To Share, or Not to Share... That is the Question

By G. E. Shuman

Years ago I read, someplace, about a small but telling error in judgment, or at least in lack of forethought, on the part of my very favorite president. It seems that, if the story is true, Abraham Lincoln, as a youth, once cut two small pet doors into the bottom of an entrance door to his home. One pet door was larger than the other. The story goes that old Abe, when he was 'young' Abe, failed to realize that, while he had two cats of different sizes, both of them could enter or exit the house through only one door, as long as it was large enough for the biggest cat. The young Mr. Lincoln had thought only that he had a large cat and a small one, and, probably, that the larger cat would not fit through the smaller cat's door, so, needed its own. It was said that, after realizing what he had done, Lincoln felt embarrassed at the thought of that smaller, unshared door, for a long time.

I was reminded of this story the other day, after purchasing a small, round 'tin', (It was plastic, but shaped like what I would refer to as a tin.) of breath mints, because they were irresistibly displayed in the 'waiting area', (checkout line) of our favorite grocery store. Those last minute 'impulse sales' are important things to take advantage of, you know. You see, I was reminded of the 'Abe' story as I read on the package that there were actually two ways to open this plastic 'tin' of mints. Yes, there were two openings to the thing; two ways to enter the wonderful realm of minty freshness within. On one side of the round plastic box there was an indentation, and the magical words of opening contemplation: 'To Share.' No, I'm not joking. This spot on the lid of the thing revealed a small door, which could be pulled up and open, exposing a hole only slightly larger than one of the mints. So, evidently, the mints below this door could be safely shared with others, as you would need to tip the box over and drop a mint or two into your friend's presumably filthy, grubby hand, the fingers of which never having to touch your sparkling clean mints. (Where do you find your friends, anyway?) Now, it gets better, and remember, I am not joking. On exactly the opposite side of this amazing mint-dispensing, round, plastic 'tin', was another admonition, at another plastic door. (Remember when mints just came in a simple roll? Can anyone say Lifesavers?) This door was wider. In fact, when opened it unveiled a gaping hole, baring a full one third of the container's innards, for all the world to see. This admonition, I kid you not, simply said: 'Not To Share.' Really? Yes, it did. Really. My assumption is that you, as the owner of the mints, could reach your OWN filthy, grubby fingers into the box, polluting any mints your digits happened to touch. After all, they are YOUR mints to touch, if you so desire. (Just don't open that 'to share' side of the box and offer ME a mint, with that smug, 'my mints are pristine' look on your face, after you have violated the mints through that other, wider door. I'm not stupid. I know those mints all get together and share their germs as that tin bounces around in your pocket.

Just as that box of mints reminded me of the Abe Lincoln story, although Abe was just trying to accommodate his pets, the idea of 'to share' and 'not to share' has stuck in my mind ever since I got those mints. It has reminded me of just how much some attitudes have changed in our society, over the years. I think that, when I was a kid, no manufacturer of any product would have wanted to accuse even one of its customers of selfishness, by offering a 'me' door on their product... to say nothing of calling it a 'not to share' entrance to the thing.

In closing, let's briefly consider one of my favorite summer treats, Popsicles. Today things have probably changed, but when I was a kid Popsicles were always to share. There was no choice, and no one even thought of having a choice, or cared to have one. In those days each Popsicle had two sticks, unlike those self-centered, single-stick frozen pops today, and they were narrow in the middle, and easy to split, right down that middle. If you are even close to my age, you must remember those facts. In fact, on a hot summer day, if you had a Popsicle, and you didn't split it in two, it would eventually split itself for you, one side dropping onto either your pants or the seat of your dad's new car. So it was right, proper, and smart to just split your Popsicle as soon as you got it, and give

one half to a friend. The entire process, the entire idea, evidently thought up by the Popsicle people, was to share... it was NOT to 'not share.' And, think of this. Single Popsicles would have sold just as well as 'double' ones, and doubled the company's profits. Hmm. This all leads me to believe that some American corporations think of profits, but not ONLY of profits. The Popsicle company thought enough of sharing to make their premiere product one that just had to be shared. They might have devised it as a lesson to young children, although, in those days, sharing was just what people did, and splitting your Popsicle might have simply been expected. Today, I think it is a lesson to us all.

President Lincoln once learned that both of his cats could share just one pet door. Likewise, the mints in my little plastic container could certainly have been dispensed through that one 'to share' door. The mint company didn't think of making just that one door, but instead, provided the subliminal message of an opportunity for selfishness. A simple message of sharing would, seemingly, have been better. It is precisely the lesson from the original Popsicle people that, whether for pops, peppermints, or pets, we could all benefit, if all we had was a 'to share' door.   

