Packaging Industry Alive and Well

Thankfully, another Christmas has passed. All that remains to remind us of the gluttony of giving that befalls our household each year is the stack of forgotten, yet unopened toys in the corner of the living room, many of which will be re-gifted – some to our own children – in the months and weeks to come. That and my bloody knuckles, of course.

When I was a child, toys came in a box. The box was typically made of cardboard which, except in rare instances, had a photograph of its contents plastered on the lid.

This was a convenient and effective packaging system. In the first place, our parents had it made in that boxes of the day were usually square or rectangular, which made wrapping them a breeze, even for a blind person missing two fingers on each hand.

To frantic children overcome by the spirit of receiving, it was also ideal in that once the thin veneer of gaudy paper was stripped from the box, we were able to tell exactly what was inside merely by looking at the photo pasted on the lid. It was rare, for example, to open a box with a photo of GI Joe on the lid only to discover Prom Queen Barbie lurking inside. What’s more, a quick shake and the lid would slide off, providing full and almost immediate access to the contents.

Today’s product manufacturers have decided that mere photographs aren’t good enough. No – people just won’t buy a product unless they can see the actual product encased inside a clear, hermetically sealed plastic vessel impenetrable even by Navy Seals demolition experts.

And I’m not talking just about toys. The same packaging philosophy appears to apply to electronics (lest we attempt to test them to see if they work), light bulbs (lest we mistakenly buy the wrong color), baseballs, paper clips, shoes, apples, puppies, etc. Want to protect something from damage, theft, or occasional use? Have it packaged by a modern-day product manufacturer. Idea: send the Hope Diamond to Mattel. No one will ever be able to steal it.

As a result, like most parents, I spent Christmas morning surrounded by hopping, squirming, whining kids, each desperate to actually touch the glimmering items smiling at them from inside their plastic prisons. So, after hacking four Hannah Montanas free of their acrylic sarcophagi with a utility knife, tin snips, and a blowtorch, and shredding my knuckles on the razor sharp edges in the process, the children were finally able to play with their toys, right?

Wrong!

In their infinite marketing wisdom, toy manufacturers have decided that not only must we see the toy, but it must be arranged in “play” mode so children – who are known to have little in the way of imaginations – can visualize how they might use it. “Look! We can pretend that he can fly.”

In order to create a more compelling illusion of “action,” each toy is then contorted and/or arranged into an exciting action pose or clever diorama via the use of thousands of tiny wires, strings, and nearly invisible rubber bands, the workable ends of which are sandwiched between layers of cardboard sealed at the edges with unbreakable clear plastic tape, thereby rendering the toy inaccessible to any child not skilled in the use of a hacksaw. And that’s just the feature item.

When we were kids, the small accessory parts (aka “choking hazards”) were contained in a plastic baggie tucked safely into a corner of the cardboard box. Not so anymore. In order to protect our children from certain death by insuring that these items can never be played with, each miniature thingamajig is sealed in plastic and glued (using the same adhesive NASA uses to attach heat resistant tiles to the space shuttle) onto a colorful cardboard backdrop depicting some clever use for the toy. “Look, Dolly can play with her rubber ducky in the bathtub!” or “Oh, I see – she wears the shoes on her feet!”

In that it is impossible to extract these smaller items without destroying them, we usually send them out to the recycling bin with the rest of the seven metric tons of plastic and cardboard that holidays of this magnitude generate.

Of course it’s all worth the hassle to be able to sit back and watch the little ones enjoy playing with the big cardboard box from my new television.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to try and get this blood stain out of Cinderella’s dress.


© 2007 Mark J. Layne/Layne-Duck Productions, Ltd.

2007 Family Christmas Letter

As Andy Williams reminds us, it is once again “…the most wonderful time of the year.” Of course, Andy is referring to football season. It is also that magical time of year when the thoughts and hopes of all young children turn to toys, presents, and that long awaited visit by a jolly old elf in a soot-tarnished red suit – except in the Layne household, that is, where ghouls, witches, vampires, and mummies cast an orange-and-black shadow over this otherwise festive, red-and-green season.

