We reached a new low a few years back, when some woman showed America that all you need to become a millionaire was a cup of boiling liquid and a crotch. That, and a greedy lawyer. Nearly all of us could qualify. Ridiculous lawsuits have cropped up ever since, and companies, it seems to me, have been struggling to cover themselves for some pretty inane contingencies. The lawsuits piss me off, but I have to admit, I'm a huge fan of the warning labels that have resulted
To date, my personal favorite was a warning sign I saw in a bathroom somewhere in Chicago stating: "Please do not eat the urinal cake." (For the ladies out there, men's restrooms often house long troughs, in which are placed round pink wafers that, supposedly, deaden the smell resulting from hundreds of gallons of piss. They do not work). I can think of a very limited number of circumstances under which I would consider eating urinal cake. All of them involve my imminent death down all other avenues.
Ever since then I've paid a little more attention to all the innocuous products I purchase or use, ever eager to plumb the depths of the creative minds that generate potential hazards about which to warn the unsuspecting public. The people who write these warnings think we are morons. In the last two days alone, I have been warned, in dead serious red letters, to avoid applying chapstick to my eyes, to keep a vacuum cleaner away from my testicles, that steak knives can cause injury, and that sunblock is meant for external use only. I can't decide if I really want to meet the person who needs to be reminded of these warnings, or if I would find the whole experience too depressing.
Come to think of it, I did meet a guy once who's in the target audience for these warnings, back when I was about six years old. His name was Marshall, and his hobby was annoying people. Despite less than half a decade's practice, he had honed this talent to remarkable acuity. One of his favorite tricks was to consume possessions of his neighbors, namely my brothers and me. Nerf toys were never safe around Marshall, for if he began to lose a game he would simply bring the whole contest to an end by eating the football or whatever it was we were playing with.
All that pretty much came to an end when my brother jokingly suggested Marshall figure out "what a fishing lure was for" by biting it. I remember blood and loud screaming, and feeling a strange mix of awe and fascination as Marshall sprinted from the room with shiny metal dangling from his lip like a Christmas tree ornament. I guess he needed a warning. I imagine he is dead now, or in jail, but I can't be sure -- the family moved away shortly after my brother and I "tricked him into eating a hook." I wish I were that convincing an orator.
Marshall was a rarity, but I guess they're out there -- we've all heard the urban legends about lonely people caught in compromising positions with appliances. Frankly I find this sad on multiple levels, but at least the guy humping the Hoover isn't spreading his genes.
In all seriousness though, what a pathetic sign of the times. The end of a society can't be far off when it's members need to be reminded not to eat urinal cake or pour boiling coffee on themselves. It's a lose-lose situation all around, because either there are in fact people that stupid, or lawyers have enough power to harness greed and convince juries that people are stupid. And the judges buy it. And it's a slippery slope all the way down -- where in the hell do you draw the line if people can't be counted on to know that knives are sharp and that urinal cake is not for human consumption?
I don't know the answer, but we've long since gone from insulting to depressing to hilarious. We're on a downward spiralmight as well enjoy the ride.
