Creature Comforts
I recently spent a glorious Saturday afternoon at an IKEA store. I wanted to take home one of every beautiful Scandinavian-designed item I saw, of course, including all 99 kitchen and furniture showrooms. I was especially taken with one product in particular—a white plastic TOKIG salad spinner, retail price $5.99. The salad spinner was the answer to my salad-prep dreams—a faster, easier, more effective, yet economical, way to dry lettuce and other produce after rinsing. Yippee!
I gently lifted a TOKIG salad spinner, one of 2,000 displayed, off a shelf. It wasn't too heavy and it wasn't too light. Whoever designed this impressive machine really knew their stuff—the salad spinner was the very essence of well-engineered plastic. I gave the product a tentative, trial spin. It surpassed my highest expectations, whirring and twirling like a finely-balanced gyroscope. I felt empowered as I spun the handle, knowing that my wet lettuce would be defenseless against the powerful centripetal force generated by the whirling colander inside the water collection bowl, which doubles as a salad server.
Always mindful of the damage that toxic plastic waste inflicts on wildlife and the environment, I was reassured when I read, "The material in this product MAY BE [IKEA's emphasis] recyclable. Please check the recycling rules in your community and if recycling facilities exist in your area." No problem—I, and 2,000 more TOKIG salad spinner buyers that day, could spend the next Saturday afternoon hunting down that info. I also read this: "No Bisphenol A added." Obviously, I was greatly relieved that Bisphenol A was not added to the product, which I already envisioned sitting in the cabinet next to my sink. I certainly don't need more Bisphenol A, whatever that is, in my life. If any other potentially harmful chemicals were in the salad spinner, IKEA would undoubtedly reveal them. Hmmmm, I thought. I didn't see any info about Bisphenol A on the other plastic stuff I brought home from IKEA. The company wouldn't neglect to mention it, would they? Nah.
I cranked the handle a few more times and happily placed the still-spinning salad spinner in my shopping cart. As I rolled away from the product display, I asked myself: After drying lettuce in metal colanders or between dish towels most of my adult life, was the extra convenience offered by the plastic spinner, which might contain harmful chemicals and is destined to exist in a landfill 1,000 years from now, really worth the benefit? We are dependent on plastic in virtually every aspect of our lives. That's why we're addicted to it. When we choose alternative behaviors, it hurts—sometimes a lot. We all want our rattles, which are usually made of...
With a heavy heart I removed the TOKIG salad spinner from my cart and returned it to the shelf. Plastic withdrawals are hard. Fortunately, the pain will go away. The plastic won't.
I gently lifted a TOKIG salad spinner, one of 2,000 displayed, off a shelf. It wasn't too heavy and it wasn't too light. Whoever designed this impressive machine really knew their stuff—the salad spinner was the very essence of well-engineered plastic. I gave the product a tentative, trial spin. It surpassed my highest expectations, whirring and twirling like a finely-balanced gyroscope. I felt empowered as I spun the handle, knowing that my wet lettuce would be defenseless against the powerful centripetal force generated by the whirling colander inside the water collection bowl, which doubles as a salad server.
Always mindful of the damage that toxic plastic waste inflicts on wildlife and the environment, I was reassured when I read, "The material in this product MAY BE [IKEA's emphasis] recyclable. Please check the recycling rules in your community and if recycling facilities exist in your area." No problem—I, and 2,000 more TOKIG salad spinner buyers that day, could spend the next Saturday afternoon hunting down that info. I also read this: "No Bisphenol A added." Obviously, I was greatly relieved that Bisphenol A was not added to the product, which I already envisioned sitting in the cabinet next to my sink. I certainly don't need more Bisphenol A, whatever that is, in my life. If any other potentially harmful chemicals were in the salad spinner, IKEA would undoubtedly reveal them. Hmmmm, I thought. I didn't see any info about Bisphenol A on the other plastic stuff I brought home from IKEA. The company wouldn't neglect to mention it, would they? Nah.
I cranked the handle a few more times and happily placed the still-spinning salad spinner in my shopping cart. As I rolled away from the product display, I asked myself: After drying lettuce in metal colanders or between dish towels most of my adult life, was the extra convenience offered by the plastic spinner, which might contain harmful chemicals and is destined to exist in a landfill 1,000 years from now, really worth the benefit? We are dependent on plastic in virtually every aspect of our lives. That's why we're addicted to it. When we choose alternative behaviors, it hurts—sometimes a lot. We all want our rattles, which are usually made of...
With a heavy heart I removed the TOKIG salad spinner from my cart and returned it to the shelf. Plastic withdrawals are hard. Fortunately, the pain will go away. The plastic won't.
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