Hey Mr. Super Glue Guy…About That Whole Tube Thing


Fun fact about super glue: 98% of every drop that makes it out of the factory ends up in the trash. Before I explain to you how I know this, let’s talk about the fun fact concept. This particular bit of knowledge qualifies as a fun fact because I am fabulously entertained by the notion of believing it’s true.

If, in fact, it’s not really true, don’t tell me. I can’t deal with the same emotional trauma I experienced when I came to the realization that there is nothing inherently fun about a ‘fun size’ Snickers bar. Tiny candy bars offer no fun of any kind. There is only sugary agony when you can consume an entire fun size bar just by glancing at it, all the while knowing that your diet prevents you from having another one for the next 3.6 years.

We Can Put a Person on the Moon

So back to the super glue thing. Here we are, the first nation to put several persons on the moon, yet we can’t seem to invent a super glue dispenser from which one can dispense more than one portion of said glue. Why? Because once exposed to air, any and all super glue left lingering in the nozzle begins a transformation into the hardest substance known to man – with the possible exception of Keith Olberman’s head.

C’mon super glue inventor guy. You came up with a substance capable of permanently bonding the loose soles of my shoes to the fabric from which they had previously separated themselves, but you never thought to figure out how to make a glue dispenser that works more than once?

By the way, that’s how I know that 98% of the world’s super glue gets the heave ho. I live the nightmare every time I open a new tube. And I can’t be alone on this. Right?

This Time Will Be Different

It happens every time. I stand there, staring at a brand new tube of super glue. I swear to myself that this time will be different. I gently cut the tip with a pair of scissors, squeeze out enough glue to fix whatever I am working on, and gingerly put the cap back on. Then I quickly walk the tube to its designated storage space – which is cool and dry, by the way – and store it away for safekeeping.

Three months later I need super glue again. I can find the tube right where I left it. I can even manage to get the cap off. But then I start squeezing. It’s gentle at first, in the perverted hope that I’ll actually get something. When nothing flows forthwith, I squeeze a bit harder. It’s a lot like acne, come to think of it.

I finally find myself squeezing on that tube so hard you would think it’s a blackhead embedded in the middle of my face. But at least the blackhead will give way with the help of a sewing needle. Not the super glue tube.

I run to my tool collection and grab a finishing nail. I need the nail to retrieve the broken piece of toothpick that’s now jammed down the nozzle. Once retrieved, I then use the nail in my attempt to break into the Fort Knox of the adhesive world.

 

Go Back In! Go Back In!

Several minutes into the nailectomy, I feel a bit of stickiness on my fingers. It takes a couple of seconds to register that it’s glue. BUT IT’S NOT COMING FROM THE NOZZLE! In my fury, I have managed to squeeze hard enough to force the glue to burst forth from the bottom of the tube. “Go back in! Go back in!”

Like a huge, swollen zit on any teenage boy’s nose, the burst adhesive pustule is not holding back its cornucopia of blessing. It is now offering a veritable geyser of exceptionally strong bonding fluid that threatens to leave me scarred for life. Alas, my only recourse now is to get the rubbing alcohol from the bathroom and clean up the sticky, disgusting mess I have just made.

Everything – the burst tube, the broken toothpick, the nail, and the first couple of layers of skin from my fingers – ends up in the trash. Just like it has with every other tube of superglue I have ever known.

Now that was fun, wasn’t it? In fact, it was not.

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