I have a confession to make. When I shop at a neighborhood foodie store for some organic staples, I sometimes forget to bring the environmentally correct, reusable grocery bags.
For one thing, it pisses off my wife, a woman who hordes clothing catalogs the way I once collected comic books, and whose online shopping sprees help keep UPS delivery truck drivers gainfully employed. When she gets two oversized cardboard boxes in one day, I’ll run out to buy a box of whole grain Cheerios just for the plastic bag.
But there’s another reason: I want that cashier to ask if I’d like a bag. Damn straight I do! (Cue that look from cashier.) I don’t care if it’s just a box of cereal. I can’t hold my iphone with one hand while walking home and texting with the other without slipping the handle of that non-biodegradable plastic bag around my wrist. (Before you sneer at me, too, remember, I live in a small apartment in a dense, urban neighborhood, use mass transit, buy organic, etc, etc. I’ve got chits to spare.)
Then there’s the added satisfaction when I get home and jam that plastic bag into the wicker basket stuffed with plastic bags, which is next to the one overflowing with clothing catalogs.
Now I want you to know that despite this jerky character flaw of mine, I’m a good guy at heart. I give up my seat for pregnant women on the subway. I stop for people that ask for directions. I play catch with my kid.
So I’m not like these morally depraved people.