It’s a long time ago now but I’m in the back of Hannah’s car and we’re parked up. Hannah, Jenny and I are talking, revelling in a brief friendship, at an impasse between college and the next stage of our lives. “H, I wanna know - what’s in that bag of yours?” she asked, leaning backwards over the front seat to see me.
“The usual stuff you know, essentials,” I told her. “You wanna know exactly?”
“Yes please,” she replied, easily over-eager.
I took out the contents one by one and listed them off. “Right, first, here’s my notebook and pen, a spare pen too. Then a jumper cuz it’s gonna get cold later.” She nodded. “A few zines of mine, my bike pump, last year’s diary, my tobacco tin and rolling gear, my wallet...” I placed it down on the seat with the other things. She snatched it up and flicked through my cards. “Also, two train timetables, three bus timetables, a broken compass, two loose scratched CD’s, half a ruler and a small mound of sweet wrappers and bottles.” I held open the bag and let her look at the junk piled at the bottom. She threw the wallet in.
“I’ve always wondered,” she confessed, settling back into the front seat, “because it seems that only the girls carry around half their lives at college. Right, Jen?”
Jenny nodded, pursing her lips, picking her nail and looking out far beyond the window screen, enjoying a pensive moment. I slowly put everything back in the bag, from where and which divided section they’d come. A distant whirl of music spilt from the radio. “I better not ask what’s in your bag,” I decided aloud, smiling forward at Hannah, at the back of her voluminous blonde hair.
“No, better not,” she confirmed, leaning back again briefly. I could guess some of the things she’d be carrying; her cigarettes, car keys, her favourite pen, a psychology textbook and mascara, obviously. The rest of the stuff I couldn’t place. It was lost on me. The distance between our lives was considerable – how was I to know what she needed on a daily basis? By comparison I was a tramp, living gig to gig. She took much more care in her appearance.
I could show the things I carried but she couldn’t, and it would be rude to ask. Like asking a woman her age, it was unsaid and off-bounds. I thought it strange she asked though I didn’t find it at all rude or intrusive. That small and pointless question reared its head occasionally in my mind and always set off a certain spark; the opposite sex could be interested in me, and my backpack, however broken and covered in grime.
So, with that thought in mind, this one is for all the women.
A backpack is the most essential item. On a day to day basis I believe backpacks are one of mans greatest inventions. You’ve got everything you need right there on your back, or can put it there for safekeeping. Like lunch. All you need to do is chuck in some stuff before you leave the house. An apple, a bottle of water, and the cheese and pickle sandwich you’d made last night, stashing it in the fridge for the next day. It’s forward planning – my speciality.
Forward planning gives you some indication as to how my brain works. When I see people going around totally empty-handed I wonder where their spare jumper is, where their packed lunch is, where their belongings are. I just can’t understand having nothing, having no stuff. Call me a materialist if you want, but at least I’m on the move.
A day trip. A long weekend. A walk to the shop. A bike or bus ride. The only reason not to take your bag is when you go to the pub. You better be ready for the weirdest looks if you do. Why so? I’m not sure. Maybe I’m paranoid? Maybe it’s a constant cause for suspicion, and for good reason. “What’s in the bag?” I’ve heard that phrase a hundred times, usually dished out by big burly bouncers. I’d say I’m asked weekly now.
Backpacks are plagued by suspicion...just what is in there? But people don’t often ask, like Hannah did. Except for the bouncers, of course. I’ve got a spiel ready for them: “a notebook, a jumper, half a kit kat and a gun.” A couple of times they haven’t even batted an eyelid at the odd word out. Strange. People, mostly, want to tell. And I’m no exception. Walk into a busy pub with a bag stuffed full of junk and watch the suspicious glares you get in return. At least that’s how I always feel. Whether or not it is the backpack is another question altogether, but I can presume.
I will always run my bags them into the ground; I use them until they wear through massive holes, and past the broken zip, until it’s covered in a layer of grime – of life, man – an inch thick all over. The other day a cyclist passed me wearing the first backpack I remember owning. The exact same design. The second thought that came to mind was how on earth had the bag made it this long? Had someone kept it in the attic for twenty years? I was still at first school when I owned the same bag, and even high school seems a lifetime ago now.
It was essential to use a bag at school. Funny that at University no-one carried a bag, it was the ultimate faux pas to turn up to class and fish out all your textbooks from a bag. Everyone carried them under their arms, except me. Last thing every night I’d pack up my bag for the next day it a ritualistic way, ticking off the gubbins I needed as I went. And I’d walk proudly through the library, double-strapping.
I recall at school how, for a while anyway, we had the single-strap versus double-strap argument going on. I’m not sure which was worse but didn’t want to wear your bag in that way for fear of verbal attack. It really put the worry into some of the kids. It wasn’t one against the other – it was one or the other, and the other you didn’t want to be. Stupid shit really, but we were all young once and terrified of the things that would come out of people’s mouths at school.
A certain Dutch punk band wrote a scathing attack on backpacks on their second LP. It was a brutal song which pointed the finger straight at a large percentage of late 90’s and early 00’s punks who took their bag with them to every gig. “Too many backpacks at the show / I’m telling you they gotta go”. I didn’t feel like they were attacking me personally, even though I took my bag to every show. I had zines to carry, among other things. It showed scenarios which would make past rockers upset, but that didn’t put us off because we kept our bags safely on our back even when then played the song in town.
It was only later, when I considered writing an ode to backpacks that I realised just how important an everyday item they have become for me. I wouldn’t go anywhere without it now. The temptation to buy new bags is incredible. They catch my eye, and catch my imagination too. Just like some women go mad for the handbags, I go crazy for the backpacks. It’s a nightmare – but a nice one.
