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If I were asked to select only one occupation to represent all occupations that have outlived their intended purposes, it would be an easy decision. The hands-down winner of the coveted Brass Butt-Nugget Award would be the world’s packaging engineers. You may have your own personal favorites for this prestigious accolade, but in a side-by-side comparison, the absurd lengths to which the packaging profession has gone will win every time.
How far these savants will go seems to be the result of some sort of sadistic competition among engineering departments of various companies that manufacture and package products aimed at private retail distribution and sale.
For example, my nominated profession can make accessing an everyday item you purchased far more hazardous than using the item. A visit to the ER before you ever get to your new product is not out of the question, and, in some cases, is quite likely.
Does it take as long to get to the packaged object as it took for your last flight to Hong Kong? Do you have a stash of special tools to aid your entry into the inner reaches of a professionally sealed blister pack? These would include oversize full-tang screwdrivers, box cutters, wire cutters, sheet-metal snips, a clean pair of large Channellocks, tweezers, a framing hammer, a Bernzomatic torch, a 5-pound brass hammer, a hacksaw, and a well-stocked first-aid kit with a couple of military-grade tourniquets.
Lest you think I’m exaggerating, try this test: Get thee to a merchant who sells batteries and purchase a two- or four-pack of 2032 batteries. These are the ones found in everything that doesn’t use 9-volt, double-A or triple-A. They power your key fobs, digital watches, home medical equipment, computer equipment, cameras, drones, musical instrument tuners, instant-read temperature probes, and dozens more objects that require 3 volts on demand.
While opening most blister packs is a serious challenge, the 2032 retail pack consists of a double layer of kryptonite and a ballistic blend of Kevlar, titanium and high-speed tool steel that forms an impenetrable, yet transparent, vault-like cocoon. You can see the prize, but reaching it might require a blacksmith. A 4-year-old will probably work if you have one handy.
Pro tip: To increase your probability of success using the kid method, place the pack just slightly out of his reach and instruct the little tyrant to leave the battery pack alone. Then move to a hiding spot from which you can watch the dismantling progress and mark the time. Normally, this gets the batteries opened in less than five minutes. At the first sign of success, swoop in and confiscate the batteries and package pieces before they get swallowed or flushed.
In the same class of frustration is “clamshell” packaging. It is usually made of somewhat lighter-gauge plastic that can occasionally be cut with a simple home plasma cutter, similar to what you might use to cut up engine blocks for recycling.
In rare cases I have heard of supermarket sandwiches in sealed clamshell packaging being opened with an ordinary pocketknife and a sturdy overbite. Of course, that was on a busy dragger where there was no time to waste on eating, but without some fuel for the furnace in the belly, a workingman’s concentration can run off the rails, sputter and just quit. it was time for a quick mug-up and no artificial wrapper made from the refined biological remains of eons-long-dead giant lizards could keep a hungry workingman from taking down a ham and Swiss on rye, regardless of its armor.
Some of this evil technology evolved with the push for child-resistant containers for medicines and other potentially dangerous products commonly found in many homes. This began in the 1960s, but got kicked into high gear in the fall of ’82 when some lunatic poisoned bottles of extra-strength Tylenol on store shelves in Chicago. That crime remains unsolved.
Still, even though we are told that these medicine bottles are designed to thwart the curiosity of a child, they also can make a grown adult feel like a complete dunce. Having been married for 55 years, one would think I’d be used to that feeling. Truth is, my wife is more used to me being a dunce than I am, but that’s a whole ‘nuther essay.
The simple things, those that should be a breeze to open, are not. In the name of “freshness preservation,” it has been made impossible for these weak, old and nerve-damaged hands to open a jug of lemonade without hand tools. That little plastic flap on top of the seal will peel off uselessly, leaving the seal still tightly stuck to the bottle. Why have that dumb flap on there if it won’t stay stuck long enough to open the container? Just replace it with a drawing of a knife inserted through the seal to give us a head start.
Instead of fighting with that seal, just stab it with your trusty Case pocketknife and give it a twist, exactly as you might if you could, say, stab your ex’s lawyer. Withdraw the knife and wipe off the lemonade; jab a long, sturdy straw in the hole; and head for the deck with a nice, cold, relaxing drink.
That’s the calm, efficient way to enjoy a cool, refreshing beverage without any of the violent displays that occur when wrap rage takes over.
And trust me, it will.
