Twist and Shout

I am old. The signs cannot be ignored — not just the gray strands of hair or the thickening waistline or the panic when I can’t find my reading glasses. No, the definitive sign is unmistakable: How damned hard it is to open things, be it by twisting, tearing or squeezing.

Caps on pill bottles are meant to protect children from harm by being practically impossible to open. Which they are for most people, and especially for those of us in our so-called golden years, when the number of medicines we take keeps increasing. It doesn’t matter which container I try to open, the level of difficulty remains the same. I press while turning, but nothing moves. I push harder, to no avail. I keep trying, until finally, after much clenching of teeth and swearing, I manage to open the thing. After such Herculean effort there is no way I am going to screw the top back on and have to try opening it again. Any children who happen to be nearby will just remain unprotected.

Then there are the easy-open packages made of plastic or paper. Pull the tear-strip and the riches inside will be within reach. But those tear-strips rarely work, opening up an inch or two before breaking. I try the other end of the strip, but the same thing happens. Yielding to frustration, I grab scissors and cut the package open, hoping I don’t need to reseal it to return what was inside. This simply is not how the process is supposed to work.

Recently I had a tube of cream that came with a pointy end on the cap designed to break the foil seal over the tube opening. That foil proved impenetrable, even after numerous attempts at stabbing it open. How can foil be that tough, when the stuff I use for baking tears as I take it out of the box? Again I resorted to scissors, plunging them into the foil — but it took three tries for my efforts to succeed. Why is such obstinance necessary?

Jars. They pose tremendous difficulty. Some are so wide at the top that my fingers cannot grasp them sufficiently to twist the lid. Others are sealed so tightly that the lid will not budge. Sometimes I can use a handy gizmo that gives me leverage to twist the lid, but it doesn’t always work. I have to remind myself that smashing the damned jar with a hammer will not solve the problem. In such cases I abandon my recipe and go to a simpler one, such as grilled cheese or an omelette. Part of aging is learning to embrace forced versatility.

Then there is plastic. Ubiquitous, impenetrable plastic. It is everywhere, defying attempts to protect our planet and ourselves. And it is stubborn, clinging tenaciously to packages and their contents. A case in point: I purchased batteries for my garage-door remote. I of course had to buy six, since buying just one of anything has become impossible. The entire package was encased in plastic film, thick, tough plastic film. After much snipping and cursing, scissors again came to the rescue, and I managed to pierce the film and pry the cardboard layers open. But each battery inside also was encased in film, which was even harder to penetrate with scissors. More cursing. Finally I was able to find a way to make a small opening in the plastic — but enlarging that opening proved equally difficult. I could make a fortune if I could invent a way to soften or dissolve the plastic film that covers everything we purchase.

So, what to do? Opening things won’t become any easier as I grow older and even less proficient at twisting, tearing or squeezing. Perhaps someday — before too long, I hope — a robot will be produced that can open things, from jars to plastic barriers to child-proof pill bottles. Isn’t this supposed to be the promise of technology, to make life easier and more enjoyable? To simplify tasks that induce frustration?

Well, I’m waiting. Until that technological advance is achieved, I have no choice but to keep struggling.