I bought two new pairs of shoes in my bid to keep the Eighth Street merchant’s association, if not the economy, going and was delighted to see they still pack those silica gel packets in each shoe box to give your new shoes that new shoe smell. I hate it when I open a box of shoes and they smell like they have already been worn by someone else. It reminds me of my impoverished childhood.
Not to go all Jerry Seinfeld on you but why is it that those little packs say THROW AWAY — “DO NOT EAT”? Forget, for a moment, the absurdist touch of putting the second directive in quotes. Why would anyone assume that something you find in a shoebox, along with shoes, would be edible? Did they use to pack little mini-Cheetos in there until Bloomberg made them stop, or list the tranfats in each sample? You might argue that it’s to protect babies, but they can’t read. Can you imagine a mother saying, “I was going to feed those silica packets to my Sweet Pea — thank goodness someone told me not to!”
Lest you think this is a stupid-American thing (I got one pair of Rockports and one of Borns, thanks for asking) the instructions are also written in French: “NE PAS MANGE” — that’s right, Frenchie, this packet does not contain dried snails. A bientot!
Maybe it’s just a sign of the times. We’re so desperate now we’ll eat anything unless clearly instructed not to. This is no longer just an affliction of the lower classes. I was at a fundraiser for some worthy charity in November. Though there were plenty of suits in the room, the pall was palpable. At my table were two Republican stock brokers with matching grey hair and grey ties, and both has just lost their jobs. Usually at such events I am the one eyeing the dessert plate (freelancers being such famous schnorers) but when I departed I saw the financial types tucking into their financiers as if they might be the last thing they would ever eat. I’m starting to understand why my mother, a product of the last Great Depression, used to take the sugar packets off the tables in restaurants and put them in her purse. You never know…
I think you answered your own question – who’s to say those little packets aren’t there to sweeten your shoes? Perhaps in some other culture (you insensitive clod) there is a tradition like the one where you bring salt to a new dwelling to add spice to life there. Except it involves new shoes and Splenda to make them smell sweet.
As Eliza says: “Obvy!”