Argh. The most annoying question I have to ask, ever. I work in a shop that sells things (go figure) and to that end, there is a constant demand for bags.
Once upon a time bags were free, now they cost a pretty penny. One penny to be exact.
Let me make it clear, I work in an airport so in theory they should have their own “bags” to put their stuff in, but whatever. Needs must and all that.
This simple question, “Would you like a bag?” is quite honestly the most mind boggling thing to answer since, “What is the meaning of life?” At least it is for my customers. They look back at me with a face of such utter incomprehension, I wonder if I’m saying it wrong, or at all.
“A-bag,” I say more slowly. “A b-a-g.”
“Um,” is their response.
My God, I think to myself. Not another one.
I proceed to do a little role playing and reach under the counter for the holy grail of shopping, the coveted plastic bag. I shake it out, making a show of opening it and gesturing with it, towards them. I feel a bit of an idiot at this stage if I’m honest. And if they don’t get what I’m trying to convey at this point, I’ll suffocate myself with the bag instead.
Thankfully from some force unbeknownst to me (I think they may have just discovered the art of free thinking, but I can’t be sure) they finally understand what I’ve been trying to ask them for the past few minutes and they reply with a “Yes.” Well, if I’m lucky they do. Mostly I just get a grunt.
About time I think. Easy part’s over, now for the hard part.
“The bag is a penny, is that ok?” I ask.
I wait a while for this sentence to process in their registry. Fortunately they are consumers and understand the concept of money a lot quicker than anything else.
“A penny?” they say.
“Yes a penny.”
“Mmmhmmgrumble.”
“Sorry, what was that?” I ask. “Do you still want the bag?”
“Yes,” they spit out between gritted teeth.
Thank fuck for that, I think. For a minute there I thought you were having a stroke.
That is one such scenario that plays out between me and the always-right customer several times a day. They vary with obvious degrees of severity.
Sometimes the customer will complain to the person they are with. As if grumbling about the cost of a bag to someone else justifies the expense or softens the blow.
“The bag costs a penny,” they say to their friend.
“A penny?” the friend replies, “Good gracious, what is the world coming to?”
“A penny?” the customer behind them says who overheard their little exchange.
And so it goes down the line of the queue, “A penny? A penny? A penny?” Repeated over and over like an echo of some distasteful Chinese whisper.
Yet still, by the time the new customer reaches my till and I proceed to ask them, “The bag is a penny, is that ok?” They still act surprised, they still act conned, still the victim.
“Money grabbing lot, aren’t you?” One customer spits back at me.
I mentally roll my eyes. As if it’s actually me who’s taking their money. Do they think I go around collecting the pennies from the cost of the bags and lug them home night after night? Rolling around in my oh-so-money-grabbing delight?
“Actually,” I say, “The money goes to charity. The Woodland Trust.” Ha. Take that you smug bastard. Feel the guilt build up upon your shameful shoulders and beat you down.
“If I wanted to donate to charity, I would do so. It shouldn’t be forced on me.”
My will at this point is low. Yes I really am standing here arguing about the cost of a penny bag.
One customer told me once that since he “saved” the planet by not buying a bag, (and thus saved his precious penny) when he gets home, he’s going to sit in his parked car that’s in his garage and leave the engine running just to “even things out.”
I don’t mention at this point I couldn’t care less, or that I hope he gasses himself from the exhaust fumes.
I smile at them, my fakest smile, the one I reserve for morons and I say, “Enjoy your flight.”
The flight which will ultimately dump untold nasties into the air, so quite how they are “saving” the environment I don’t know.
“Next customer please.”
And so it continues.