I enjoy contributing to the
Chicken Soup for the Soul books because of their positive messages.
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| Bellevue Library's AuthorFest 2016 |
Here it is in its original form.
"Made in America."
(formerly titled, "Together We Can…Opener")
"Open you stupid tuna
can!" I shrieked, banging it with the malfunctioning can opener.
My husband Jake raced into the
kitchen to see what had turned his sweet-tempered wife into a screeching
madwoman.
My eyes blazed fire--or hunger. I
held out the offending object.
“This worthless can opener stopped
working just like all the others, and it's only a few months old. I'm sick of
fighting to open a can.”
Jake shot me a condescending look.
“Give it here. I'll open it.”
His stance emanated confidence.
I
placed the implement of evil in his outstretched palm.
He put the opener on the can and
rotated the handle half a turn.
The opener slipped off and sent
the can skittering across the counter.
“Hmm, I must not have gotten it on
tight enough,” Jake said.
He tried again.
The can slid off the
opener and plopped onto the laminate floor. Jake swooped it up with the speed
of a falcon dive-bombing a mouse.
I crossed my arms and
with superhuman effort restrained my, "I told you so."
Years of marriage had
taught me this wasn't the appropriate time to gloat.
Besides, I still
wanted my tuna.
“I hate this cheap foreign made
stuff,” Jake grumbled as he battled the opener.
Each attempt resulted in the same
thing: a multi-punctured can sliding across the kitchen counter in a spray of
fishy water.
Like players in an air hockey
match, Jake and I took turns blocking the can’s escape.
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| I was tempted to try Jake's giant bolt cutters |
After multiple tries his jaw clenched so
tightly I couldn’t tell if he was swearing under his breath or speaking in
tongues.
I watched my husband do a Bruce
Banner, morphing into a middle-aged version of the Hulk. "Hulk mad! Hulk
can’t open tuna!"
We stood sweaty and panting in the
kitchen. We’d turned can opening into an aerobic activity.
“Why’d you buy such crummy junk,”
Jake fumed.
He held up the opener which was now jammed on the can.
I glared back. "It’s a name
brand, just like all the others. I assumed they'd work."
Just then the can opener suddenly
came undone.
The dented tuna can flew across
the kitchen. Tuna water sprayed a wild arc throughout the room.
Jake threw the opener
in the trash. I think I heard it laughing.
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| Evil can opener banishment area |
"What about my
tuna?" I asked.
Jake’s jaw muscles twitched. “Go
buy a better opener,” he said, wiping tuna flecks from his shirt.
I left my husband on clean-up
detail and headed to the store.
In the houseware aisle utensils
gleamed under the florescent lights like knights in shining armor.
Their name
brand logos lured my commercial-soaked brain.
I grabbed the first can opener and
flipped it over. The tiny “Made in China” letters mocked me.
I picked up the next big name
brand. Sure enough, “Made in China.”
I worked my way along the
offerings. All made in China.
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| Heroic "Made in America" can opener |
One lone opener beckoned. I saw
the price tag and muttered, “Holy mackerel, this one’s twice the price of the
others.”
I lifted it and realized it
weighed substantially more than its competitors.
A bold “Made in America” graced
the package front, right next to the “Ten Year Warranty” guarantee.
The handle opened and
closed effortlessly. The wheel mechanism glided smoother than an Olympic figure
skater.
I put it in my basket and headed for the
checkout when my Cheap-omiter put in its two cents worth.
“Don’t get that. It costs more.”
An hour earlier I’d been one step
away from chain-sawing a tuna can.
Now I hesitated to spend more for
a better product.
A mental image formed
as I vacillated in the aisle.
I pictured a father
working in a U.S. can opener factory.
The factory closes
because I keep buying cut-rate inferior products.
The dad can't find
another job.
His wife can't
support the family on her income.
They lose their home,
and the children are devastated.
All dire scenarios.
But at the risk of sounding unpatriotic and selfish, I still wanted to open my
tuna can.
"Stop being so
chintzy," I chided myself, "Buy this can opener and help that dad
keep his job."
I bought the American
made opener, much to my husband's delight.
Food cans trembled
before its mighty onslaught.
My houseware aisle
revelation expanded.
Jake and I decided
we'd buy American made goods to support our countrymen who were supporting
their families.
Now we enjoy “Made in
America" benefits.
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| Tuna induced happiness |
Our higher quality
products function better.
We’re helping
American families.
And we can open any
tuna can in the house.
