More Imponderables

I was the kind of irritating kid who always wanted to know why the sky was blue, or why Aunt Gertie was fatter than what seemed humanly possible. I never did figure some of those things out, so as a semi-adult I have turned my thoughts to other of life's minor mysteries - what I like to call The Imponderables. For example, I was interested in purchasing a new vehicle recently, so I went on the car company's website (I don't want to get into trouble with their lawyers by using the company's real name, so I'll just make one up - let's call them Toyoto).

On the Toyoto site is a series of pictures of the SUV I want, passing by in a blur on a dry, dusty, thoroughly ugly hillside, shot from an altitude of 18 miles using a rejected Chinese-made satellite camera. The hillside is relatively clear, but you can't really tell if the fly-speck appearing in the dust cloud is a car or not. Shot after blurred shot of the kinda-car, with lots and lots of ugly hillside. Can't tell for sure, so I called Toyoto. "Hi. I'd like to book a trip to the ugly hillside on your website so I can see what the car really looks like close up, if indeed it even is a car."
"Sorry sir, we don't book trips. We're not a travel agent. We sell cars."
"Oh. Then can I speak to the real estate agent in charge of selling your lots on your ugly hillside?"
"Sir, we don't sell real estate. We sell cars."
"Got it. How about connecting me whoever it is that books ugly hillside safaris, so I can take a tour and hope to spot the vehicle in the wild."
"Sir, we don't book tours. We're not a tour guide, we're not a real estate agent, and we're not a travel agent. WE SELL CARS!"
"Ah. See, I just assumed that since you devoted millions of dollars to a website showing miles and miles of ugly hillside, you must be promoting the hillside. My mistake. Do you know of any real estate agents, tour guides, or travel agents that have websites that don't feature the real estate or tours or travel destinations they're trying to sell, in the hopes that I might find clear pictures of your car on one of them?"
Huh, dial tone. She must not know of any.

Unable to see the car I wanted, I decided to go buy a pair of scissors. Now scissor shopping may not seem, at least at first blush, to be the ideal form of retail therapy after a tough day of hillside browsing, but for me it was perfect. I had a six-dollar bill burning a hole in my pocket, I desperately needed to shop for something, and, most importantly, I didn't own a pair scissors. I found the perfect pair at an office supply store, although there was actually only one in the package, not a pair.

Anyway, the scissors came in one of those ubiquitous, impregnable, clear plastic packages called a Blister Pack. In an Imponderable-type mood anyway, thanks to the invisible car on the hillside, I began wondering why a company would package something in a container that makes it seem so tantalizingly close and yet so completely impossible to reach. So, I undertook a little research.

It turns out that the Blister Pack - a unique combination of clear plastic, Kevlar and titanium - was invented by packaging expert Dr. Theodore Issac Pack in 1964, and was named after his dog Noodle. Upon its introduction to the packaging world, the Noodle Pack was at first rejected as being impractical since, one sealed, it could not be reopened without the use of industrial cutting machinery. Worse yet, it had a name that made it unsuitable for anything except food packaging in a very limited market. The Noodle Pack languished on a dusty shelf in Dr. Pack's workshop until he was contacted by the Atomic Energy Commission in 1981. The AEC had gotten wind of this remarkable, completely impenetrable container that withstood virtually all known chemicals, acids, explosives, and cutting tools, and decided it was perfect for transporting nuclear waste on busy highways through heavily populated towns for no reason.

General Bob "Blister-Butt" Bobbins, a former Marine drill sergeant, was placed in charge of the project. After nine years of testing at a cost of $11.67 billion taken from the government's petty cash box, Nuclear Noodles - the code name for the project - were discarded as being too difficult to open, and the AEC settled on Zip-Lock bags as being safe enough for nuclear waste storage.

However, the packaging world had now re-discovered what had since come to be known as the Blister Pack, and it was awarded the prestigious Frustrating Package of the Year award in 1992 by a group of 12 chimpanzees at their annual Banana Ball. Since its introduction, sales of chain saws, wrecking balls, explosives, laser cutting machinery and Ginsu knives have all skyrocketed. Enough history - back to my shiny new inaccessible scissors in their clear plastic bomb-proof package, and the reason this qualifies a true Imponderable. Around the edges of the package, there was a little dotted line printed in a precise location to show you exactly where to open the Blister Pack.

Interspersed every inch or so along the line, there was the cutest little drawing that had been helpfully placed there by the manufacturer to indicate the approved tool to use for opening the package. Scissors. Now, if I could just get the package open so I could get to the scissors so I could use them to open the package so I could get to the scissors so I could use them to open the package so I could get to the scissors so I could….

Paul Bianchina can be reached for comments at paul2887@direcway.com.