Teardrops and Tupperware

Dried-up blood, strings of phlegm and clots of mucus. Foul orange liquid, bitter-green bile and bits of dinner.

The contents of a Tupperware box, Jody’s Tupperware. Unusual contents: not last week’s frozen casserole or tomorrow’s Sunday roast. Instead, food from inside the body, violently forced back up by two fingers with chipped nails and bruised knuckles. A result of the frequent recurrence of the act. Tupperware instead of a porcelain purgatorium because Jody does not want to be heard or disturbed. In the privacy of her own room she can retrieve the Tupperware from under her bed and regurgitate the last things she consumed without the children banging their little fists on the bathroom door, calling for “Mummy, Mummy”.

Daddy instructed the children not to disturb Mummy when she is in her room. Daddy knows about the Tupperware’s purpose, has emptied out its contents and smelt the wafty stench of stomach waste many times but like the Tupperware he does nothing.

Sometimes Jody takes the Tupperware with her to parties and other social occasions. Silently she shoves all things edible to the back of her mouth, without touching a taste bud or appreciating texture or flavour. Piling up, filling up.

Then come the liquids in litres and gallons. An essential element for ejecting the unwanted, especially pasty peanut butter and starchy sandwiches that cling to the intestines hoping to be spared. But the addiction is victorious.

When the bathrooms are too public, Jody opts for outside and takes her oversized handbag containing the Tupperware with her. She feels it is polite to use the Tupperware as she is already wasting the host’s food and it would be rude to spoil their garden or rented terrain on top of that. She then goes down on all fours behind a tree, holds the Tupperware with one hand and uses the middle and index finger on the other to slide down her throat and torment her tonsils.

Sometimes it tickles, sometimes it hurts, sometimes her fingers go in deeper and come back out and then she slides them back in and out and in and out leading to a climax of loud, monstrous coughed-up belches, blurred vision, salty tears and finally an orgasmic splash of vomit on the Tupperwared floor.

When Jody spots the first item of food she consumed, she takes her fingers out of her mouth, makes false promises about this being the last time and places the lid back on the Tupperware. She can only hope that no veins have popped leaking red liquid into her eyeballs or that her chipmunk cheeks remain unnoticed.

As Jody sat on her bed and looked down at the freshly purged content of the Tupperware, she made a mental note to purchase a new one as this one looked like it would not last much longer. Maybe she would use the new one to actually preserve food. Or maybe not. Either way she set out the next day to the new XL-supermarket down the road where she knew they had a whole aisle dedicated to Tupperware.

***

“Can I help you Miss?”

She did not reply but he thought he heard a faint “no”.

In the 15 years Trevor had worked at XL Supermarkets he had only asked a troubled-looking customer if they needed help on two occasions and this young lady in the Tupperware aisle looked more than troubled.

She had been standing there since two o’clock, facing the shelves holding the newest Tupperware models. The chipped gold hands of Trevor’s fake Rolex told him that it was now five past three. She had not changed position or posture in those sixty-five minutes. Her knees were bent inwards and her shoulders slouched over her tiny frame. She had a look on her colourless, blanched face that made her seem lost, desperate, in deep thought and barely alive all at the same time.

“It’s only Tupperware” Trevor thought, “Nothing to spend sixty-five minutes over.”

Trevor studied her fragile physique. He hoped that when people looked at him in the way he was looking at her, they would see more than a typical supermarket clerk, even though he had been working here since he was fifteen and never reached a higher position than manager of aisle 4, 5 and 6 (of course they did not call him manager officially but he thought it was an appropriate title to appoint himself). He once had higher ambitions.

***

“Miss, are you sure I can’t help you?” the clerk asked Jody again.

She turned to face him. He was very tall and scrawny. His muscles looked artificial as if they were hanging from his bones like oranges suspended from twigs. He also had the bad luck of being an acne sufferer in his post-teenage years. He had a sympathetic smile, long eyelashes guarding baby-blue eyes, a haircut more appropriate for someone ten years younger and a golden chain that hung over his orange and red striped XL uniform. He was chewing a vile, bright blue coloured bubblegum which did not help the overall impression of a grown-man who was clinging so desperately onto his adolescence it was leaking out of him.

“I’m just looking. Thanks”

She turned her head back to face the Tupperware. She wasn’t sure if she wanted the funny looking clerk to stay or leave her alone. She wasn’t sure which Tupperware to buy either or if she should even buy one at all – whether she would just be feeding her disease or if it wouldn’t matter. Her mind was a pendulum swinging out of control, from one extreme to the next. Be a good mother, lose weight, keep it together, spill your guts, tidy the house, starve for days, be accepting, screw it. The WW II-esque battle between addiction and reason inside Jody’s head was so loud she craved silence more than a 2-for-1 deal on Ben and Jerry’s ice cream.

