JTFMax (true story)

Bagging Rights: The Rise and Fall of the Supermarket Paper Bag

There was once a time when grocery shopping offered a moment of small triumph. You’d march proudly out of the store, one plastic bag hanging from a single heroic finger like a badge of honor. You were strong. You were efficient. You were a master of the one-hand carry. And then came…the new paper bag.

Oh, you know the one. The one that looks like it could carry a Thanksgiving turkey, but actually ruptures under the emotional weight of a tomato. These bags are the tofu of carrying devices—shaped like they have great strength, but absolutely none of it is real.

Every week, I find myself in the parking lot, desperately clutching these brown, eco-approved disasters with both hands like I’m trying to keep a wild animal from escaping. Lift one bag improperly and BOOM! Suddenly, your apples are rolling into traffic and your eggs are performing their final stunt. The handle tears like wet tissue paper. The bottom collapses with the confidence of a folding lawn chair under a bodybuilder. And if there’s a glass bottle involved? Well, say goodbye. The bag has already accepted its fate.

Now imagine doing this with my adorable VW Käfer convertible. Cute heart-shaped access to the trunk, small opening, everything requires precision. I’m loading bags like a bomb technician—one in each hand, elbows tucked, praying that gravity and physics show mercy. And still, one rogue avocado can torpedo the entire mission.

Don’t get me wrong—I get it. Plastic bags have been exiled to the Island of Things That Will Definitely Outlive Us All. Microplastics are practically a food group now. We love Mother Earth, we want her to keep spinning, and sea turtles deserve better. But can we all admit that the new paper bag situation has room for improvement? Like, a lot of room. A warehouse full of room.

Meanwhile, supermarkets have turned this eco-mandate into a thriving revenue stream. We’re paying 10 cents a bag for the privilege of participating in our own humiliation. In California alone, that’s millions—millions!—of dimes raining into corporate pockets while shoppers chase runaway oranges across parking lots. Where does that money go? Is it funding environmental restoration? Recycling infrastructure? A presidential library dedicated to the memory of Plastic Bags Past? Or just a fancy “Bag Profits” swimming pool behind store headquarters?

If we humans can make space-age materials, edible coffee cups, and robots that do backflips, surely we can invent a grocery bag that doesn’t explode under the gravitational load of grapes. Something soft, durable, and biodegradable that returns to the earth without dragging our groceries with it.

That’s all I’m asking for. A bag that doesn’t quit on me. A bag that supports my produce and my dreams. A bag worthy of the VW Käfer trunk and my fragile dignity.

Until then…double-bag and pray.