Finding Love at a Custom Mylar Bag Store


She should be the least interesting person I know, and to my mind she still is. Makes me wonder, as I write this, how she was able to stir up my summer.

My uncle owns a custom mylar bag store and every summer he lets me help out so I could earn a few bucks as well as visit them and my cousins. It had been that way for the last few years and last summer seemed like it would be the same busy productive three months of my youth – or so I thought.

The Custom Mylar Bag Store is Home

When my folks dropped me off, and saw an intimidating figure of a well built man, I knew my summer had started. The man was my uncle and he had taught me a lot of things that I would never have figured out on my own. My uncle was the perfect blend of friend and family. He is no stranger to me since I am, of course, his niece. Yet we do not suffer family awkwardness as I would feel around my big brother or my dad. I could tell him everything and I just knew that I would be able to get away with bad mouthing his older brother, my dad, if I did. As cool as it is to have a go to person as I grow into maturity, I never took it for granted. Each task he assigns me for the summer job I was entrusted to was finished with a conviction and I never disappointed him.

The first night we were at the dinner table was usually when I would be given my responsibilities which I assume would now grow even more since that has always been the trend. I remember the first time I worked at my uncle’s Mylar Bag Store I was assigned as quality control. I would inspect each bag printed and look for smudges which are usually the result of hastily placed ink toners or Mylar Bags. I make sure that the same luster in the design that the customer wanted reflected itself in the design. It was amazing how a shift in printing technology allowed us to print extremely vibrant colors and the customers loved it. Lately, I have been assigned to much tougher jobs by my uncle and I am loving the challenge. Knowing my background in graphic design, I dabbled a bit on designing the bags when I last came there. And now, I was hoping to get even more exposure as a graphic artist. Little did I know that my hopes would be dashed.

The usual part of the first dinner where my uncle would wax lyrical about his trust in me and how much he knows that I would be able to pull off the tasks he assigns me would be replaced by something I totally didn’t expect. Apparently, I was not the only hire my uncle had for the summer. And my moment to shine was instead replaced with an introduction of his new star pupil. I wanted to say I felt jealous but hey, it is my uncle we are talking about and if there was anyone’s wisdom I trusted, it was his. I would be doing the same job I did last summer and that means more box stacking and less graphic design for me.

She Doesn’t even Know What a Custom Mylar Bag Is

The morning after as I prepared for my first day of hustle, I had last night’s conversation in the back of my mind. What kind of person is the new guy and would I be able to work with him? All thoughts subsided when someone walked in the store. I thought I was getting my first customer for the summer and I was excited. Finally I can start working again and push all unnecessary thoughts outside my mind. However, I must have spoken too soon because the sight I saw threw my mind off even further as I gazed upon something, or someone that was truly remarkable. She is not overly pretty but she had a striking glance in her eyes as if looking through your soul. The brief moment of confusion quickly abated however as I lay my eyes on the thing she was holding. She was carrying a plastic bag and the earth guardian in me blew a fuse. In my mind I thought, this rather odd woman must be lost going to a custom mylar bag store carrying her filth. But I was able to keep my cool and asked her if she needed anything. The next words out of her mouth shook me in disbelief. She was the new hire and my uncle was right behind me calling her to clock in. I turned to my uncle and, in the fit of bewilderment, I simply dejectedly plead that she does not care about the turtles.

To be honest, I could not remember clearly the exact words I said during the confusion. But I am sure that I weirded out both my uncle and the girl. Some of you might have already guessed it but I am an environmental warrior and I fight to protect our blue seas. One of the reasons that I am so passionate about my summer job is because my uncle is an environmentalist and he helps save the planet in his own simple way. The custom mylar bags that he sells are made to last and should be reusable and the parts used are either metal or biodegradable.

I understood that I was in no position to argue my uncle’s decisions. But it felt wrong not to do anything about it. At the very least, I felt it was my duty as her senior worker in the custom mylar bag store to educate her about the evils of single-use plastics, or in my case, all plastics. Little did I know that at that moment, my happy productive summer of youth was going to take a turbulent turn.