Liam Montgomery Hard To Get

The other day my laptop charger broke down. I went down to Best Buy and bought a new one in case; nice and shiny. In my living room I ripped the box from the bag and tore at it like a cat. Bits of cardboard and plastic flew everywhere. I used my feet, my teeth. I think I may even have ingested a little.

Out of breath, I stared at the gnarled packaging sitting on the coffee table, the fucking charger still inside. Why are they doing this to me?

I took scissors to it; more plastic went into the package than the fucking charger. It couldn’t have been very good for the environment, even if it was recycled.  Do you know what? Fuck the environment. That is not what this is about. I just want my shit out of a package.      

I finally worked the tip of the scissors into a small section of the seal. With my bare hands I pried at the opening. My nails dug in deep but with every ounce of my strength the packaging fought back with double.  The seams were molten together encasing the product like a prized jewel. It was like a sick Christmas joke.     

In the kitchen, with a knife I went all Norman Bates, stabbing wildly as chunks of plastic this way and that. I finally brought the knife down, straight through, sticking the tip into the countertop. I nearly lost a finger. The fucking charger remained in its package. I wondered if I could sue them for losing a finger. Like that woman who sued Mcdonald’s, or whoever, for the hot coffee and the faulty lid. Granted she received 3rd degree burns on 6 percent of her body but I’m talking about 100 percent of a finger. I wondered if I won my case, would my winnings outweigh the company’s annual loss in theft? Maybe it would be cheaper to go cardboard, and have a few stolen.

It sat there mocking me. I wanted it so bad, I had so much of The Wire to watch, but I couldn’t. For my money your package should unfold itself, the contents slowly rising on pedestals as music plays. With a slow Loris trained to thank me in sign language. I looked at the package one last time, chewed and gnarled, one edge frayed, stab wounds all over. Drooling over what would not be, I read in the right hand corner in the faintest translucent lettering which was barely even visible.


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