Forget Waterboarding

Forget waterboarding, if you want to torture me, put me in the grocery store and make me open plastic produce bags. Those bags, or as I like to refer to them—Satan sacks—are almost impossible to pull apart. I know I’m not the only one who has experienced this. I see those telltale wads of disappointment littered through the potatoes and onions.

I hear the snickers behind of the masks of the clerks as they watch me rubbing the bags between my hands. They know I’m more likely to start a fire than separate the edges. If only a genie would materialize and grant me my wish of a few vine-ripened tomatoes.

I see the looks of pity from other shoppers who have abandoned all hope of taking home an avocado.  Pre-COVID, I would’ve licked my fingers or tried to blow the top open. Now, that is definitely not an option­­—I would probably be banned from the store for life.

Persisting, I imagine the persons manning the security cameras eating popcorn and taking bets on whether I will be successful. I’m thinking the odds are not in my favor and they’d be wiser to turn me into a meme.

I toss down that pitiless plastic produce pouch, my fingers chapped and printless. Who needs fresh fruits and veggies? I resolutely head to the frozen food section.  An apple a day may keep the doctor away, but those Satan sacks keep me away from the apples.



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