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Rock the Tote

I used to think that it was being able to stay up late, or drive, or dress in the latest fashions with aplomb, but recently I have determined that the ultimate symbol of adulthood is the free tote bag. Lately, I can't turn sideways without someone offering me a canvas confection adorned with someone's corporate logo.

It all started a few years ago, with a bag I got by cadging film festival passes from work and pretending to be a movie scout, but that was just a charade, and besides, I was way more interested in the light-up pen for writing notes in a dark theater. I couldn't have known that my fun game of pretend would snowball like it has, cotton duck spilling out of every closet. A tote bag for my five-year college reunion; a tote bag for my company's 25th anniversary. In response to some well-meant donation: a tote bag. To solicit the printing business of my "small crafts company," hah hah: a tote bag. I get carded, not to determine whether I'm old enough to drink, but to confirm that I've reached the Age of the Tote Bag, the better to pepper me with totes for ever more far-fetched reasons. This morning on my way to work, I turned down a free tote bag from the Not Quite 29 and Able to Walk Upright Club, sidestepped the offer of a Blizzard Special Snow-Schlep Tote for the woman about town, and fled from a gang of roving P.R. representatives, piled high with assorted bags, who threatened to lasso me with their nylon canvas strapping.

And the sad thing is, they have my number. Lately I need to do a lot of toting: Dad homework. Craft projects. Book, pen, paper, cell phone, portable music device. Gum, concealer, lip balm, keys. Hairbrush. Wallet. Lunch. Hostess gifts. Shoes that aren't for walking. I am in so deep I actually bought a damn tote bag (it's a really nice one, though). I get spam offering personalized tote bags. I suppose it's just as well that I'm allowing myself to sink gently into physical disrepair, because think of the gym and all the toting that it implies. I fear a future where I need to carry one, two, three, four, ever more tote bags everywhere I go, where I give them special duties and keep them lined up by the door, filled with their respective junk, waiting to leap into duty and degrade my posture. Remember when you used to associate getting older with being free? Now, instead of being encumbered by rules and restrictions, we all march on, totes slung this way and that with all our very important things in them, the better to be grown up.

Oh well. I may list to the side but I truck onwards anyway, promoting my alma mater or my philanthropic prowess or some screen printer in Iowa. Perhaps I could interest you in a tote bag? They come in very handy, you know. I think I have one or two extra to get you started.