A Shrink Wrapped Mutiny

When I was a child, we used to shop for groceries daily. Bradshaw’s grocery was just up on George Street, the old village market street, perhaps five minutes from the house. In bombed out Britain, many people were living crammed into rooms and fridges were a luxury. We’d buy two ounces of butter (a treat), a quarter of tea, and a couple of eggs (always fun to see them candled) that Mum would put on the window sill overnight. My favorite peppermint humbugs were sold in two ounce bags and nothing was prepackaged. All would be deposited into a wicker basket. Wrapping was reserved for soft goods and was generally brown paper wrap and string, except for fish and chips which came in waxed paper wrapped in newsprint.

Nothing was wasted because there was so little. My mother had a rather large ball of string and the brown paper was regularly reused for posting things. Anything larger was collected by a man with a cart who came through the street yelling, “Any old rags, any old bones.”

Today I can hardly come home from the market without a garbage can full of discarded wrapping materials. It is so overdone that I have conceived an absolute hatred of opening packages.

My animus toward packing materials begins with milk cartons. Supposedly easy to open and “hygienic” because fingers wouldn’t touch the spout, these cartons are the Edsels of the milk world. You have to push open the top, which never goes back far enough to clear the adhesive, then pull it forward to form the spout, except that it invariably tears, leaving a jagged edge through which the milk escapes on the sides when you try to pour it out.

My ire continues with anything pressure sealed. Potato chips (never mind that I shouldn’t be eating them), small ketchup packages, “freshness” pouches inside cereal boxes—anything that says “tear here.” Invariably it doesn’t and when I resort to my teeth the package disgorges its contents all at once and usually on me.

My particular fury, however, is saved for shrink wrap and for the thick plastic fortresses that electronics—even the cheapest stuff—come encased in. I bought a headset for my cell phone the other day. I brought it home and began the assault. I tried my kitchen shears which can cut through chicken bones. Didn’t make a dent. Then I tried to pry the edges apart with a kitchen knife. No way. I took a screwdriver and tried to punch a hole. The screwdriver glanced off the package and sent the headset onto the floor where it nearly hit the cat. I finally decided the only way to get into it was to put it in a vise and use an electric drill to start and then enlarge a hole. Even then it pulled apart reluctantly and left jagged and very sharp edges.

Opening this headset has confirmed my mutiny. I have resolved that if I buy any further things encased in this type of package that I am not going to leave the store before they open it. If they don’t want to open it, they can do without the sale. I haven’t yet put my policy into place, but I am now looking forward to the opportunity. Best Buy, watch out.

As another part of my mutiny, I’ve also resolved to do without as much wrapping as I can, not for the sake of the environment (although I feel virtuous) but for the sake of sending a very strong message to manufacturers that if they want sales from us older folks—or anyone else for that matter—that their convenience does not trump ours. I had a vise and I know how to use an electric drill. Others don’t. Manufacturers can choose to package that way and I can choose not to buy. I now take my own bags to the grocery store. I’ve found that I can reuse even the clear bags that vegetables and fruit come in. I’ve cut my plastic trash to an absolute minimum. My green reusable grocery bags are the modern equivalent of Mum’s wicker basket. They may not be as quaint but they work just as well.

I feel good about my mutiny. Perhaps if others take a similar stand we can make some sort of difference. Now if only I could do something about the masses of foam peanuts used to fill the standard boxes that the post office has begun forcing us to use.