Revenge of the bags

‘Boom-Boom-Boom-Boom’ – collective blood pressure in the darkened auditorium is steadily rising, but the symphony continues, relentless, right up to that last emphatic ‘Ta – Daaah’….

And you shrink in sympathy for that hapless soul a few rows behind you. You know what she’s going through – the embarrassment, the desperate scramble through her bag, the “But-it-was-on-­silent” mutter.

“You should get yourself either a smaller handbag or a larger mobile phone!”

(Of course, why she’d choose ‘Also Sprach Zarathustra’ as a ring-tone, given its ‘Drama Queen making an Entrance’ touch is beyond you. But you spare her even the token glare of civic-conscious pacifists.)

The Bags have struck again.

Where do cell phones actually go inside a bag?

Nobody knows.

Bags, as a species – big, small, daytime, evening, frivolous, practical, designer, rip offs – have this urge to put cell phones in their place… usually where even the most organised can never find them.

Some friends, fed up, have exchanged appearance and trendiness for the combat look. “Sure, all that’s missing is a canteen, gas mask and a T-handle shovel,” they say defiantly, and point to pouches outside their bags, “That’s right – outside. No chance of funny business once bags are shut.”

Bags need to be reassured that they haven’t been replaced by cell phones as ‘must- haves’.

Maybe, then, they’ll be willing to co-exist.