You rip a plastic produce bag off the roll, and darn thing refuses to let you open it. Sliding it between fingers. Even in a corner. Blowing on it. Rubbing it between my hands, or on my shirt, looking like a total idiot. Eventually it works, creating a tiny gap that takes even more time to pry apart. Only frustratingly infrequently does it open quickly and easily, no matter what I try.
But the other day this woman sees me struggling, and holds her fingers to her lips and stick out her tongue and flicks it. Huh? Finally, some woman is sending lewd thoughts my way?! She repeats the pantomime. Oh, I get it, lick your damn fingers to create surface tension. Boing! Bag sticks to fingers, twist ’em, and voila, the plastic panels part. Easily and completely. Dang! Thanks! (You knew this, yes?)
Not that I’m sure I want to lick my fingers after touching cart handles and produce touched by untold others. But, hey, as George Carlin says, swimming in the East River as a kid probably boosted his lifelong immunity, so maybe the germs will do me good.
Not exactly steal my ideas, more like hers, but she seemed glad to share.