Sacks and the City

By SAARA DUTTON

WHENEVER you tell people from outside New York that you live here, they inevitably say, "It must be great not to need a car."

The idea of being freed from insurance, car payments and the pressure of choosing suitably witty bumper stickers sounds appealing. And of course it is. But one thing they rarely consider is that without a car, you are forced to carry more personal items on your person. Items that would ordinarily be thrown into the back seat or glove compartment must now fit in the bag you carry.

Consequently, we are a city of schleppers. Gym clothes, art projects, books we're vaguely ashamed to be reading, ancient albums purchased on the street for two bucks - everything travels with us throughout the day.

And when your JanSport backpack, Puma gym bag or Coach carryall simply isn't big enough, the bag of choice for New Yorkers is increasingly the hard-working, large-size, red-white-and-blue Duane Reade shopping bag.

Duane Reade is, of course, a New York institution. But I wonder if the founders of the chain, which began in 1960 with a single outlet between Duane and Reade Streets in Lower Manhattan and now comprises an empire of more than 230 stores, knew what a favor they were doing the people of this city by providing us with these resilient, roomy bags. These bags are a New York original, like Katz's Deli or the Radio City Rockettes.

Some activists who were protesting what they described as Duane Reade's unfair labor practices created and distributed what were labeled "Dwayne Greed" bags, But they are small and not particularly sturdy, and they will never trump the original.

Unlike nightclubs or ZIP codes, this humble bag knows no social boundaries. With its clean, iconic design, even the snobbiest fashionista can strut freely while carrying one, feeling confident that it complements her outfit. It is the great unifier, infinitely useful in all walks of New York life.

In fact, it is so useful that I have witnessed customers demanding the big bag, which is roughly 42 inches by 40 inches, even when buying a lone tube of toothpaste. These customers are promptly and firmly told "No," making me wonder if the ability to deny customers such a coveted item is the first item in the Duane Reade Employee Training Handbook.

Actually, it is always interesting to see what type of purchase warrants this bag. I almost pumped my fist in the air and let out a "Woo!" when I managed to score one after buying only a couple of rolls of paper towels. Even the woman standing behind me in line was impressed. "Huh, you got lucky," she muttered. "You've usually got to buy detergent or something."

The bag's uses are amazing. I once used one to cart a novel-length manuscript and a collection of short stories to a literary agent in Chelsea. Although he did manage to lose both manuscripts three months later, he told me he would always remember my ingenious transportation device. I wonder if someone is getting use out of the bag, as no one has yet found use for the manuscripts.

I have seen a group that calls itself the Socialist Resistance selling T-shirts out of a Duane Reade bag in Union Square. (Apparently, socialists don't mind exploiting corporate handouts when it suits the cause.) I have encountered countless homeless people carrying their disparate goods in them, including one guy at Astor Place who had managed to procure a Suzanne Somers Thighmaster. (I suspect he has the best-toned thighs in the homeless community.)

When waiting for an instructor at a striptease class at the Penthouse Executive Club, I noticed a stripper who was carrying a beat-up Duane Reade bag. I envisioned lacy lingerie, red stilettos and sparkly body cream nestled in its plastic depths.

A friend of mine delivered his ex-girlfriend's clothes to the Hell's Kitchen Salvation Army in a Duane Reade bag after a particularly nasty breakup. "She asked for her stuff two weeks later," he said. "I told her Duane had it."

I have caught harried commuters shoving their sneakers in them at Grand Central Terminal. I spotted a Hasidic family pulling out sandwiches and drinks from one of them while picnicking in Central Park. I have spied these bags valiantly saving hairstyles from the rain.

My favorite Duane Reade bag sighting took place on the Caribbean island St. Thomas, which I visited for a wedding last summer. There I saw an island woman selling jewelry at an outdoor market who kept her supply of merchandise in one of them. I do not know how the Duane Reade bag could have traveled so far. But I do know that this woman knew a good thing when she saw it