I experienced the height of frustration the other day by trying to open the cap of a plastic soda container.
The more I twisted, the more my fingers were being worn to the bone.
I tried a rubber mat designed for stubborn twist-offs. Even that attempt was foiled. I banged on the lid with a butter knife and all I got out of it was an exercise in futility.
Finally, I picked up the bottle and was about to heave it across the room when…
“You’re just too weak,” one of the children laughed. “Here, let me try. It just takes a little patience and know-how.”
He wrapped his finger around the cap and all that turned was his hand. He cowered in shame.
“You guys are all amateurs at this,” said another son. “I’ve been lifting weights and this calls for a super hand. Mind if I take a whack at it?”
“Not at all,” I said, dying of thirst.
This would be Hercules stumped by the arrogant cap that remained sealed on the lid of a cola. It was almost as if some supernatural force was protecting its contents from being consumed.
After all else failed, I wasn’t about to read the instructions. There was only one other recourse.
“Get me the pliers,” I beckoned.
Now, I was an exasperated soul who wasn’t about to be denied. It had become a personal challenge. No container in the world would be allowed to defy my fortitude.
I took the heavy-duty pliers in one hand and grasped the stubborn bottle in another. The bottom slipped.
Finally, with one child holding the container, someone else holding him, and me at the controls, we managed to twist off the top amid a victorious cheer.
However, the soda was so disturbed at this point, we nearly “drowned” in our own ecstasy as the contents spurted into the air.
Dear reader, have you ever showered with soda? If so, you come out of it stickier than you went in. I could have been instant bee bait.
A thought occurred to me. If it took three of us to open a soda bottle, how does a frail senior handle this project alone? How does an elder with feeble fingers ever turn a cap affixed to the bottle as if it were cement?
Maybe the soda company feels all that carbonation inside an aging person would be detrimental to one’s health.
Then, again, it’s possible that this was nature’s way of getting back at human frailty. Is this the price we must pay for modern technology?
I can recall the time when it was relatively easy to remove a cap. You didn’t need a jackhammer to flip off the lid of an aspirin container. If I can’t get it open, how can someone in weak health?
Well, science stumbles on, this time for the worse. The big, bad plastic bottle won, hands down. The mutilation of one’s hand is woeful, but the mutilation of the human spirit is greater.
Dentists may be the first to go on record as denouncing the ever-fast bottle cap. Trying to bite the cap off means fewer teeth, which means fewer cavities, which means they won’t be getting the business.
Supermarket managers would resound with disapproval. People would begin switching to cans because the flip-top is easier to handle and gentler on the fingers.
I also have difficulty negotiating a bottle of wine. Even with a corkscrew, I can’t seem to remove the whole cork and wind up leaving some sediment in the contents. When you’re entertaining guests at a formal party, this is a no-no.
Why can’t I emulate a wine steward at a restaurant? They seem to go through the ritual with the greatest of ease. Maybe I better switch my brand to a screw-off. On second thought, maybe not.
I can still hear the laughter from my friends during a wine-tasting one evening. We had gathered at a restaurant for a fundraiser and some connoisseur asked for a volunteer. I thought it was to sample a wine. He wanted the bottle opened.
“No resistance here,” I thought, “not with his corkscrew with the clamps. I had the jaws of life in my hands.”
I twisted and turned, probed and poked as all eyes looked on. Finally, one laugh turned into a chorus of hilarity. My face was as red as the Chianti.
Between my legs went the bottle, using my groin as a vise. I was ready to break the neck—the bottle’s, not mine—when the wine expert intervened. Back went the screw, a flick of the wrist, and out came the cork.
Just in time to drown my sorrows.
Tom Vartabedian
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