The Wind Beneath My Wings

Remember when you were a kid and you used to get a surprise in your cereal box? Well, I experienced the adult version of that this last week.

I should probably start this by saying I work at a very small company where people fill roles wherever needed. Our owner recently bought some used filing cabinets. One of our coworkers assembled them, and we all pitched in to clean them up.

That’s when I found them. Sanitary napkins.

As you can imagine, I had lots of questions.

Like…how did these manage to stay in this drawer this whole time without being disturbed?

Why are some of them unwrapped? I don’t mean they were used. I just mean they were taken out of the sanitary little pouch that they come wrapped up in. Who unwraps a sanitary napkin and then tosses it in a drawer?

Did they change their mind about changing their pad? Did they have a false Aunt Flo Alarm and decide they would just keep it for later? Were they planning an elaborate HR-nightmare-style prank on someone by “padding” their cubicle to assure that the prankster got fired in a blaze of glory? Were they trying to be ready in case a flash mob decided to recreate the shower scene in Carrie when all the girls throw pads and tampons at Carrie?

See what I mean about questions?

Naturally, I took to Facebook with my photo of the aforementioned pads because that’s where you go for wisdom and insight. I asked if this is like a King Cake when you find the Baby Jesus. Does this mean I have to throw a period party now?

One of my insightful friends pointed out that these pads looked pretty outdated, “from the ‘90s.” I had to agree. These were long and thin and didn’t even have wings. We all agreed these were relics from the Dark Ages, and probably only one step above the actual rags women used to use before sanitary products.

How does one carbon date a maxi pad? Do you pull it apart and count the layers?

Captain’s Log, Stardate 21.7: During our cleanup of the filing cabinets, we discovered a hidden treasure of feminine hygiene products nestled inside the metal compartments. Our examination revealed thin material with the consistency of a paper plate, but not the good Chinet plates. These were more like the floppy kind with ridged edges that you can buy at Walmart in packages of a thousand for $0.85 that will drop that blob of ketchup on your shirt like a bird on a freshly waxed car.

The cheap quality caused us to hypothesize that these pads were the kind you desperately pull out of a machine for a quarter in a public restroom when you realize you left the house completely unprepared, even though you’ve been doing this EVERY MONTH SINCE YOU WERE TWELVE YEARS OLD. However, these pads were much thinner and longer than the short, fat mini-mattresses that could be purchased in vending machines and that felt like a burrito between your legs.

We finally placed the date of these accoutrements at some time in the late twentieth century, probably after Are You There, God? It’s Me Margaret and before O.J. took that slow ride from the police in a white Ford Bronco.

Oh well. Guess I’ll start checking Pinterest for Period Party Decoration ideas…