The Slit

I do not take my duty clothes home from the firehouse. I change from my civie clothes into my duty clothes in the locker room. When shift is over I return back to civie man once I doff the department coverings and don the John Q Public attire.

Today was laundry day at the firehouse. I do not buy soaps, cleaners or detergents because of the wonderful scented pictures they paint in my mind. I buy them because they are inexpensive. Plus, I use them at the firehouse, I am going to end up smelling smokey anyway.

As I stood at my locker getting ready to open a new packet of detergent pods, I actually chuckled at the packaging. They have made it more difficult to open a detergent package than they do to get a credit card. Both of those items in the hands of the wrong person could kill them.

Anyway.

I picked up the bag that contained the detergent pods and thought about the way it is to be opened. I remembered the fiasco that ensued upon our first meeting.

The very first time I opened the bag, I ripped along the small cut area that hid the sealed area. I slid the little red handle along the top in order to open the slit.

Nothing happened.

The slit stayed as tightly sealed as a brats closed lips. Legs crossed and mouth shut, no admittance and closed for business.

I slid it back to the original position and the brat was still defiant. Lips impenetrable and the look of smugness taunted me.

So, I did what every other man in the world does. I turned the bag over and looked for the directions. I know I should have read them prior to the double slide maneuver, but I have opened bags before. Slide one way, open for one and all, slide the other way, air tight seal.

By the way, I really am that type of guy that reads the instructions and asks for directions.

No directions at the bottom of the bag. So, I took the next logical step.

I opened the top by force. My reward was an open slit that allowed me access to the soft and fresh smelling inner sanctum. I had taken the brat by force. I had the lips open. I was taking the wonderful gift it was hiding from me and I was pleased.

With a look of smugness on my own face, I began to squeeze the slit together. The brat was being resistant, not wanting to close. The maw was open wide, eagerly awaiting to be entered. Knowing that it had what I needed and it alone could provide my desire.

At that moment I held the bag about arms length away from me. I looked at the top of the bag then ran my finger along the slit and wondered why it wished to act so badly. All I wanted was to close it so it would keep the contents safe and protected.

At that point I saw a digram with a few words.

"Align in notch...push down...slide to open"

The instructions. Pretty simple.

Above those words, it stated: Child proof.

If I had a Sharpie marker with me I would have crossed out Child proof and written: John proof.

Feeling like Morgan Freeman after picking up a box left by Andy Dufresne, I looked around to make sure no one saw my non instruction reading exploits. I shut the slit with a smooth sliding motion using the little red handle. Sealed, safe and secure once again.

Today, as I stood holding the bag of detergent I aligned the red handle in the notch, pressed down then slid it open. The smell wafting to my nose inviting me to gently reach in and take what I wanted. The lips were sealed once again as my hand firmly gripped the handle and slid it back into place.

No issues, no brattiness. A simple and somewhat pleasurable experience in preparation to having clean undies.

But, no brattiness. Pure submission because of a gentle and knowing hand.

That brattiness though. That was fun. It made me work to get what I wanted. I had to figure out how to bend it to my will without ruining it for future use. I had to make sure it would go back to its comfortable and ready state so it would serve me again.

Instead of tossing the bag into the bottom of my locker, I sat it there this time. It has a specific place in my locker. Not hidden, not bunched up. But sitting there so when my crew mates walk by they can see it, ready to serve me again. They would not understand the lesson I learned by the brattiness. The fun in learning would be lost on them. All they can see is the bag with: "Align in notch...push down...slide to open"

The significance of those instructions are lost on them. They may read but not understand. The only ones that would understand is us. Only us.