My “reBag,” shown at left, is a palatable replacement for those nasty, little grocery-store bags that are so flimsy they cannot hold a dozen eggs, a small box of laundry detergent and a bottle of cranberry juice without splitting up the side, creating an embarrassing, jagged mess either on the sidewalk outside the grocery store, in its parking lot, in my driveway or on my kitchen floor. I bought four reBags, used a permanent, black marker to print my last name legibly across their tops above the dark outline of a tree, and tied an appropriate green raffia bow around one of the bag handles for easy identification. By using these at the grocery store checkout, I am not only saving myself the trouble of having to deal with those nasty, little grocery-store bags, but I am saving the Planet Earth from having to deal with those nasty, little grocery-store bags. Therefore, my little green reBags are of cataclysmic importance in the grand scheme of things, so I have strategically placed them neatly across the passenger seat of my station wagon, where they are poised and ready to march inside the grocery store with me to valiantly deliver the earth from ruin. With all this careful effort, why is it that my reBags do not move from their perch, while I grab my purse, hobble out of the car (a back problem creates this hobble) go inside, claim my grocery cart, carefully choosing one that rolls in a straight line and doesn’t squeak, execute my grocery list with laser-like precision, go to the check-out line, and watch the check-out people load my groceries into those demonic, little, plastic bags. Only then do I realize that I left my reBags in the car. But it is too late. I am too embarrassed and too achy (from the same back problem that created the hobble earlier) to rush back to my car, grab my reBags and return in time to save Mother Earth, while the check out lady and everyone in line beam their hearty approval. Instead, I wait, humbled, and feel my cheeks warm and turn crimson, while I watch my groceries disappear, one by one, into those horrible, white bags. I imagine my reBags, sitting in the car, comfy and cozy and completely inactive, while I destroy the planet despite my good intentions. I will do better. I have to do better. I know I do. I just don’t know when it will become second nature to grab the reBags on the way out the door, or when I will be free of this awful hobble so I can sprint to and fro, and make up for my proclivity to destroy the earth. Hm. It would seem that the end to this story is up in the air and not in the bag. Not in the bag at all. Oh, well. While I may forget my reBags, at least I will remember to vote today. Of that much I am certain. And so will you. Get out and vote!
Comments