Tampon Tax

The air was stale, the house was quiet and Bailey sat there frozen. It was back. She was in the downstairs bathroom that tripled as a laundry room and home for Piper, her dog. The laundry had not been done in over ten days. But she was used to that; the liveable filth. It had been weeks since she had not had to hand wash oatmeal remainders out of the bowl before pouring in the cereal and milk. But now, the dirty underwear? This she wasn’t used to. What could she wear? She stuffed her underwear with a thick, crumpled toilet paper lining and stood up. That should do the trick.

Bailey was home from school, alone in her house. She was upset and confused by this invasion on her daily routine. And that she didn’t have anybody to talk to about it. She missed her mom dearly. Her ability to explain things, soothe her and listen, not to mention her expertise with female bodily functions. Bailey’s dad is a great man, but their relationship is a bit distant. She did not feel comfortable going to him with this type of personal thing. It would not be a breakthrough moment for them but would be added to the list of things to avoid talking about, and they would resume their surface level conversation about different ways to remember what P.E.M.D.A.S stands for. Or the layers of the Earth, or the starting lineup for the Kentucky’s Men’s’ Basketball Team, or how to unjam her backpack zipper. Bloody underwear? No way. For both of their sakes.

After finding a quarter left in the vending machine yesterday, she should have enough. Bailey has had exactly 29 days to save since the first day. After spending hours at Lee’s Pharmacy on the corner reading magazines, she learned this intrusion was also called a “period.” Ever since her mom passed away, magazine articles, advertisements and eavesdropping on older girls at school were the only way she could learn about female issues, one of which being a period. The only way she could stop this thing was with a tampon, a tool that vaguely resembled the outline of a popsicle. Saving up her monthly allowance and spare change over the last month, she was as prepared for this visitor as she could be.

The advertisements for these tampon-things differed greatly. Some had ballerinas, others had thick writing talking about the hell that comes with your period. The one that caught Bailey’s attention was for a company called “Playtex Sport.” These advertisements pictured fierce athletes like Aly Raisman, Serena Williams and strong female track teams sprinting up steep bleachers. The box promised to have a special section for “first time users” included, which made Bailey feel a bit more secure and reassured. Since she would have to use tampons during basketball practice this week Playtex Sport must be her only option, right?

$6.99.

She had 29 days to scrounge up $6.99. Which she did. In exact change. Not a penny to spare for the one cent candies at the register. She poured out her plastic bag after grabbing it from behind her pillow. You would be amazed at all the places where people leave coins: the vending machine, the bathroom, the sidewalk, even at the cafeteria cash register.

She knew this purchase had to be made ASAP before completely destroying her favorite pair of jeans. She left the house, and walked straight to Lee’s, her anxiety stepping in. Bailey had never bought something before on her own. Ever. Sometimes she goes in with her dad and picks out a candy bar or new socks or sidewalk chalk. But she never pays for it on her own. Mike and Lee, the store owners, know she is innocuous and would never steal anything. But they definitely don’t appreciate her lurking in the magazine section for hours. Maybe after today they will see her in a new light; as an adult, a paying customer.

It is weird, Bailey thought, that the store owners will know more about her than her own dad will. Or does her dad know? Do all 5th grade girls get their period at the exact same time? Is it a body calendar, X amount of weeks after your 11th birthday? That could be. But she can’t remember about any girls in the locker room talking about this. Maybe she is early? Maybe it’s because she is tall?

Finally the neon “Yes, We’re Open” sign was in vision and in she walked. Unfortunately the brand “Tampax” was having a sale but those are for the ballerinas, not the basketball players. It probably wouldn’t stay in or something like that. She grabbed it and marched to the front with her head down.

“How are you?” Lee asked in his muffled voice.

She just nodded back in reply. Too embarrassed to make eye contact. He probably knows I have dirty underwear and is laughing at me in his head, she thought to herself.

Oh no.

She heard footsteps approaching behind her. Full panic mode. What if it’s her dad? He would be so upset at her for buying something without asking him. He was big on pride and didn’t like the idea of not being able to provide. What if it was a boy in her class? Would he know what these even were? Would he tell everyone? What if-

“$7.32” His harsh voice interrupted her spiraling thoughts.

$7.32.

$7.32. How? How could that be? She had read the sign right before. It said $6.99 in bright letters.

Time had stopped. This was one of her biggest fears. She has spent hours in this store observing others. What had she been forgetting? She laid out all of her savings on the counter for Mike, and he looked at her expectantly, waiting for the extra $0.33. Once again, Bailey was frozen.

“Here’s a dollar. That should cover it.”

Bailey turned around and standing behind her was Tricia Simms, thee Tricia Simms, handing her a crumpled dollar bill. Tricia Simms was only the most recognizable girl in Nicholasville, Kentucky. Her height was climbing to 6’5” and there were D1 scouts in town every week to witness her domination. Bailey hadn’t missed one of her games since Tricia was in the 8th grade. Tricia had her choice of what conference she wanted, and could essentially go to any college in the country. It was safe to say that Tricia was Bailey’s role model. More than a role model, maybe even her idol. She strived to be like her on and off the court. She had this confident aura about her, reinforced up by her all-star talent. And now, she was bailing Bailey out of a horrible situation. Tricia was unbeatable, in all senses.

Bailey was able to muster up a mumbled thanks. She confusingly eyed over the receipt that Lee handed her and there was her answer. The tax accounted for the difference. Taxes were something Bailey, like most kids, did not know much about. She could recall a few times she had heard her dad complaining about them. But she didn’t know people like her could be taxed.

Tricia walked with her outside after buying her Blue Frost Gatorade.

"You coming by tomorrow for the clinic? I recognize you from last week, right? You play point guard?" Tricia asked her.

Bailey could not believe Tricia recognized her from the weekly clinics. These clinics had dozens of girls refining their dribbling skills, foul shots and layups. Bailey had never even been fortunate enough to be in Tricia's group. She always coached the A team.

"Yeah I haven't missed one" Bailey replied, grinning ear to ear.

"Good. Good work ethic at a young age, you have lots of potential. I would be happy to practice with you anytime" Tricia so generously offered. They began walking in the same direction. "So..first time buying tampons huh? You really gotta make sure you have enough money next time- that coulda been bad" Tricia continued.

"Yeah I know" Bailey was embarrassed. She tried to explain herself. "I just didn't know there were taxes on those type of things."

"Well there are taxes on everything. Except things that you need, like food and water. And some medications I guess. But for the most part, everything is taxed except things you need."

"But don't you need tampons?" Bailey inquired. I guess there could be another method that I don't know about.

"Yeah. I guess you do. That's a good point. But maybe because it's only until menopause. Or half the population, cause like boys don't need them you know? I guess I've never thought about why things are taxed. Or even how the tax code works in general"

Now Tricia was throwing out terms she had never heard before. Meno-what? She was at her house already.

"Thanks so much for covering for me. I'll get the money and bring it to the clinic tomorrow."

"Don't worry about it. See ya" Tricia said.

The door was unlocked which meant her dad was home. She went into the bathroom to try out her new purchase. Sitting on the sink counter was a pack of maxi-pads with a scribbled sticky note that read Thought you might need these -Dad.