"Do you want a bag?" Shopping's new pitfall.

“Do you want a bag?” This question plagues me. In the past, bags were a non-issue. They were plentiful. With the increase in the environmental levy, bags have become the central and most agonising aspect of my shopping experience. Choosing what to buy is no longer the primary concern of the shopper. The problem has shifted to how we contain the items we have purchased. What is the solution?

Last week I carried a basket of groceries and a number of clothes items to the cashier in Dunnes Stores. “Do you want a bag?” she asks. “A paper bag,” I say (they’re usually free). “Paper bags are for drapery only. How many bags do you want?” she says. This is a difficult question to answer. It assumes that one has the ability to very quickly calculate the combined volume of one’s shopping items and cross-reference that figure with the estimated volume of the bag.

I quickly try to do the maths. But time is my enemy. I can feel the shoppers behind me in the queue. I presume they think I am a complete cretin. “I’ll have one please,” I proffer. Beads of sweat begin to gather on my brow as I see the bag filling up, with many items yet to be accounted for.

What are the potential solutions to the bag problem?

Firstly, one could invest in a “Bag for Life”. This is a bag that you will have a relationship with for the rest of your life. It is expensive and durable. It is a commitment that one should not enter into lightly. It is rendered useless if one doesn’t have it on their person at all times. Shopping trips are often off the cuff decisions. At 29 years of age, I am not sure that I am ready for this level of dedication to a bag. Just as puppies are not merely for Christmas, neither are Bags for Life.

Secondly, one can try to befriend the cashier. Achieving this can have long-term benefits, especially if you choose the same cashier every time you shop. If he or she likes you, they may waive the bag levy as a goodwill gesture. I began this process a few days ago with my Tesco cashier. On reaching the conveyor belt I clocked her name badge. “Good evening Sinead,” I say with a big smile. The danger in using the employee’s name is that most people don’t usually do it. The name badge is simply a redundant formality.  Therefore it can be construed as a little unsettling for the cashier. She looked uneasy but I think she warmed to me when I told her that the uniform enhanced her figure. I finished off with a flourish: “Thanks Sinead, you really are Tesco’s Finest”. She hasn’t given me a free bag yet but I am confident it will happen soon. Next week when she asks me if I have a clubcard, I will say “Oh yes, every little helps Sinead”.

There is one last option: forfeit the bag entirely. This removes any bag-related confusion. It can also help build an image of yourself as a green urbanite. In response to the perennial question “Do you want a bag?” one simply purrs, “Oh no, I don’t do bags”, as you gingerly scoop up your items and carry them off into the distance. Trepidation is required however. I was a little too ambitious when I tried it, Lloyd Grossman crashing to the floor, thus heralding the kind of attention which I had been trying to avoid. Not only was everyone staring at me but then it was broadcast over the tannoy. “Spillage at exit three. Schnell, schnell!”

Finally, after all my efforts, I found a solution. Online shopping. Done.