Fatally Unorganized

I remember the day my owner, Rachel, got the bag that I’m stuck lying in. It was a Monday afternoon at the town center mall. The luxury purse store was having a deal on last season’s leftovers. There was one on display that she couldn’t leave without, and it was thirty percent off the original price of one-hundred and sixty pounds. The woman only had two-hundred bangers to her name, but it still sounded like a great idea for a wannabe like her that was debatably insane. She was always craving nice things, but her bank account was longing for a more budget friendly lifestyle.

Rachel was a lost college graduate that was sinking in student loan debt, and her bills being past due was the norm. Purchasing the bag made her feel good about herself, but the feeling was short lived because her rich friends received the latest style as a present for the holidays a month later.

Instead of being grateful for what she had, she became bitter and sad, and she stopped cleaning out the purse. At least the inside of it wasn’t as bad as Rachel's financial situation. The system is criminal for handing out degrees to anyone ignorant enough to sign on the dotted line.

Although she was clearly depressed, I couldn't stomach the crumbled receipts from fast-food restaurants lining the interior. Empty packs of gum, loose change, and make-up stains were everywhere. However, the final straw was when she tossed a pair of thongs on top of my head. I can handle the tampons or pads; those were okay with me. I’m not the type to complain about Mother Nature, but I drew the line at undergarments.

I decided I had enough. I needed space to breathe, so I moved to the separate compartment on the opposite side of the bag. I got tired of the nickels and the dimes nagging about which one is larger. They were too stupid to realize that technically they all were right.

The next evening, Rachel went out on a coffee date with some guy she met online. From what I heard, it almost went well. The gentleman had preordered desserts for them to enjoy while sipping their hot beverages. She sat down and took a bite without asking for the ingredients first.

A few moments later, Rachel noticed that she had forgotten her phone in the car, and she immediately excused herself to retrieve it. As she approached the vehicle, her face began to swell, and her breath was rapidly slipping away. The food contained tree nuts, and she was highly allergic. Hectically, she searched for me, but I wasn't where she expected.

I attempted to make my way out of my private area and back onto the other side, but the nickels and the dimes were still at war. I got trampled by the pennies and quarters that were fleeing, so Rachel wasn't able to locate me.

It was tragic.

Was I, the EpiPen, responsible for what happened? I'd say hell no, because if Rachel had organized her bag and invested in a coin purse, then I would not have been misplaced. I won't carry that burden. I've saved her life more than I can count. It was just her time.