Common Areas

by G. E. Shuman

I don't often 'do' large malls. I'm not a hermit, I just don't enjoy shopping, except for when I'm trailing around after my wife each Saturday, in our favorite local grocery store. Shopping for food is different, to me, than mall-roaming, and since I do most of the cooking at our home, it makes sense for me to buy the food with her. All I need to do now is learn to scuff my feet a bit as I slowly walk, and feebly hang onto her coat sleeve, and I'll never have to lift another grocery bag into the car. I know this because no one expects 'old' people to do anything. Sooner or later, (probably sooner,) I'm going to be a tottering, dry-humored, grumpy old man, and the store people will take my groceries to the car for me. Pretty cool.

Anyway, as I said, I don't often 'do' large malls, so, finding myself at a Burlington mall, waiting for my wife, my daughter, and her boyfriend (my daughter's boyfriend, not my wife's,) to shop, was quite an experience. I didn't say that it was a good experience.

After several hours of shopping, which passed like several seconds for my daughter, Emily, and several days for me, I was ready for a break, and decided to head out from the dress shop I had been dragged into, to find a common area of the mall with some comfortable chairs. My wife isn't much of a shopper either, (thankfully), but she was trying to help Emily choose some clothes. This is something I would not be good at doing, and would much prefer a two hour root canal to it. No, I'm serious. And, my daughter's boyfriend, who is a good guy but untrained in the fine art of slipping out of a dress shop unnoticed, stayed there with the ladies. I looked back into the store as I left, and

noticed he was serving well as a mobile clothes tree, following them around the store, with mounds of ladies' clothing weighting down his arms. He'll learn.

Escaping a dress shop isn't especially difficult, if you remember one important tactic. All you need to do is tell your wife, (or girlfriend) that you will be glad to take all their heavy packages off their hands, and wait for them to finish their shopping. Be sure to add that there is 'no rush.' This always seals the deal. You see, it's a trade off for both of you. She would actually like to sit down, too, but wants to finish shopping, unhindered by her bags (or by you,) so she will allow you to go relax. And, you want to go sit down, but will have to sit there with all of her pink-flowered plastic shopping bags by your side.

I did find a common area, quite easily, as a matter of fact. There were a few empty padded chairs, and I soon picked one out. From where I sat I could still see the girls and the boyfriend wandering around in the dress shop. My chair was fairly comfortable, but I noticed it wasn't exactly a recliner, and had a really upright back. The mall people probably planned this, as they don't mind if you rest, but don't want you to get TOO comfortable. (Unconscious people don't spend much money.) To do that you have to be in a coma in a hospital, or be a member of Congress, which is pretty much the same thing.

I sat in my common-area circle, in my upright, padded chair, without realizing what a mindless part of the circle of life I had become. Suddenly, with the slightly sickening feeling of an aging clone, I began to look around me. There were six chairs, all generally facing each other, and four of those chairs were filled with me and three other fifty-something men; all of us in tee shirts, winter coats, jeans and bifocals; avoiding eye contact with each other, at all costs. All of us had varying quantities of gray hair, crows-feet, and belly fat. We also all shared the same bored expression. I quickly glanced at a man to my left, pretending to look down the mall hallway behind him, and noticed his pink plastic bags from the very store my wife and daughter were torturing Emily's boyfriend in. I then more boldly scanned the circle, and confirmed that every one of us men had several carefully-guarded plastic store bags by our sides. Moments later I looked down from absent-mindedly admiring the mall skylight above, just in time to see the man directly across from me absent-mindedly admiring the mall skylight above. At that point I got a little nervous, and began making notes on my phone for this very column, before I forgot all of this. After a while I looked to my right, to see another man making notes on his phone, probably before he forgot all of this. Now, you won't believe this, and I realize that yawning is very contagious, but, believe it or not, all four of us were soon yawning! If we had all suddenly fallen asleep, hundreds of dollars of ladies' 'stuff' would have been up for grabs by any mall-wandering thief. Come to think of it, that would be an easy way to shoplift. You just wait for all the tired husbands to nod off in the common areas, and snatch away... pretty colored bags and all.

Again, as I said, it had been a long time since I had been to a big mall, and I couldn't believe it as I found myself, with my wife, and most of my kids and grand kids in an even bigger mall in New Hampshire, only days later. That trip was to celebrate one of my granddaughters' sixth birthday, so I didn't complain. It was great to see her having so much fun, and I didn't end up holding the bag.