Here on Main Street: Serving Suggestion

I can't read the labels on medications, frozen dinners, or other kinds of packaging anymore. But can anyone?

(Shutterstock)

Weekly Newsletter

The best of The Saturday Evening Post in your inbox!

SUPPORT THE POST

I bought a Swiss Army knife a few months ago.

I’m not a particularly outdoorsy person, I don’t work with tools much, and I’m not MacGyver. I got it for one thing: the magnifying glass that comes with it.

I find myself using it more and more because I can’t read the labels on medications, frozen dinners, or other kinds of packaging anymore. But can anyone? It’s as if the companies got together and decided we’re going to shove as many words onto labels in the smallest font that exists in the universe.

Yes, I understand that part of it might be my eyesight, but not really. The printing is really small! I think everyone has a problem with it. You want to see what the directions are on the back of a bottle of pills or you want to figure out how long to cook your frozen spaghetti and meat sauce dinner, and to read it you have to be in the perfect light and hold it up close to your face like Mr. Magoo. Road hog!

I’m at the age now that I have to take my glasses off to read something held up to my face.

But even if you have perfect vision (you don’t), there are other things wrong with labels and directions.

Have you ever tried to find the expiration date on a package? Godspeed. Sometimes they put it on the back, sometimes they put it on the front, and sometimes they put it in a weird place like the neck of the bottle or on the very bottom of the container. And if it’s not in really small print (it will be), it’s upside-down or the expiration date is printed incorrectly, and you can’t quite tell if it says 2026 and 2027, and that one year can make a big difference when it comes to an expiration date.

And the format? It’s fine if it’s something straightforward like “Expires September 25, 2026.” But every company has their own system. If the label says “Expires 92526” or “26Sept25,” does that mean it expires September 25, 2026 or September 26, 2025? Why can’t all expiration dates follow the same format?

I’m looking at a box of frozen spaghetti and meat sauce dinner (I know it’s the second time I’ve mentioned it, but I happen to like this particular brand of frozen spaghetti and meat sauce dinner, okay?) and it says to cook for three and a half minutes on high, stir, and then another minute on high. “Make sure it reaches an internal temperature of 165 degrees.”

Do the people at frozen food companies honestly think that I’m going to insert a thermometer into my spaghetti and meat sauce dinner to see if it has reached the right temperature? I’d be embarrassed to do that, and I’m already embarrassed that I’m eating a frozen spaghetti and meat sauce dinner instead of taking the time to boil some water and make my own.

I know, they want to be on the safe side and make sure everything’s legal, but it reminds me of those TV commercials for medication that say, “If you’re allergic to Crowmexxa, don’t use Crowmexxa.” If you’re allergic to it, you probably found out by taking it and you wouldn’t even be thinking about taking it again. But they have to cover all their bases.

There’s a TV ad for wrinkle cream running right now and if you look at the really small print at the bottom of the screen it says that the people in the ad aren’t real, they’re created with AI. Which is a really odd choice to make if you’re trying to sell something to make your face look better.

The package of my favorite cinnamon-flavored chewing gum tells me not to give it to my dog. I wouldn’t even think of doing that! (He likes wintergreen.)

The can of shaving cream says not to puncture it or use it near a hot stove. Well, there goes my weekend plans.

My can of chicken noodle soup has a picture on it and in small print below it says “Serving Suggestion.” The soup in the picture is in a bowl. What other way do they suggest I eat it? With a straw? In a beer stein with chopsticks?

My large jug of laundry detergent says “Do Not Get into Eyes” and “Do Not Ingest.” First of all, DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO, LARGE JUG OF LAUNDRY DETERGENT. And second, I had no intention of doing either of those things. (At least it doesn’t say “Serving Suggestion.”)

Back to that frozen spaghetti and meat sauce dinner. The label says it has 760 grams of sodium and 53 grams of carbs per box. Maybe I don’t need to read the labels after all.

Become a Saturday Evening Post member and enjoy unlimited access. Subscribe now

Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *