My personal war on packaging
Packaging, sticky bloody labels in the wrong place and on everything slowly driving me crazy...
For the tenth time today, I've downed tools and run to the front door to receive yet another package, one of many that arrive daily.
Primarily for him indoors, who has most of his work deliveries delivered to our home address.
Since COVID, we cancelled the lease on our offices, electing to work from home.
I have to admit it hasn't been without its trials.
As I get older, I've noticed how the little things bother me and the big stuff I shrug off.
You know what you like and are less stressed about what you don't.
But one thing that's doing my head in is trying to open packages and boxes, which has become an all-time stressful event, bordering on insanity.
Whoever designed modern packaging, if ever I meet him, it has to be a man because anything ever designed or created by a man usually causes chaos and confusion - think washing machines and dishwashers.
They can only have been designed by a man.
No woman in her right mind would add all the additions packed into a dishwasher, like a separate drawer for cutlery when a removable container with a handle suffices.
All I want to do is load the bloody dishwasher.
Back to packaging...
Half the time, breaking into a bank vault is easier than opening a packet of paracetamol.
Cardboard boxes are sealed, so you can't get into them without losing two fingernails and using scissors.
Then there are the jiffy bags that, once sealed, require plutonium to get the contents out of the bag.
The "easy-tear" perforations on the Amazon cardboard envelopes, yep, guaranteed to give you paper cuts.
Worse still, as you pull the tab, it goes in the wrong direction, so you end up with two halves of an envelope.
I hold my breath every time there is a delivery.
What now, and how long will this one take to open?
Online ads and pop-ups lure you with must-have items, and the excitement mounts as you wait in anticipation.
Then disillusionment.
You are apoplectic as you try to rip the packaging; fifteen minutes later, you are still removing the packaging, desperate to access the item you ordered.
More time is needed to remove the bubble wrap and those twisty spongey things designed to protect the very thing you brought that if dropped from a great height, guarantee your precious item's survival.
It's exhausting - all of it.
Then I read that Amazon is cutting back on packaging, so I receive items that should be protected and packaged carefully.
But no, they arrive in an envelope; take vitamins wrapped in a box with about three layers of spongy, twisty, foamy things.
A box of light bulbs wrapped in one of the infamous brown envelopes was thrown over our house gate and smashed into pieces.
Try sending a photo to Amazon when your order is in a zillion pieces.
Those of us north of 60 are grappling with arthritis, bifocals, and the slow betrayal of our motor skills; we need simple packaging.
If you saw our skip-yes, we have a skip-you'd understand what I am talking about: there is so much packaging on everything from carrots to pants.
Delivered items are now a major operation:
The first stage - receive goods, confidence is high
Second stage - um, I'm confused. Where's the opening, and how do I get into this f**cking packaging
Third-stage patience has left the room, and I am now a raging lunatic. How the f**k do you open this damn box
Finally, when all has been tried and applied, I admit defeat and ask him indoors to remove the packaging because he has the patience of an angel.
Then there's packaging that fights back, the cut-resistant, puncture-proof, escape-proof — great for theft prevention, bad for actual customers.
Now might be a good time for companies to consider their customers and anticipate how they are expected to open packages.
Offering a "grown-up" version that is senior-friendly with no bubble wrap, spongy twisty foamy things, no shrink wrap, no pull on this tab here and no triple-layered deathtraps.
I dream of a simple box delivered to me in one piece that I can open without breaking a nail and without the need for a power tool.
That's my rant for the week, and it's a good day from me.
