Parties and pandemics don’t mix

I have a Tupperware problem. And by Tupperware, I mean Tupperware, not generic plastic storage containers. I mean the real stuff. The pieces with names: Fix ‘N Mix, Modular Mates, Bell Tumblers, Snack-Stors.

Three baskets above the refrigerator hold the items I need most frequently. My dry goods are kept in order and labeled in ModularMates in one cabinet. Another cabinet stores serving and specialty pieces. Four wire shelves in the basement house the remainder of my cache.

My stash includes two sizes of butter dishes, a lunch bowl complete with a knife and fork, two sets of salt and pepper shakers, and parfait cups. Oranges, limes, and onions all have their own receptables. Somewhere in the basement is a children’s serving set which I need to bring out for the grandbabies, who will soon be eating real food.

The pasta maker is one of my most-used items. I just put water and pasta in the maker, zap for 17 minutes and drain. FridgeSmarts extend the life of veggies and fruits. I couldn’t live without my choppers, especially the little one that minces olives for my olive burgers.

You can imagine my dismay, then, when I heard that Tupperware has filed for bankruptcy.

No new Thatsa bowls? No more Wonderliers? What will I do if I need more FridgeSmarts?

And, most importantly, how will I order authentic sippy cups for my grandchildren?

My mother had no use for Tupperware. It was viewed as a vehicle for leftovers. Since we weren’t excited about mom’s cooking the first time around, special containers for leftovers were seen as an exercise in futility.

My mother-in-law, on the other hand, was a Tupperware aficionado. That did not stop her from being an equal opportunity plastic storage cook, however. There may have been Tupperware in the fridge, but there was also an exciting collection of mystery containers. That Cool Whip bowl may hold dessert topping or mashed potatoes. It may say “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter” on the outside, but there may be soup on the inside. You took your chances.

Her bridal shower gift to me was an enormous box of Tupperware bowls in various sizes and shapes. It struck me at the time as an odd choice, but it did mark the beginning of my own fascination with the brand. Sadly, this was the early Eighties, and the color was blah beige. I only have one piece left. The others have been lost to time. None of them broke, they just wandered off.

My friend Nancy also had a fabulous stash of plastic. She refused to spend full price, opting instead to find plastic gold in garage and estate sales.

“Never pay more than twenty-five cents apiece,” she advised me.

Alas, she lost her horde during the big flood of 2014.

My son Devon was somewhat traumatized by Tupperware. He went through a phase where he wanted veggies and dip in his school lunch. Great! But the only container for the dip was my little Smidgens, small Tupperwares just big enough to hold an egg. Cute as hell and incredibly versatile.

“Devon, do not throw out the Tupperware,” I would warn him every morning. “These are very expensive. Let me repeat that: DO NOT THROW OUT THE TUPPERWARE!”

When he got home from school, I greeted him by saying, “Did you bring the Tupperware back?”

Not “How was your day?,” “Do want a snack?”, or “I love you.” Nope. “Did you bring back the Tupperware?”

Small wonder he stopped bringing the healthy snack to school and regressed to packing a bag of chips in his lunch.

The good news is that he never lost one of the Smidgens. (Should have been that forceful with cellphones before he lost three of them.)

Some of my Tupperware produces Pavlovian reactions in my friends and family. My special mandarin orange salad, my go-to dish for potlucks, is always served in a mismatched set I picked up at a garage sale, a yellow bowl with a blue lid. Yes, I only paid a quarter for it. One year, I arrived at a family party with a different salad in that bowl. It did not go over well.

“Where is your salad?” several guests asked, as they poked through the Fix ‘N Mix bowl in a vain hope of finding the sugared almonds that feature prominently in my signature dish.

Likewise, I have learned to keep the leftover pizza in the large Snack-Stor container. If I put it in anything else, family members stand dumbly in front of the open refrigerator waiting for the pizza to call out to them.

“Honey, where’s the pizza from last night?” Jeff asked one day.

“In the fridge.”

“I don’t see it.”

I went to the fridge and pulled out the small Snack-Store container.

Jeff frowned. “That’s not the pizza Tupperware.”

When my mother-in-law died, the one piece of Tupperware of hers that I grabbed was a round bowl she always used for potato salad. And I use it only for potato salad.

To be honest, I have not attended a Tupperware party since COVID. Parties and pandemics don’t mix. I suspect that’s what destroyed the brand. You need the party to sell the product. It is expensive compared to the throw-away varieties and people need to see it in action from a Tupperware pro to appreciate why that investment is worth it.

If I sound like a Tupperware lady, it’s because I was one for a short time. When our son Sean’s wedding was approaching, we needed a little extra cash to help with the expenses. Tupperware offered flexibility, fun, and a financial boost.

Like the generation of women before me, Tupperware parties provided both income and camaraderie.

How thrilling it was to get my initial sales kit! I loved organizing for each party, customizing a presentation for each group of women.

Sad to say, while my preparation was great, my sales skills did not set the world on fire. I’m a doer, not a seller. I did, however, make enough to pay the bar bill at the wedding, which was the goal.

Then I joined a high-powered mortgage firm, and I didn’t have time to cook dinner, let alone manage a side hustle.

I’m glad to know my Tupperware will last the rest of my life. Maybe beyond. I joke that my ashes should be sealed in Tupperware. A round one because the lid holds fast and doesn’t allow moisture in.

The world will go on if Tupperware cannot rise above bankruptcy. But I am still sad to know that the Tupperware lady and the Tupperware party are passé.

Pardon me while I find a CrystalWave bowl big enough to contain my sorrow at the demise of a legend. If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen burping my Wonderliers in peace.