Michael and Ann’s boy, Nathan, was robbed. Not that he cared, because he didn’t. But I saw the whole thing, and, of the twelve “Best Bagger” contestants, he was the class of the show. The way he studied the relative bulk, density, shape, and fragility of some twenty-five pounds of groceries. And the way his fingers twitched over the folded bags. Eye of the tiger—cool, focused, dangerous. And when the clock started, the loose and willowy sixteen-year-old (6’2″ and 120 pounds, with groceries) moved in about a hundred directions at once, like a Swedish Vishnu. In one deft move, he cradled the eggs, swooped the boxed-rice side dishes three at a time, and snagged fish crackers on the way into the bag. He was not just lightning-fast and graceful. Nate Bjornberg respected the groceries. Even the Dinty Moore products. He respected the heft and invincibility of the cans, the regular beauty of the box, the golden thirds created by half-gallons of milk. He respected the levity of paper towels, their happy-go-lucky nature. Even though there was no meat or produce in this contest, I can imagine his long fingers reading the prayer of the nectarine in its smooth flesh, and tracing the whole life of the heifer and whether it found any joy as he slipped the round steak in next to the tilapia fillets. I’m just saying, Nate was robbed.
Anyway, the bagging contest. It’s legit. Established and organized by the National Grocer’s Association about thirty-five years ago, it’s open to any bagman, -woman, or -teen employed by a store that is a member of the Grocer’s Association. The Minnesota Grocer’s Association organized the 2004 Best Bagger contest, held recently at the Mall of America, to determine our bagman at the national contest in Las Vegas next February. A couple of things to note: pro bagging is a man’s sport (there were no female contestants among the twelve state challengers) and only eighteen states participate in the national Best Bagger contest. Some stores hold a preliminary competition to determine their representative at the state meet. Nate had already vanquished all comers at his store, the Highland Park Lunds (picking up $100 for the trouble), and spanked the competition in a metro-wide contest (winning another $200). He’s no rookie.
Heats of three baggers face off at long folding tables topped with the same groceries in the same configurations, and two folded paper bags. (The national contest has a heat for both paper and plastic, because we live in a world of choices.) Contestants are provided with a list of the groceries that will be used in the competition and, yes, some do go out and buy them and practice. For most, like Nate, it’s just another day at the office. Scoring criteria are as follows: speed—ten points; proper bag-building—ten points; weight distribution—five points; style/appearance (of the bagger)—five points. As far as speed goes, anything under twenty-five seconds receives full points. Just to give you an idea, all twelve Minnesota baggers filled two bags in less than a minute. Try that yourself at the co-op sometime.
Proper bag-building not only maintains the groceries in pristine condition for the ride home, but also allows the bagger to maximize the grocery load without sacrificing aesthetics. The fundamentals of bag-building? Solid foundation with four square corners, glass should never touch glass, eggs near the top but secure, and paper products on top. Ideally, the two bags should not vary in weight by more than one-half pound; that gets full points. Points for style/appearance are a giveaway. To my eye, Nate clinched it by having had a haircut just for the event, as evidenced by the whitewalls.
When all three contestants in the heat are finished, the panel of judges (board members of the Minnesota Grocer’s Association) record times and weights, inspect the bags, and assign points. Third place at the state checkout earned $100, second place was tipped $150, and first place got $500 plus $250 in travel expenses plus airfare and hotel for two in Las Vegas (since many winners are minors, it’s usually a parent filling the other airplane seat). The purse at the national contest is $2,000 for first, $1,000 for second, and $500 each for third, fourth, and fifth. Minnesota has never had a national champion. There was a lot on the line.
After Nate’s third-place showing, I was a little vexed to learn that he had not worked for ten days because he’d been at soccer tryouts. Soccer tryouts! Nonetheless, he effortlessly dusted Noah Schwalbe of Waconia in a nail-biting bag-off for third place. The second-place finisher was nowhere, in my opinion. And the winner, while formidable, did not demonstrate even half the grocery awareness and sensibility Nate did. Kyle Schultz of Chris’ Food Center in Sandstone took the honors. Last year’s Best Bagger also came from Chris’ Food Center. Eight of the recent champions have come from Chris’ Food Center. In fact, Chris of Chris’ Food Center was a past Minnesota Best Bagger. Does that seem funny to you? Obviously this is a bagging dynasty patterned after the Eastern European sports machine.
Just so, Nate is pretty philosophical about the whole thing, and by that I mean bagging, the bagging contest, and life in general. What he likes best about bagging is “the money, and it’s easy, and it’s something I can get my mind on.” There’s nothing he really doesn’t like about it. Except maybe oozing meat and fish, because it smells. He notices purchases only when people buy weird stuff like Ex-Lax and diapers at the same time. When I asked about the effect of fame and fortune on his work life, Nate replied, “I think I did get a raise.” Spoken like a true artist.—Sarah Barker
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