Off The Cuff: Packaging always wins hands down

It was either it or me. Lindsay versus the Plastic Menace. A duel that could have just one victor. I had just bought a pair of scissors from a supermarket. They were hermetically sealed in a tough transparent plastic wrap that could have doubled as shielding for a nuclear reactor. It seemed totally impregnable.

I started a probing attack with my fingers, trying to open what appeared to be a seam, but retreated after suffering minor casualties, namely an index fingernail that had been ripped off right down to the painful quick.

Packaging 1, Lindsay 0.

Then I decided to get tough and use my teeth, which turned out to be equally ineffective, and again I had to withdraw from the conflict, fearing potentially crippling dentist's bills.

The problem here was one of location. I was in the car, and needed the scissors to cut some papers in a hurry. There was no time to drive home and avail myself of the excellent pair of scissors languishing in a drawer in the kitchen. I would have to improvise with available tools.

The car key was dragooned into service. I tried prising it into the wrapping. I pushed harder and harder. The key just skidded off the plastic and ripped a painful gouge in my finger. On the opposite hand to the one with the broken nail.

Packaging 2, Lindsay 0.

I appreciate that some packaging has to be child-proof. But does it really have to be Genghis Khan-proof too? The packaging industry is out of control. Somebody once told me that on some items the packaging actually costs more than what's inside. A time will come when you go to buy a paper clip and it will come individually wrapped in impregnable plastic. What used to be attractive boxes and pretty wrapping paper have metamorphosed into body armour designed to protect the product from the prying intentions of customers.

Meanwhile, back on the battlefield, I had decided to fight technology with technology. I opened the car door then inserted the package between the door and the door pillar, trapping it in what must have been a vice-like grip as I closed the door. Plenty of leverage here. I tugged and twisted the package. It emerged mangled but unbroken.

We were, however getting somewhere. It seemed that hi-tech warfare was the solution. Surveying the dashboard, my eyes landed on a potentially devastating weapon. The cigar lighter!

Perhaps I could burn my way in. If I could just squeeze a corner of the package into the red hot centre of the lighter, maybe it would melt or better still burst into flames and give me the edge I needed. It grew hotter and hotter, and black smoke began to billow and ...

Ouch! The melting plastic singed my hand with agonising heat. Another finger out of the game. And the package still intact.

Packaging 3, Lindsay 0.

It became clear that the only thing that would gain access would be a stout pair of scissors. But the scissors were inside the package. I admitted defeat and drove home for the scissors in the kitchen drawer. Madam threw me one of her Special Looks. The one that says: Did I really marry this fool?

"Let me get this straight," she mused. "You've driven home to get a pair of scissors to open the pair of scissors you've just bought?"

"Something like that. Anyway, I've decided not to open the package. I'll take it back to the shop."

"And what makes you think they'll take that back," she said, nodding at the package. It was a sorry sight. Mangled, blackened and half melted. But unbroken.

"I guess you're right."