I’ve been having some anger issues lately and the object of my ire is an unusual one. Yes, I have gone to war with packaging, specifically over-familiar packaging. I realise that I might have just gone mad, in which case please DM a recommended therapist, but before you do that, please hear me out…
So, this has been going on for a couple of years but recently it’s got worse. On Monday I stepped into my favourite eaterie, JB’s Diner (as featured in my novel, Jessica Harper Is Not Woke, booom, sorry for the plug) and along with my sandwich I took a smoothie from the fridge. The label said: “RECYCLE! Don’t throw me away, I have feelings, too.”
I have feelings too?!?
I told myself not to get worked up. After all, there are some big problems in the world (eg Succession being canceled) so this is really nothing to get worked up about but as I say, this grievance has been building over time.
Chummy packaging.
I’ve had it with chummy packaging. Bottles, packets and jars talking to me, being all cutesy, trying to get a reaction out of me like we’re equals. We are not. I am buying you. I own you.
The next day I popped in to The Truvy Deli for some lunch and discovered they have changed the names of all their subs. Now instead of asking for egg mayo you have to ask for The Eggsellent One . Instead of asking for a chicken and bacon roll you have to humiliate yourself by requesting The Meaty One. This is like the old “McNuggets” nonsense where they force you to say some absurd brand name to show they own you. Kneel, serf, and speak my name. No, I am not a pawn in your sniggery joke.
Anyway, I DIDN’T buy the sub.
I was still hungry so I decided to just grab a hot wrap thing they had. Guess what: “Warning: contents may be delicious.”
Well, hiwww hiwww hiwww (that’s meant to be sarcastic laughter, it’s a very hard sound to phonetically reproduce). Contents may be delicious? It sounds like something you’d say to a reluctant child you’re trying to shovel some food into. What next: “Choo choo, here comes the train?!” I am a grown woman with a teenage son and a blog that regularly attracts up to three readers.
I bought the WT (wrap thing) to show no hard feelings and that I was the bigger woman.
Next I popped into the DIY store because I needed a tiny packet of filler to mend a cracked path. I found one and was checking out the details on the back when…
…Yep, you guessed it. Even in the no-nonsense world of DIY I was not safe from The Chumminess.
“Step 4,” said the label. “You have completed the job. Leave to dry for at least six hours. Pat yourself on the back for a job well done.”
A job well done, were they kidding? They clearly had no idea of the almighty bodge-up I was going to make of it. And now I started doubting my own sanity (not for the first time). I looked around the shop: could everyone else see these messages? Or was packaging only speaking to me?
I bought the cement and skedaddled.
Later, at home on my computer, browsing for a good therapist, a website told me: “Page 404. Oh, it looks like you’ve run into a problem.” No, you’ve run into a problem, this is a page on your website and it’s broken, so no victim blaming, please. “Let’s do the macarena instead,” it said.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WE ARE NOT GOING TO DO THE MACARENA. I AM NEITHER A CHILD NOR AN IDIOT, STOP ALL THIS PATRONISING CHUMMINESS, AMERICA!!!!!!
AND FIX YOUR WEBSITE!
Okay, back to lower caps.
I was emotionally exhausted and indeed exhausted, emotionally, and I went for a nap.
Guilt set in as I lay there. Maybe I should have talked to that smoothie. I mean, it was only trying to be friendly, right?
I tried to sleep but all I could hear was the macarena.
Oh, macarena.
‘Til next time.
J x
Jessica Harper Uncanceled 
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