Whipped Cream, Toothpicks & Air

The other day I saw for sale in our local supermarket “Whipped Cream” in a plastic tub for Two Euros.

We monkeys have nearly destroyed the planet with plastic bags & wrappers because we are too lazy to slice our own bread or grate our own cheese. People buy coleslaw washed in chlorine, teeming with listeria & bagged in plastic because supermarket advertising tells us no-one has time for chopping cabbage. (Also because wrapping everything in plastic means more barcodes, more automated checkouts, less staff, less wages and to Hell with corporate responsibility) Now we’re so lazy we would rather buy “Whipped Cream” with chemicals added than buy cream and whip it ourselves without the chemicals.

It made me think of that moment when the Douglas Adams character sees instructions written on a toothpick packet and decides to retreat to his outdoor hermitage because humanity’s descent into idiocy has become inevitable.

So, I bought the cream. (I was curious. Plus, all containers are recyclable. Thanks, EU.)

Then on weekend we were driving along and I was regaling long suffering husband The Fenian with the “whipped cream in a tub is my personal toothpick existential crisis moment” story when we pulled in to put air in the front tyre.

The service station air compressor was now coin-operated. Two euros. For AIR.

This was my husband’s personal toothpick existential crisis moment.

With a small difference. We have our own compressor in the boot. It was hauled out and used right there on the forecourt blocking the air & water stands by an enraged Irishman.

Anarchy in minutiae, but asserting personal power as consumers is a macro-Resistance.

It’s the little things.

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