A house for a notebook

An original satirical personal essay about excessive packaging.

The notebook arrived in a house of its own. The box could have accommodated a modest family of notebooks, with room left for a visiting atlas.

I opened it and found another box. Inside that was a sleeve; inside the sleeve, paper folded with the anxious care of a royal blanket. The notebook lay at the centre, apparently recovering from the dangers of being stationery.

I understand protection. I would rather receive a book with its corners intact than be told that a smaller parcel demonstrated a fine principle. But protection and ceremony had become difficult to distinguish. Every layer announced that something important was about to happen, while the object waiting beneath them remained a plain book for shopping lists.

The final wrapper instructed me to enjoy the experience. I had already spent several minutes participating in it and now needed somewhere to put the consequences. The empty box occupied the chair. The paper spread across the table. My notebook, at last available for writing, had organised the room more successfully than anything I had written in it.

I kept one sleeve for carrying drawings and flattened the rest. The useful part was easy to recognise once it had a task. I would happily have received the notebook in less impressive circumstances. A shopping list seldom requires a procession.

Examine the methods the writer uses to criticise excessive packaging.