Disposable undies and the good old days
When I was a kid, there were abundant small businesses in my neighborhood: Hi’s, a lunch counter right across the street from school—famous for their penny candy selection, Oberman’s Delicatessen for bagels and blue popsicles, a hardware store, shoe store, five & dime, bicycle shop, movie theater, and a grocery store. We could get everything we needed within walking distance of home. There were two mail-order outfits famous for their big fat wishbooks: Sears Roebuck and Montgomery Ward.
These days a lot of local businesses have given way to the likes of Walmart, Home Depot and Target. There are still some local eateries, but plenty of national chain restaurants, too. And, of course, instead of the fat catalogues, we have Amazon, online. Now that I live in a city again, I see their delivery trucks swarming on the streets like colossal vermin.
When shopping at small businesses, one gets to know who’s reliable and who’s not. You trust one store and maybe avoid another. Generally, the business owners are just trying to make a decent living, and need to keep customers satisfied.
Big-box billionaires want to maximize dollars in for minimal dollars out and don’t give a hoot who you are, where you are, or what happens to you. There’s no real relationship between business owner and customer. Hence no reason for businesses to adhere to the old adage “the customer is always right.”
The customer is merely a statistic on the CEO’s way to wealth. An invisible cog in a gigantic wheel making someone richer than 95% of the people on the planet. Same goes for major online businesses.
When I was a kid, I loved the mail-order catalogs, and any day could feel like Christmas when the package arrived. But now package arrival feels qualitatively different. There’s a 50-50 chance items won’t live up to their online descriptions, and there’s the sensation that I’m engaging in some us vs. them venture—where I’m on the losing end. Stuff gets shabbier while the rich get richer.
I know. I sound like my dad with all his “When I was your age…” stories. Maybe seniors just get stuck in their old-fashioned mindset about how things ought to work. Or maybe things really are in decline. And so are business models—unless you happen to be at the top of the big-box pyramid.
I’m in the market for a new electric tea kettle. My old one has a plastic spout. And given that we can’t entirely avoid the problem of microplastics in our food, researchers now suggest we minimize contact between food and plastic during the cooking process. Don’t let hot food touch plastic.
So I’ve been boiling my coffee water in a stainless-steel pot on the stove. It’s slower, but it works—in the morning. But in the afternoon, when I want tea, there’s a problem. I’m busy. I leave the kitchen and tend to forget that I put the pot on the stove—a recipe for bad news. But an electric kettle turns itself off if I neglect it. I need one.
All the big-box models have plastic components. So, I’m looking online. But I’m leery. I once did similar research in the hunt for comfortable underwear. I read reviews, looked at many companies, and wound up a victim of an internet scam: The undies felt disposable and barely blanketed my buns. I tried to get a refund, but the company, and my money, were just gone.
Like my dad’s good old days.
Anybody know where I can get a reliable e-kettle with zero plastic?
Cara Sroges
Well, if I’m reading this right, you gonna forget the electric teapot as well, save ya’self the drama and hassle and just set ya timer on ya afternoon tea.