. I used them from the very first day. A lot of people like to think of themselves as “outlaws” or “rebels,” or “defenders of freedom.” I like to think of myself as someone who doesn’t cause any trouble.

Probably the first thing I ever wrote about purple bags in Fall River was that the bags were a tax on 88,000 of the poorest people in the state. I stand by that statement.

Of course, in Fall River, every tax is a tax on 88,000 of the poorest people in the state, so perhaps we shouldn’t have any taxes at all, and the desperately poor can break into my house without fear of police interference, and the snow won’t get plowed even a little bit.

I will not miss the bags. They were shoddily made, and inconvenient. Also, you had to pay for them, and I’m cheap. Worst of all, I had to write about them all the time.

But those flimsy little bags made possible the career of Jasiel Correia, the universal mayor, who is currently in France learning how to ride a train. When he comes back, he’s going to show the rest of us how to ride a train. HINT: Get inside the train. Do not ride on top of the train.

Now that the sun is setting on the purple bags, there are only two ways to regard what has happened.

The first is with great joy. In Fall River, the legend runs, the people would not bear this great injustice. Forced to pay for trash bags, they rose up like a mighty wave, and toppled a mayor. Bravely battling onward, they defeated the purple bags, retained their sacred rights as Americans, and proved that they would not be enslaved. We the people won!

That’s one hell of a story, brimming with democracy and bravery.

The second way to look at this is to say that the city of Fall River is so backward that we are unable to organize and enforce the kind of pay-as-you-throw program taken for granted by dozens of other communities. Some of those communities are just as urban and poor as Fall River. In addition, we don’t give a damn about the environment. Fall River is a granite monument to failure.

That’s one hell of a story, too, brimming with ignorance and defeat.

You can decide which story you believe. It doesn’t make much difference now. If I were you, I’d pick the story full of bravery and victory. It may or may not be true, but it’ll make you feel better than the defeat story will. This is particularly important in Fall River, where there’s so much defeat that we sometimes have to spontaneously declare victory over something, anything. We win so much, we’re getting tired of winning. Very tired.

It’ll be a summer of celebration here in The Riv, with fireworks, gunfire, Portuguese feasts, and a possible exhibition of photographs Mayor Jasiel Correia took in France. Look, a train! Look, another train! Perhaps a short video of the mayor’s trip can be produced. They could call it “Make it in France.”

While I may poke le fun at Correia for what appears to be a hugely unnecessary trip to France, I am not at all jealous of him. No. Life on my Fall River side street is overflowing with happiness because the oppressive and unconstitutional bags are gone. We are free!

When this is officially over, I’m going to keep one purple bag. I may keep more than one. I may keep every bag I’ve got left in the house.

Why?

Because I don’t think this is over. I think the bags will be back. Maybe not next year, but I think they’ll be back. Until then, I’m going to enjoy my small chunk of bag-free heaven.

Make It In France!