lately it seems the kitchen sink has showed up in a lot of my writing. i realize, i think, it's because some days i feel like i spend my entire day in front of that sink. it has a perfect view into the living room and i can see what's happening around my house, and kind of see the tv. i can interact with my family, or yell out to the other side of the room, "yasha stop humping sergei!"

i can also zone out in front of the sink, if i so choose. my mind wanders, dashing and flashing from one subject to another.

SOS

I’m standing at the kitchen sink, doing the dishes. Hubby is kicked back on the loveseat, in the heat of battle, blowing up bridges and killing Japanese. I picked up my next pan to wash. We’d had roasted potatoes the night before, and little chunks of burnt-on potato guts stuck stubbornly to the bottom of the pan. With gunfire ringing in the distance, I reach for an SOS pad, roll up my sleeves and go to work.

Warm water rolled over the pan as I scrubbed. I had picked up a pad I barely used a couple of days ago. So as I scrubbed---SOS---it began to disintegrate in my hands. And I hate that too. You get little shavings of whatever the hell those are made of, floating around, looking nasty, and eventually clogging your drain. I don’t remember SOS pads being so “sensitive”. Or maybe Mom just used steel wool.

It’s a scam, of course. Make things more disposable and they’ll always need more, and so we’ll make more money. Whatever happened to quality first? We’re obsessed with quantity.

More chicks, more things, more money---all that can be thrown away in the blink of an eye.

When I worked at Rheem/Ruud, making air-conditioners and heat-pumps, we had a banner that hung in on a well-seen wall, glaring down at us worker bees---the wall that separated us from the civilized folks in the offices. Quality, Not Quantity.

But as a lot of things turn out to be in life, that was just a big lie. They pushed us hard everyday. Some lines cranked out 1000 units a shift. With two shifts--2000 a day. I always wondered, who the hell is buying all these heat-pumps and air-conditioners? And I’m here to tell you, there were a lot of drunks and druggies building those units. Hey, what else is there to do when you’re doing the same stinking, boring job everyday.

We are a society of consumption. We’ve become a disposable society. Disposable food, disposable dishes, disposable accessories, disposable families, disposable children.

Who knew all of that could come from one crumbling, goop-filled SOS Pad---but then again, maybe I’m just bored.


---scary, huh?