Shopping for bags

Have I ever told you that I hate shopping?  I think the only thing worse than shopping for bags is shopping for pants.  In Saidpur, 18km away, we ran errands on a chuti day, and everyone told us we must stop in at the bag store.  Even the driver said, "You go next action bags?".  I sighed.

I'm not sure what I was expecting - I had an idea of a dim, cavernous building, the smell of incense and a vaguely bohemian decor: a mental echo from college?  Instead, our driver pulled up to a nondescript door in a residential area, where a small sign next to the door read, "action bag, fair-trade project, Saidpur, Nilphimari dist.".  We let ourselves in unannounced to a small atrium, walked across to an open door and looked inquisitive (something we've perfected).  A fiftyish woman behind a business desk looked over her glasses and smiled, closing a ledger.  "I am manager of action bags, you are from LAMB? "

"Yes" How could you tell?

"We get many people from LAMB."  Ah, you read minds.  And also we're bideshi. 

"You wait one minute".  She found the assistant production manager who let us into a room about the size of a bedroom, stacked to the ceiling with bags in no order I could discern.  I have a suspicion some piles may not have seen daylight for a decade.  The assistant manager reached into a pile and pulled out precisely the right kind of bag first try.  The right kind?  Yes - exactly what Laura was looking for.  We dragged it out, and still it took all of six minutes.

The Assistant Manager

Out back in another atrium, several people were cutting fabric to take home and a few women were sewing in an open courtyard.  Maybe 15 people in all.  A whiteboard had orders listed, due dates, and destinations, ranging from Japan to the USA.  Each person either looked curious or smiled at us.

Back in the manager's office we were served hot ginger tea with fresh bits of ginger in the bottom of the cup, while the manager explained about the project.  We sat and chatted for five more minutes and then excused ourselves, each placing our right hand over our chest and thanking her for the tea.  And yes, after this, I might even go shopping for pants in Bangladesh.