When we went to buy bins at Wal-Mart last weekend, I was expecting the standard experience. I was expecting the old man greeter (on oxygen!) to stand in front of the carts and make us feel uncomfortable. I was expecting the dizzying array of big band-aid colored bins. What I was not expecting was a bin lid with the best. Warning label. Ever.
You can fit a WHOLE TODDLER in one of these bins! I think that should be a selling point rather than a warning. What I love, and what's true in the case of most dumb warning labels, is that enough toddlers suffocated inside these bins for the warning to be necessary.
It reminds me of the old refrigerator paranoia that I grew up with. All of you who grew up in the 80s, you remember these PSAs -- "When you're playing with your friends in the dump, don't hide in an old refrigerator because you will DIE." All I wanted to know was where these magical dumps were -- they sounded like fun. Must have been the same urban playground that was constantly being pushed on Sesame Street. That show always made me yearn for the Bronx, or wherever it was that they showed the kids playing in the open fire hydrant. Break me off a piece of THAT, I tell you.
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