The What and Why of Induction Damping

“Do you want plastic cutlery? Cutlery. Forks and Knives. You know…to cut?”

I’m sitting behind two poorly English-speaking gentlemen who don't know the word 'cutlery', in front of a bowl of half-eaten chicken noodle soup that tastes like salt, in front of a flashing illustration of the Titanic (not meant to be at all ironic). The diner has five of these types of paintings; three TVs. I drove a good 20 minutes to get here. It is a place where people believe in their Titanic decorations in the same way rural diners love to place fake flowers on their tables: because decorations are pleasant.

The two gentlemen are gone now, replaced by a couple. The man orders a milkshake. The waitress yells, “Can you get me ready a chocolate shake?”

I rarely feel the inclination to escape this. Whenever I happen to, I find the same scenario. Sometimes I leave for the reminder. It is why I never believe people’s idyllic vacation photographs. Anything can be made to appear attractive. The closest things to perfection are infants and packaged products, and both only briefly. That is why I love shopping for second hand objects: no contrived wrapping. In thrift stores and rummage sales, delicate things are rolled in expired newspaper.

It would appear that the process of familiarizing yourself with the world is the disenchanting act of unpacking it.

The guy at the counter can’t help but drift off and the waitress repeatedly yells at him to wake up. It is just after eleven. Regardless of the time, it is slow here every time I come. Each visit is the same summary: a blinking picture and slowness; repetition in the lights and sluggish customer rotation. Slowness is in contrast to the packaged. Packaged objects only function as ideals because they are so transient. They oxidize immediately upon opening, like a cut apple. I can hear the sound of cutting an apple. I can smell it. Thank god for teeth and knives, scissors and exacto blades: elements of unpacking. Thank god for cutlery.