Sometimes I wonder how many minutes of my life have been spent trying to separate the opening of a plastic bag- specifically those flimsy, clear bags in the grocery store you are supposed to put your produce or rolls and pastries in, and sometimes also garbage bags. It feels like I stand there for hours, using my thumb and forefinger in a rapid back-and-forth motion, like trying to unsuccessfully start a fire with two sticks. Please bag, I say to myself, please open. People are staring. That woman came here after me and she is already 4 apples and 3 green peppers ahead of me. This is ridiculous. Why won’t you open? What space-age technology is responsible for the fact that you come off the production line in a very firmly closed position? And then ten minutes into my ongoing failure, during which time my increased hand sweat has no doubt further thwarted my futile efforts, I realize I am trying to open the sealed bottom portion of the bag. So sometimes I forgo the bags, and I just avoid eye contact with the checkout cashier when all my loose limes and potatoes and garlic bulbs are rolling down the conveyor belt willy nilly.