OK, this is bullshit.
Background: It is now high tree pollen season in the Tidewater, a beautiful time of year distinguished by blowing blossom, temperate breezes and the complete impaction of my sinuses. For a month now, I have been practicing the disgusting morning ritual of boiling water, mixing a solution of baking soda and Himalayan salt, putting about a quart of it in an old fashioned red rubber douche bag, sticking the hose up one nostril and letting it rip, swapping nostrils half way through. We will not discuss the precise nature of what emerges. It’s the only way I can get through the day, but it works a treat — no sneezing, sniffing or stuffiness.
The magic bullet of this is a quick douse of decongestant spray a minute or two before you open the sluice — trickled into your nose, not sprayed, with head tilted back. Believe me the stuff tastes disgusting, but it opens all the crevices, and the immediate rinse keeps you from getting the rebound congestion that is a problem with these nostrums. Of course, this goes through a lot of it, so yesterday I opened a new three-pack of the stuff. The outer box instructed me to Push Down And Turn on the Safety Cap, which I presume is there so some kid does not go through a whole bottle of the stuff at once and decongest to death — it’s impossible to imagine someone actually drinking it.
I pushed. The neck of the plastic bottle bent, and the lid went round and round fruitlessly.
The Engineer wandered by, and gave it a try. “Design flaw,” he said, which is something engineers like to say when they can’t get shit to work. I had to agree though.
After a few more tries he went to the utility room and brought back a large and small channel lock wrench, a strap wrench and a pair of pliers. A few struggles using the small channel lock got the outer lid off, leaving the inner clear plastic lid, which was too small and slick for the channel lock and required the pliers. The spray nozzle popped off with it, but snapped back in after the Engineer retrieved it from across the room.
So there it was, ten minutes and two different tools for an engineer and a weightlifter to get into a bottle of SAFETY SEALED… nasal spray.
I can see a bottle of prescription Valium maybe, or a drowsy nostrum like Benadryl, needing a safety seal, But Afrin? Really? This has gotten out of control.
Seriously, in general, I have mostly scorn for this habit of kid-proofing everything. I shout curses inside my car every time i have to stop for a school bus with the flashing red lights and Stop sign that bring traffic to a halt in BOTH directions at every stop, not just because in These Our Times every mommeee has to come meet the bus, greet her child, greet the driver and ask how Precious’s day was before the next mommeee steps up to the bus door in turn and does the same thing, while your hair grows. FFS if they are old enough to ride the bus, they are old enough to know to look both ways before crossing the street, and if they don’t, I’m a firm believer in Darwin in such instances. Same with all these safety sealed mouth washes and God knows what else. If some child is enough of a dimwit to chug it, let nature take its course, I say.
When I was eight, we lived next door to a family with three children — a girl about my age with the lively mind of a sweet potato and the mean streak that usually goes with that kind of drab intellect; and fraternal twins about five years younger, who were bluntly dumber than a box of rocks. I don’t think I ever heard the boy say anything but “Huh?” My father was heard to remark to guests that “the people next door have retarded twins” — this was the 1960s when no one expected you to use precious circumlocutions — and I don’t know if they were, clinically, but there didn’t seem to be much upstairs but cole slaw. One day the boy was found eating a box of moth balls and apparently actually did utter the words “Good candy,” leading to drama on the block with an emergency rush to get his stomach pumped. Though this is possibly an argument that some kid would, if left to it, drink a tot of Afrin, I defy anyone to argue that the world would have been a poorer place if they had left him alone with the moth balls.
So for crying out loud, Bayer Healthcare. And Bristol Myers and all you other people. Give us a break. I shouldn’t need a toolkit to get into a bottle of allergy medicine, which, by the way, I now can’t exactly seal again, though it will be OK as long as it sits upright. Just, if I ever meet the guy that designed this travesty, something is going up his nose, and it won’t be decongestant.