Always Open the Package, Always Test the Merchandise

Always open the package, always test the merchandise. And if the stranger nearby raises an eyebrow? Ignore it. If your kids at your side roll their eyes? Irrelevant. Invariably, if you don’t check out the merchandise… You. Will. Be. Sorry.

So sayeth yours truly as I am reminded again and again (and again and again) precisely why this is more than common sense. It is wisdom. My kind of wisdom.

Wisdom for a Buck?

I was cruising a dollar store recently – I forgot how much fun it can be – and strolling up and down the aisles, I was intrigued by all manner of marvels I could pick up for a measly one hundred cents plus tax. There were shelves of (awesome!) vases and vitamins, (cool!) pads of paper and party supplies, foils and frames, batteries and bins, and in general — So. Much. Stuff.

And then I noticed a sort of therapeutic band of blue fabric with a Velcro closure and a hole to poke your thumb through — a simple (and presentable) replacement for the raggedy Ace bandage wound around my (still) sprained wrist.

Hey, I thought to myself, That looks great! It’s only a dollar! If it doesn’t feel tight enough or stay on, I’ve only lost a buck.

I plucked the promising product off the shelf, studied the picture, read the description, and tossed the box into my basket. Then I stopped. The packaging could be opened without breaking a seal, and I thought, I may as well try it and see how well it works.

Good thing I did.

If It Looks (or Sounds) Too Good to Be True

When I took the bright blue brace (of sorts) out and tried it on, the circumference of the band itself was ridiculously small. I may no longer have a 24-inch waist, but let’s just say that my wrists are so teeny-tiny that I cannot wear a normal bangle bracelet. The fact that the scanty strip of fabric wouldn’t go around my wrist and close? Ridiculous. Even if only a dollar, there was no point.

Right. Caveat emptor.

I put the band back in the box and the box back on the shelf, continued to browse, and meandered to an area with an enticing display of pots and pans and kitchen wares. Seeing a large-size skillet splatter cover – it’s a small-gauge mesh in circular form, and very useful – I noted that there were two variations. One boasted a long handle extending from the rim whereas the other had a more typical pot-top knob positioned in the middle of the mesh and attached with a hidden screw.

I picked up each one and though they were both pretty flimsy, they were lightweight, which is precisely what I needed. The knob-top version was better looking, but its middle-of-the-cover grip felt less stable and would mean more reaching across the stovetop, while the other, with its long handle, felt more secure and would be easier to manage. I put back the former and went with the latter.

Mother Knows Best? Not Necessarily.

I’m thinking of the old adage “Why buy the cow if you can get the milk free?” (Hey, what can I say, that’s just where my mind goes.) While I recognize that the mores of mid-century America and before, even up through the 70s and possibly the early 80s, may reflect a lingering belief in that (illogical) instruction to its blossoming young women, I’m shaking my head. The very thought of hitching oneself to a partner presumably for life, without knowing the extent to which compatibility of the most fundamental sort will be a hit or a miss, seems monumentally misguided at best.

I’ve been thinking about my mother more frequently in the past few months, perhaps because I have too much time on my hands, or perhaps because as the years pass I have greater empathy for some of the issues she faced. Be that as it may, we clashed throughout my life, and certainly when it comes to the “testing” of a potential partner as well. My mother was of a different generation, obviously, and indoctrinated accordingly — a woman should be a virgin when she married, and if she wasn’t, well… Any woman who had slept with more than two men in her lifetime (unless in marriage) was, by my mother’s reckoning and in her own words, “a slut.”

I’m shaking my head again. And I’m also thinking about my mother’s long, largely unhappy marriage to my father, which eventually ended in divorce after 30+ years, at least 15 of which she spent expounding on her marital misfortune to me.

Note to any and all parents: If you are considering discussing the (in)delicate details of your sex life with your children, Just Say No.

Online Shopping for Products and… Partners?

Now, I may not have needed to try out 20 different Velcro-closing wrist-reinforcing therapeutic bands, but certainly one, without being tested, would’ve been a mistake. In a different store, I might have been presented with a choice of three or four, albeit at a higher price. Assuming that the boxes wouldn’t be sealed, I could have tried each one and purchased an item I could count on. That’s the smart thing to do. At least, that’s how I see it.

And incidentally, I do online shop — from Target for t-shirts, from Soma for undies when they go on sale, from Amazon when it comes to books and a handful of hard-to-find non-perishable food items, from Macy’s when it comes to my favorite jeans (also when they go on sale), and from Nordstrom for makeup. Nearly all my online shopping is for items that I have used previously, and consequently, I know exactly what I’m getting in terms of quality, fit, and so on. I am also assured of the (relative) security of my transaction and consumer-friendly return policies in case of defects or breakage.

Comparing potential partners to merchandise? No, that’s not my intention. Considering the nature of good relationships and bad? Thinking — truly thinking about our ideal living arrangements with people we love, or might love? Reducing the risk of our own (blind?) poor judgment? Taking the time — and yes, “testing” a relationship before we commit to it? Especially knowing that painless returns (for “defects” or “breakage”) are not part of the package?

Yes. All that. It’s on my mind.

These are questions and considerations that I liken to my recent dollar-store shopping experience and our contemporary app-addled assumptions that every relationship misstep can be rectified, that Prince Charming (or the Princess-equivalent) is “out there,” and we can always pluck another person from the virtual shelf in our swipe-right swipe-left ordering up of the next contender for our heart’s desire.

Ah, Yes… “Usability”

Not being of the Tinder-Grindr (etc.) persuasion — no judgment — I know that I don’t want to be treated like merchandise, though I certainly feel that I have been (all too often) in my years of online dating. Preferably, we are honest and clear about what we want (and don’t) — which requires that we know what we want (and don’t) — but we also need to give each other a chance.

As much as we may be attracted to the pretty package, fashionable features, or our own assumptions of truth in advertising – ultimately, it’s important to take steps to know what we’re dealing with, what we’re getting, what we intend to take home. How else can we know what fits? How else can we know what we can lift? How else can we know how well something – or someone – is put together and whether or not we can accept and manage their less than perfectly positioned and assembled parts or our reach required in the process?

The tests of time and “usability” – varying from person to person and dependent on individual circumstances – are critical. Don’t pick up any old thing, don’t settle because you feel you have to, don’t spend that dollar when what you’re getting is so much nothing. Do disregard the superficial look of the thing already in your possession or under consideration – a ratty Ace bandage that is still doing its job or the next pot-bellied, balding, eccentric 58-year-old man with a genuinely kind smile and endearing tales of family life — both may be just what the doctor ordered.

Give him a try. Give him time to shine. Give him (or her) — and yourself — the gift of trying.

 

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