Tuesday of last week, I decided to take the plunge, downsize my day-to-day, and go tote-free. Little did I know what calamity my decision would bring. Here’s my survival diary:
So far, so good. I was pretty upset about not being able to take four pairs of shoes to work with me. The mini purse is not suitable for shoe storage. What sociopath thinks one pair of shoes will get them through the day? What about emergencies, like if you drop the coffee pot or there’s a fire? I wore running shoes to work and carried my heels in my hand like an orphan. And I’m going to have to borrow snacks from Linda of all people.
I think I can fit one snack in here if I leave my wallet at home. I don’t know if I should do the veggie chips or an Almond Joy. I think I’d going to do the Almond Joy. Ugh, I hate choosing. Sorry, veggie chips.
Carrying one pair of shoes made it really hard to focus on driving to work. I think I hit a dog. Also, I remembered after I got to the office that I have drinks with Mark after work. What am I going to wear? Normally I’d have two outfits to choose from in the tote, but now what?
I’m getting hungry. Luckily, Joe brought bagels for the whole team. I was worried when I realized that I couldn’t fit an extra one in the Mini Purse to save for later, but I realized I could just eat half of the second bagel and put the other half in the purse for rations. Using a mini purse is really pushing me to problem-solve in interesting ways.
Linda went around asking if anyone had a sewing kit because she ripped her pants. I couldn’t help, obviously, because I didn’t have my tote, and now she keeps looking over at me like I violated a blood oath. People depend on me. Have I let down those whom I hold closest to my heart? Or rather, has my mini purse?
I reached into my mini purse for some peanut butter pretzel bites only to realize that there were none because nothing fits in this damn, fabulous little thing. I’m starving. I stared at my mini purse in the bathroom mirror for a few minutes to remind myself why I decided to do this in the first place. Then, I walked to the kitchen and ate Linda’s lunch. I’ve become a monster.
Linda just walked by and asked if anyone had seen her lunch. I said, “No, of course I didn’t steal it—it wouldn’t fit in my mini purse anyway.” The mini purse is enabling my lying! I’m ashamed of myself, and of my mini purse.
I started to panic halfway through the workday. I remembered the Almond Joy, but when I ate it, my blood sugar spiked and I passed out.
I woke up under my desk. No one noticed. I should probably eat something with protein. I wish I’d brought my wallet, but then I would have to pay for a snack, which I don’t do.
This is the worst thing to happen to anyone ever. I usually have some carrots and guac in my tote
I asked to borrow money from Linda and went to the grocery store down the street. The problem is, once I got to the grocery store, I realized I didn’t even have a tote so I couldn’t buy anything, because what would I put it in?! I’ve never felt this alone.
I stole some crackers and sprinted out of Whole Foods, mini purse swinging.
I don’t remember what happened after I ran out of Whole Foods, but I woke up in a dumpster. Thankfully, my mini purse is still on me. I’m five blocks away from the office.
Linda told me I smell. Yeah, well, you have a hole in your pants, Linda.
At drinks, Mark said that I “looked different” but he wasn’t sure why. Little does he know it’s because I’m no longer carrying the freight of a Maersk shipping vessel on my left shoulder! Now, it’s more like a dinghy. Sob. Also, I was only able to reapply lipstick rather than touching up my entire face. I’m sorry you had to see me like that, Mark.
Two officers just walked into this bar and approached me. They told me they tracked me down using the Whole Foods security footage. I laughed nervously. Mark was confused.
I made a run for it. One of the officers tackled me. I told them Mark made me do it. Mark kept asking what was going on. No one so much as asked about my mini purse.
They tried to force me into their police car. One of the officers grabbed my mini purse. I tore it out of his hands.
I put up a solid fight, but finally they managed to get me in the back of the car and drive me down to the station. I pulled the Almond Joy wrapper out of my purse. I licked it.
At the station it takes them hours to ID me because I don’t have my wallet. “Blame the mini purse!” I say. Finally, they find fibers from my mini purse on a body in the dumpster. I am charged with murder. Sorry about your lunch, Linda. You can use my tote while I’m in jail.
Looking around me, I realize this world is just too small for me. It’s a mini purse, and I’m a tote. I decide to set my soul free into the roomy tote of the universe. So I start a huge fight and get knifed to death in the ensuing chaos. I slip out of this realm and into the next, where I am surrounded by Almond Joys. See you in Hell, mini purse!!!
What a crazy effing day! Take it from me: Downsizing ain’t worth it!