Eco-ish...

I really hate plastic bags. I've been know to surprise people with the effusive and emotional level that I express this intense dislike. Yuck.

I'll admit that not only is my motivation environmental, but also because I find the sound of crinkly plastic akin to fingernails on a chalkboard: it may seem like a quiet and unobtrusive sound but I can hear it across a room: it can wake me out of a dead sleep, and it's a sound that can make me irritable and mad quicker than anything. I'd rather hear a billion cell phones ringing in a theatre than one guy with a plastic bag in the back row.

So it's pretty lucky for me that reusable canvas bags are becoming trendy. Holt Renfrew recently sold out of some particularly hot designer ones emblazoned with the words "I am not a plastic bag"quicker than you can say "recycle."

But let me tell you, saying no to a plastic bag can be a tricky business.

First, let us take the example of the small corner store. I'll pop in to buy, say, a toothbrush and a can of tuna, and while I'm busy digging around for another loonie I can see the salesperson reaching under the counter. "Oh," I'll quickly say, "I don't need a bag," and at that moment he'll stop dead with his hand still on the plastic bag saying, "are you sure?" yes. "really sure?" yes. And he'll hand me the naked items looking like he's violating a federal law. And I'll stick the tuna and toothbrush in my pocket with the feeling I said something really inappropriate.

A similar version of this happened last week at Dairy Queen. My sister-in-law Marg and her family just arrived into town and a compulsive desire for late-night ice cream took over. On the way from the airport we stopped in for a box of Dilly Bars, and before I even noticed the salesgirl had whipped out a plastic bag. "Oh, we don't need a bag," I said and the salesgirl stopped dead. "Are you sure?" she said. Yes, I said, yes I'm sure. It's already packaged in a box, for crying out loud. So she put the bag away, but kept a close eye on me, as if I was going to jump behind the counter and steal all her plastic bags.

Bringing your own bags to the grocery store is also bit of a game of roulette. You've got to say it quickly, before they ring in the first item. I missed the cue the other day, for example, when picking up some sushi for lunch: I bent my head to look for the right change and by the time I looked up, the already hefty styrofoam package was bagged in another layer of plastic.

So quick reflexes are imperative. "I'vegotmyownbag," you say, before the previous person in the line has even turned towards the door, and then you quickly set up your bag as proof on the counter.

Now, because the canvas bag you've brought is beside you and not the checkout girl, you're on your own to pack your own groceries, which means fumbling for bills and coins somewhere between packing the green beans and the cereal once the total is rung through. It's at that point that the line behind you has grown to somewhere past aisle 3, and you can feel the eyes of everyone waiting burrowing into you as you struggle to get receipts and change and eggs organized.

But me go back to plastic bags? Never. Not as long as they make that horrible crinkly sound, anyway.