I believe there is a conspiracy afoot in a few of the wood-paneled boardrooms of corporate America. I am not speaking here about raiding pension funds or price-gouging. It is not the energy crisis and speculation about the complicity of the oil industry; nor is it the affordability of drugs and antitrust issues regarding pharmaceutical giants. Instead it is a much more insidious problem that forces me to take on these megalithic manufacturing conglomerates. I speak today of the state of packaging in America. I cannot open anything anymore without it turning into a test of wills between myself and General Foods or Nabisco.
When was the last time you were able to open up a simple box of cereal without mauling the glued cardboard top, shredding the enclosed bag, and causing the flakes, bran or chex to spill onto the kitchen floor? I can’t remember the last time my cereal poured out of the box smoothly and evenly without having to navigate the jagged edges of the wax bag that I have left in tatters inside. And then there’s the near-impossible task of reclosing the box — getting that flimsy little cardboard tongue to stay put in a top slot that has been rent beyond recognition.
I sometimes drink green tea. My doctor has told me that it is supposed to have a soothing and tranquil effect on one’s nature, and that this state of being can be beneficial toward a healthy heart. Well, by the time I can get into the plastic, individually wrapped and vacuum-sealed packets containing the tea bags, I’m ready to have a stroke. I don’t believe that red-faced and spewing obscenities is how the makers of this product envision their clientele. Modern packaging has developed beyond my feeble capabilities to penetrate it and, although I am forced to continue buying the products, I sp/files/storyimages/too much of my time trying to retrieve the consumer goods secured inviolably inside as compared to the time I actually sp/files/storyimages/consuming and enjoying them. I /files/storyimages/up frustrated and apoplectic whilst using knives, scissors and sometimes screwdrivers and the occasional skewer to try to force my way into the package.
I’m not even talking here about the tools, batteries, kitchen gadgets and small electronics that have been inexplicably (and in the case of scissors, ironically) plastic-molded or shrink-wrapped beyond the abilities of an entire household of safecrackers to penetrate them. No, I am talking exclusively about those edibles that I believe the packagers want you to no longer be able to "ed" and perishables that I believe, if they were to be left inside their impregnable packages forever, would fail to perish.
All I really want sometimes is that bowl of cereal, or a cookie, or a cupcake, but no — they are wrapped so precisely with such inaccessibility that it taxes my patience and my talents to the point that even when I have succeeded in obtaining that first bite, it leaves a bitter and acrid taste in my mouth. It is merely a Pyrrhic victory over plastic packaging, if you will, and the effects of the struggle usually lessen the gustatory enjoyment derived from whatever I have liberated.
Now, I am a realist, and I know that most of this excessive wrapping stems from fears about product tampering, that proliferated in the ’80s and ’90s. However, we should have some choice about the level of packaging with which we are willing to abide. If the elderly can choose to eschew childproof packaging so as to be able to access their medications with their arthritic, liver-spotted hands, then I would like to propose a similar choice for those of us willing to take our chances against extortionist threats to our freedom. Here is my proposal: Like the National Do-Not-Call list, we should be able to sign up on a government website, promising to refrain from suing manufacturers over any product tampering we fall victim to. Once on the list, you would be allowed to purchase user-friendly-packaged versions of the same products that have been overly secured for the faint-at-heart amongst us.
After all, the risk to our cardiovascular systems that we are willing to tolerate just by eating Twinkies and HoHos is formidable enough. I would be the first to sign up on the I Don’t Care About Anthrax website. I just want my Oreos. n
Illustration by Michael Dwayne