It would seem around here that the penultimate annual commemoration of our savior’s birth has taken a back seat to the ancient druid celebration of the harvest. Amanda and Ally begin discussing their Halloween costumes on November 1st, changing their minds 364 times up until the afternoon of October 31st, at which point they give up and go as whatever they were the previous year. This year, Ally was pink Jasmine (as opposed to last year’s green version), and Amanda went as Myanmar. Barely ten minutes after trick-or-treating ended, plans were set into motion for the following year. As of this writing, Ally wants to be purple Jasmine, and Amanda, petulance.

Amanda is a tall-and-spindly, creative, high maintenance creature who is drawn to the arts and depends upon her parents to keep her alive by reminding her to eat, sleep, and breathe. Ally, on the other hand, is a tough, self-sustaining sort who takes guff from no one and can forage for a full day’s nutrition right in her own nose. Having given up all attempts to tame Ally’s fearsome temper, K & M have instead elected to put her pugilistic tendencies to constructive use by enrolling her in the kick-boxing program at the local YMCA. Known as “Ally-Kazam” and her sidekick “Blankie,” she strikes fear into the hearts of the other Medinah Park District preschoolers.

This past spring, the Layne troupe made their first pilgrimage to Orlando to visit Disney’s Wonderful World of Licensed Merchandise. Karen was ecstatic, having been inculcated into the Disney cult as a child. Amanda and Ally were excited about seeing their friends, Courtney and Stephanie, who came down from New Jersey following Bon Jovi on the southern leg of their 2007 tour. Mark was the only one not necessarily looking forward to the trip, owing to his pronounced distaste for crowds, hot weather, children, and fun of any sort. Thanks in large part to the hospitality of the Elliots – cousins Brad and Sheryl in particular – he managed to have a delightful time, except for the four days he spent in bed with 104 degree fever.

As everyone knows, Disney is all about getting kids to watch television. As such, Ally nearly fainted from the thrill of meeting her idols Jasmine and Aladdin. Amanda spent the week searching each theme park for Zack, Cody, Hannah, and the brothers Jonas, who Karen and Mark assume must be characters in some new Disney western. In the end, all the expense and hassle of travel was worth it in that to this day, whenever the subject of Disney World is mentioned, Amanda and Ally’s eyes light up and their rosy cheeks crease with smiles as they recall the glorious times they had at the hotel pool.

During summer, Illinois got a taste of life in a hurricane prone state when the most severe thunderstorms in history swept through the Chicago area, uprooting trees, flooding basements, and knocking out power to over half a million people, causing local ratings of Deal or No Deal to plummet. Karen and Mark discovered that living for three days without electricity and water is a lot like camping in a really expensive tent. It was a terrific learning experience for the kids, however, who got a taste of what life was like for the early pioneers by cooking over an open fire, reading by lamplight, making potty in a bucket and tossing it out the window, trapping beavers, etc.

For Thanksgiving, the gang made the trek down to drought-plagued Atlanta to visit Leslie, Anthony, and Jayson, and to celebrate Amanda’s eighth birthday. As it turns out, showering without water isn’t half as bad as it sounds. The kids had a blast rolling around on the bottom of the empty hotel pool and playing at the local Jump Zone (until Ally bloodied the nose of an eleven-year-old boy because she didn’t like how he was looking at her sister).

Sadly, the days of the annual X-mas letter may be numbered. As it happens, kids don’t enjoy their parents making fun of them. Who knew? K&M aren’t too worried about Amanda who has a relatively evolved sense of humor – even though after reading last year’s installation she demanded stuffed animals as compensation for being libeled and abused for the past seven years. It’s Allyson who will have her parents watching their backs.

In closing, never has the underlying melancholy of the Christmas season been captured more aptly than in “A Charlie Brown Christmas,” one of many idiomatic masterpieces by author Charles M. Schultz, who also once said, “I love mankind; it’s people I can’t stand.”

Merry Christmas to All, and to All Good Grief,

Karen, Mark, Amanda, and Ally