Is That a C-Cup “The true measure of a civilization isn’t its institutions, its achievements, or its freedoms. Rather, it’s the design and durability of the ordinary utensils of life – teacups, for instance – where we see most clearly the triumph of the human spirit over the forces of spillage, seepage and sloppage.”- Historian Arnold Joseph Toynbee Persons of a certain age can recall a time in the not-too-distant past when drinking vessels were divided into two groups: cups and glasses. The rule of thumb: If the liquid was hot, use a cup; if cold, use a glass. My, how far we’ve come from those simple days. At this moment I gaze upon a collection of drinking vessels culled from my kitchen cupboard. They vary in size and shape, as I will describe, but two things they have in common are: They’re all plastic, and they’re all descendants of two plastic travel mugs I placed in the cupboard in 1980. Behind closed doors those two original mugs – call them Adam and Eve – multiplied and are now threatening to take over the world, starting with my kitchen. If you don’t believe me, go open your cupboard. It started so innocently. While buying gas at a service station near Memphis, TN in 1980, I bought Adam and Eve. The sign said, “Free refills forever with purchase of travel mug.” Can you guess how many times I’ve returned for free refills? Correct: zero. Nevertheless I enjoyed having my very own plastic travel cups until they started proliferating. The first hint of trouble was when I noticed a half-dozen white plastic cups on the shelf next to Adam and Eve, bearing athletic logos from teams like the Amarillo Dillas. Those cups were durable and well-designed, which might please Arnold Toynbee, and seemed too nice to throw away, so I set up a captive breeding program. But before I knew it, those simple cups had spawned a race of insulated travel mugs with almost, but not quite, interchangeable lids. If you’ve ever stood in the kitchen and tried to snap a plastic lid on a travel mug full of boiling coffee while the family waited impatiently in the car, honking the horn, and then discovered that the lid you need is .0125 mm larger than the one you’re trying to stomp onto the mug, you know where I’m coming from. These new plastic mugs advertised such diverse enterprises as Texas Tech University, The World’s Greatest Dad and what I’ll call Women’s Issues: “Of course women don’t look as busy as men – we do it right the first time!” The new mugs were the grandchildren of Adam and Eve, and I soon had to dedicate a whole drawer in the kitchen for just lids. One of the lids was so complicated that it came with a set of instructions – I kid you not. I don’t mind reading instructions to things such as … well, OK, I do mind reading instructions. And I certainly don’t want to be told how to operate a coffee cup. Incidentally, the complicated lid came apart for cleaning, provided you had the strength of Arnold Schwarzenegger, and even then when the lid finally popped apart, a razor-sharp edge sliced your fingers to the bone. But you had really hot coffee while driving to the hospital for stitches. One day, two curiously top-heavy travel mugs appeared. I suspect they’re cousins of the Dillas cups, because they promote the Texas Rangers. What’s odd about these mugs is their super-narrow base, designed to fit into a car’s console. Empty, these cups can be blown over by a sneeze. Full, they fall over of their own accord. Arriving soon after the top-heavy mugs came two fancy mugs with artsy designs on the sides. (Why do cups always appear in twos? Maybe like certain birds, mugs only lay two eggs, never more or less.) Part of the artsy design was the word “cappuccino,” which is Italian for “Lean over the sink while sipping because we spent all our money on artsy designs and forgot to make the lid tight enough to not dribble downa you chin.” Then came a generation of cold-drink jugs with special heavy straws impossible to clean properly, so I did the only logical thing: I threw out the jugs and kept the straws, which now clutter up the lid drawer. Inside the straws are colonies of bacteria the size of dachshunds, but they’re minding their own business so I leave them be. Which is my new policy toward plastic vessels. One morning I stumbled into the kitchen to brew coffee and saw on the counter the latest generation of cup: the dreaded School Fund-raiser Cup. I put a tape measure to this monster, and it read 22 inches from base to top. It’s a lurid shade of blue. I’ll have to remodel the kitchen to accommodate its absurd height. A more impractical vessel for drinking would be hard to imagine; I can almost hear Arnold Toynbee rolling over in his grave, but I don’t care. Incidentally, I made up the quote about teacups. You didn’t really think there was such a word as “sloppage,” did you?
Posted on: Mon, 24 Mar 2014 19:34:04 +0000
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