The Produce Bag Has an Opening. Good Luck Finding It.

A produce bag looks like a bag right up until you need to put produce in it. Then it becomes two sheets of plastic pressed together so firmly you start to wonder whether an opening was included.

You pull one off the roll. Maybe you pull off two, because the perforation had other plans. Your hands are dry, the plastic is thin, and the top edge looks exactly like every other edge. Meanwhile, you’re standing beside a bin of apples, rubbing the bag between your fingers like you’re trying to start a very small fire.

The bag will happily cling to itself. It may also cling to your hand, the next bag, or the sleeve of your coat. What it won’t do is admit it has an inside.

There’s usually a moment when the two layers separate just enough to give you hope. You reach for the opening and it vanishes. I don’t know how something that barely weighs anything can put up this much resistance.

And this is all before the apple goes in. The bag’s one job is to hold produce, yet getting it ready for that job can take longer than choosing the produce. Nobody needs an engineering breakthrough here. I’d settle for a corner I could find without holding the thing up to the light.

Eventually the layers part, the apple goes in, and the whole struggle disappears into the cart. Until you need a bag for the onions.