David Elliott: We’re only human

Recently, while buying lunch in a west London branch of a well-known supermarket chain, I was asked by the checkout operator if I would like a bag. Not such a strange enquiry, you may think; but, in an age where it’s becoming commonly accepted that if you do want one of the damned things you should jolly well bring one in from home, I was a little taken aback.

In fact, because I was only buying a couple of things, the question came as even more of a shock. In truth, I probably should have been able to cope without one and juggle my purchases back to the office in my hands, and, for this reason, I honestly believed that the checkout operator felt obliged to ask while certain that I would decline the offer.

I didn’t. I’m human, a factor that can sometimes unexpectedly complicate even the most simple-seeming operation, and as such I try to manage the risk of somehow messing up an ostensibly straightforward task like transferring a chicken wrap from the shop to my desk by doing things like accepting plastic bags if I’m asked if I want one.

Double trouble
So I sheepishly accepted. And that is where this – admittedly up to this point not entirely riveting – story should have concluded. But then something a bit strange happened. The checkout operator packed a neatly folded Bag For Life into the bag I’d already been given with the rest of my shopping. I shot her a confused glance.

“Oh,” she said, clearly noting my nonplussed gawp. “There’s a free one of these for every customer.” I resisted the urge to point out the obvious problem here. After all, she’s not a checkout operator, she’s a human, and humans make mistakes.

So I left the store with one plastic bag containing two little pieces of lunch and one bigger bag bearing a large picture of a squirrel. An industrious squirrel, foraging for food and storing it for the harsh winter ahead. He’s important in this scenario.

To a supermarket, I’m just a consumer. I’m £2.69 spent on a chicken wrap and a packet of cheese-and-onions, and I’ll surely do as I’m told and embrace anything that’s deemed to be the better way. But as soon as I pass out of those sliding doors, back into my life, I’m a human, and a near-30-year-old male human at that.

So for that reason, whether or not I want to help the planet or even believe that plastic bags are the problem, and as much as I secretly quite liked that charming depiction of life in the forest, there is no way, ever in this world, that I could bring myself to walk around clutching a bag adorned with a massive picture of a cartoon squirrel nibbling on a pile of nuts. 

Broken ideology?
There are plenty more examples of things that have been created to be better in one area that you could argue fail in other respects. Cherry tomatoes from Sainsbury’s, for example, now come in a bag. 77% less packaging, they say; less tomatoes, I say, as at least five were split or squashed by the time I got them home. Cadbury’s Mini Eggs Treasure Eggs – no box, less waste, cries the RRP. But what is the broken one left on the shelf if not waste?

Perhaps incidents like this are considered collateral damage, and that most of the time shoppers will be careful or lucky enough not to have too many accidents. This may be true, and, of course, we all need to work to cut our impact on the environment, but that doesn’t change the fact that, because we’re human, accidents will happen, and it’s hugely annoying when they do.

Image courtesy of Origin68.

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