***

The hands of Trevor’s fake Rolex ticked another 15 minutes away. He thought the situation was becoming stranger and stranger. The lady was still standing in aisle number 5, same look, same posture, same place. Trevor’s feet had started to feel numb, her feet must feel like frozen peas.

“If she really has that much trouble choosing Tupperware, perhaps I should just do it for her,” Trevor thought to himself. After all, 15 years in aisle number 5 meant he knew his Tupperware.

He approached her for the third time but this time bent down slightly so his basketball player height would not intimidate her. He cleared his throat.

“Are you really sure I can’t help you?”

She remained silent, exhaled deeply and let out a lifeless sigh.

“It’s just that you’ve been standing here for almost two hours” he tried again.

Silence. Trevor was about to leave when the almost congealed stillness was broken by a small, sore voice:

“I just don’t know what to do”.

Trevor turned back to the lady. He wasn’t going to give up on this customer. He could help her. He knew it.

“Then you’ve come to the right place!” Trevor replied in a half Americanised accent. He never really bothered with a sales pitch, it seemed a bit superfluous for a supermarket but spending half his life in between the aisles meant he was acquainted with almost every product. On the boring shifts – mostly Wednesday afternoons in the summer holidays – he constructed mini-advertisements, going through product after product, producing cheesy one-liners and alliterated catch phrases. He was most confident about the toilet rolls with the golden puppy-dog. Today he felt compelled to share his Tupperware sales pitch so he could put this lady out of her misery.

“Right now you’re looking directly at our newest, top of the range Tupperware collection, just arrived last Friday. Excellent quality, super-firm shape, perfect crystal-clear transparency and have you noticed the lids that come in three different colours? Are you feeling pretty-in-pink or bootylicious blue today?”

Trevor playfully nudged her with his bony elbow but she remained statue still. He felt his over the top enthusiasm forming an awkward contrast to her silent and emotionless state. Her grey eyes started to fill up with a thick, clear liquid.

Trevor always became nervous around crying women. It reminded him of the time his grandmother cried when she found out he had gambled away her holiday savings or the time he had to tell his now ex-girlfriend that the money for the wedding was lying somewhere in a casino in Hull. He continued his animated advertising:

“And the best thing about these beauties is the hole on the lid for efficient ventilation in the micro-wave but if its preservation you’re after, no biggie! Clog up the hole with the white plug and you’ll keep your food taste bud tickling for weeks and weeks and –”

The water in her deep, depressing eyes had over-flowed and two heavy tears slid slowly down each cheek. Trevor quickly grabbed the smallest Tupperware from the shelf, opened the blue lid and caught both tears before they fell on the ground.

They both stared down at the open Tupperware Trevor held in his hand. Trevor wanted to say something witty and comical about salt-preservation or retaining liquids. But could not.

***

Jody watched her teardrops slide to separate Tupperware corners. She felt embarrassed and did not want to look the clerk in the eye and instead read his name-tag that was pinned lopsided on his uniform: TREVOR.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” the clerk named Trevor replied.

Silence followed again. Jody took the Tupperware from Trevor’s hand and closed the lid.

“I’ll pay for this now.”

She started to walk to the counter but her feet seemed stuck to the white, sterile supermarket floor. She was not quite ready to leave aisle number 5.

“Have you worked here for a long time?” she asked Trevor, still looking at his name-tag.

“15 years.”

He usually lied when people asked him how long he had worked at XL, not that many people did. He would say: “This is my second year” or “It’s just a job on the side until my basketball career kicks off” or worse “I’m filling in for a friend”. However he could not bring himself to lie to the young woman.

“It’s quite sad actually.”

Jody thought there could not be a sadder being then herself.

“Trust me I’m the saddest person here,” she said.

“Are you 30 and working in a supermarket?”

“No, worse.”

“Try me.”

“I’m 32, I have a husband who loves me, I’m mother of two bright girls who love me, I have many friends, I have a degree, I live in a comfortable house with 2 bathrooms, a big garden, a newly built-in kitchen and I’m in perfect health apart form the fact that before you came to talk to me I contemplated leaving all that behind and killing myself.”

Trevor was stunned. The whole time this young woman had been standing in aisle 5 she was thinking about killing herself. Trevor had thought about ending his life too but that thought always passed by like an unpleasant smell from the raw food section.

“Is it really that bad?” Trevor asked.

