Standing up for roller backpack rights

Photo by Victoria Hu

It is scientifically shown that the Roller Revolution was the driving force behind human evolution.

If I were to keep track of the insults I receive on a weekly basis, they’d be about my roller backpack, my (lack of) fashion, my roller backpack, my personality and my roller backpack — and did I mention my roller backpack? 

Of all these jabs, the ones directed at my beloved JanSport are the ones that hurt. And despite the controversy surrounding my trusty wheeled companion, I will stand by the fact that roller backpacks are superior to “normal” shoulder-strap backpacks.

The reason is simple: Do you want chronic back pain? If your answer is yes, then yippee — your future physical therapist will be able to get a nice Saratoga mansion off those medical bills! If not, then the logical solution is to invest in a roller backpack. You’ll appreciate your own wisdom when you’re 80.

Here’s a simple experiment: Put a 6 pound math textbook on your back. Then take it off. Would you rather carry the textbook, or not carry the textbook? It’s enough for the homework to be weighing on your mind — you don’t need that kind of pressure on your shoulders too. 

I mean, as a whole, Saratoga kids are already pretty short. And our backpacks are stuffed from all the ill-advised AP courses we take. You don’t need to become a hunched little 4-foot homo Neanderthal by letting the 30 pounds of your backpack sit on you like a chubby toddler. By getting a roller backpack, you can elongate your spine to your fullest height and enjoy being a 4-foot-1 homo sapiens instead. 

Shoulder-strap backpacks are pushing humanity backwards in evolution, but roller backpacks? They’re the face of the future.

In fact, the recent surge in COVID-19 cases has only made the roller backpack far more essential than before. I’m sure anyone would prefer to keep their distance from the unmasked buffoons running around the hallways and jostling people’s shoulders.

The solution? Get a roller backpack — it comes with natural social distancing technology. After all, the long handle and giant lump of space that it takes up effectively deters people from standing too close. I like to think of it as having stage presence and the ability to part crowds. 

Imagine a school of fish being scattered by a shark. Imagine Moses parting the Red Sea. 

What can I say? Roller backpacks just have that kind of power and influence.

For those who complain about tripping: if you do manage to stomp on my poor, verbally abused backpack and encroach on my personal bubble of space, then please stay farther away. I don’t want your crusty COVID germs or your anti-roller-backpack propaganda getting within 6 feet of me, thank you very much. That way, you don’t trip and neither of us get infected. Win-win.

Critics also say that roller backpacks are annoying to listen to, but music is a matter of taste. Between listening to students moan about tests and groan about grades, why not add a little spice to the campus ambience with that lovely, rhythmic sound of wheels over pavement? At the airport, you can hear the hums of vacation luggage everywhere and I’ve never heard the TSA guy complain. 

Roller backpacks do not deserve slander and hate when their beloved cousin, the roller luggage, is acknowledged by all. Nobody carries their entire luggage on two straps.

As a happy little bonus, the sound of a roller backpack conveniently announces your presence to your teacher without you even needing to alert them. If I roll down the science building hallway at 8:30 and end up in the classroom at 8:31 – that’s ok, I’m not late. My teacher probably already marked me present hearing the rumbling of me crossing the quad at 8:29.

Honestly, we all went through a Zuca phase in 3rd grade for a reason: roller backpacks reign supreme. 

It’s time to choose logic and no medical bills. It’s time to embrace the innocence and unstrained spines of our childhoods. It’s time to choose roller backpacks.