Get Out The Blow Torch

Opening items encased in hard plastic is a task worthy of Hercules. Everything from household batteries to toy Ninja warriors is tightly bound in packaging that requires the patience of Job and the strength of Ferdinand. The revenge of Chinese factory workers is apparent in each product we struggle to open. We cut, rip, cuss, and threaten to get out the blow torch as we try to release our purchases from their plastic prison.

We consider ourselves lucky if the sharp edges don’t slice through our fingers and the kids don’t lose interest in their presents long before they’re opened. We rejoice when AAA batteries roll to the floor. We cheer when screwdrivers can be used instead of merely admired. 

I don’t remember how items used to be packaged, but I’m fairly certain it didn’t take 20 minutes to wrestle them open. Every child’s toy not arriving in a box is firmly sealed in plastic so strong it could float across the ocean without showing any sign of wear when it washed ashore. And the challenge doesn’t stop once we’ve sawed through the clam packs.

Those little plastic ties that further secure our purchases have to be dealt with. We get out the scissors, but they’re rarely strong enough for the job. We reach for a sharp paring knife with marginal success. In desperation, we search the garage for tin snips. When all our efforts fail, we hunt for the receipt and return the Chinese junk to Walmart.

There is one redeeming aspect to the little plastic price tags attached to clothing. They’re easy to snip off. They also make it harder for shoppers to wear something and return it to the store. I recall an aunt who was an authority on buying, wearing, and returning shirts, slacks, or fancy dresses. In the old days, stores ran a straight pin through a little piece of paper that was attached to clothing, making returns easy. It wasn’t from lack of money auntie bought, wore, and returned things, it was from common sense.

If junior needed a white shirt for his first communion, there was no point in spending hard earned money on something he would never wear again. Ditto for a mother-of-the-groom dress worn only once. If uncle needed a suit for a relative’s funeral, the suit was bought one day and returned the next. It wasn’t like the garment was worn for a month. It was merely borrowed for a day or two.

Looking back, there might be a good reason why things are cemented into plastic now-a-days, but I doubt it. I think it’s done to test our skill with a blow torch.