Jody didn’t know where to start. How could she explain her inescapable situation to someone who obviously had no idea what her life was like?

“My life is out of control. I umm…. Well I puke after everything I eat. Saying it out loud makes it seem like the silliest thing and yet it controls me. It’s pathetic”

“Oh. So why do you it?”

Jody started to regret her confessional outburst.

“Because I’m disgusting, because I lack control, because I’m a, I’m bulimic,” she said, expecting him to turn around and carry on with his supermarket duties.

Trevor had read about bulimia in Cosmopolitan. He secretly read women’s magazines from aisle 6 ever since he saw a helpful looking article entitled: “What Women Want but Men Never Do”. He thought it might come in handy for seducing Suzy Jenkins, the new girl behind counter 5.

“I know about that. It’s when you try and fill your emotional void with food”

Jody returned Trevor’s Cosmo-definition with a smile.

“I guess so. I’m Jody by the way.”

“I’m Trevor.”

Jody looked up at his Empire State Building body and examined his face. Beneath the red, pustuled surface was a vulnerability that touched her.

“So, how does someone end up working in a supermarket for 15

years?”

“Well, I dropped out of school half way through GCSEs. Needed the time to make money. At 15 my parents were in debt because of my gambling. It started out with Pokèmon cards in the playground. Pokèmon became poker with mates, I turned 18 and poker with mates became poker in the casino. Blew my Nan’s money, blew my parents money, blew my girlfriend’s money, blew my own money. Stopped going to the casino but blew money I didn’t have on the internet. I can’t afford a house or a car or even a second hand bicycle. All the money I make here goes straight to the gambling. I used to have ambitions, become a salesman or a professional basketball player. Now I’m neither.”

He spoke matter-of-factly, without self-pity or remorse. It was just the way things were, always had been and always would be.

“You’re really tall though, can’t you still play basketball?”

“There’s not a team that wants me,” Trevor shrugged, “It’s okay though, I’ve still got Tupperware.”

“Yeah, we’ve got that in common.”

A nasal sounding Suzy Jenkins declared the 15-minute closing time over the intercom.

“Oh yeah, we’re closing early today. A bank holiday or something,” Trevor remembered, “So you know which Tupperware you’re going to buy then?”

“I think I’ll just go with this one” Jody nodded towards the closed Tupperware she held in her hand.

“Well take care then.”

“You too Trevor.”

Jody turned round, walked to the end of the aisle and stopped. She looked back at Trevor who was fully immersed in blowing a massive blue bubble.

“Why don’t you quit Trevor?”

Trevor’s bubble gum popped and he sucked the mess back in like a vacuum.

“What?”

“The gambling. Why don’t you quit?”

“I can’t, I’m stuck,” he replied.

She was about to turn round the corner when Trevor spoke again.

“Jody, don’t kill yourself okay?”

She smiled.

“Okay.”

In between the two strangers lay a vast white-tiled landscape and a sea of similarities only they could understand.

***

Jody walked to the register and placed the Tupperware on the counter. She saw the rows of chocolate bars, wine gums, jelly babies, lollipops, toffee cubes all cunningly placed next to the till for those with little self-restraint. She took two of each and placed them on the counter beside the Tupperware. The girl behind the cash register gave her a funny look. A look Jody was more than familiar with.

Jody walked out of the supermarket. Outside the sun blazed with an unpleasant intensity. Dangerously determined she drove, mouth drooling, to a nearby river. Her eyes gleamed greedily as she opened the car door, sat to the side so her feet touched the ground and placed the Tupperware on her lap whilst the satanic sweets sat on the dashboard. She looked at the flowing river where she would empty out the Tupperware when the deed was done.

With trembling hands and a heart drumming a billion beats she took off the Tupperware lid and tore the brick-sized chocolate bar out of its packet. As she slowly brought the brown goodness to her mouth she noticed the two lonely teardrops in the opened Tupperware. They were stuck. Jody didn’t want to be stuck forever, not in a supermarket, not in a fancy house, not in a bathroom. She had to change, something had to change.

And then it clicked. She snatched the junk food from the dashboard, threw each item into the Tupperware and slammed the lid on. It just about fitted. With every inch of power in her body she launched the Tupperware into the river. She watched the Tupperware float away defeated. This time she was victorious. Jody was victorious.

She sat back properly in the car and drove home. She felt a sense of liberation but still realised she had a long way to go, numbers to dial, confessions to make, people to meet and perhaps this feeling would evaporate once she indulged in that chocolate fudge cake she knew awaited her at home.

All she could be certain of was that now, in this moment, she had won and two thick tears slid down her face and splattered on her knees.