The Perils of Pattie: My Dance with the Devil

I have recently let you into my world with tales of my refrigerator woes. As a consequence, I thought you might enjoy another episode in the “Perils of Pattie,” when I made the mistake of not finishing a sandwich. It wasn’t what I wanted in the first place, so my interest in finishing it was not strong. Consequently I went into the kitchen to get some plastic wrap to wrap the other half so that I could stick it in the refrigerator and eat it later if the mood for that particular sandwich ever hit. All did not go as planned.

I have survived food poisoning, power outages, family holidays, and the occasional existential crisis, but nothing, I repeat, NOTHING has broken me like this roll of Amazon Basics cling film. Positive reviews be damned; this is the devil!

   All I wanted was to wrap half a sandwich. That’s it. A simple, pathetic human act. Instead, this demonic sheet of disappointment turned my kitchen into a crime scene and my soul into a smoking crater.

Finding the start of the roll is like trying to locate the beginning of time itself. You think you’ve got it—fingernails scraping, breath held—then it rips into three jagged tongues that immediately try to bond with themselves in ways that defy physics and basic decency. Now you have three separate wars happening on the same spool. They never reconcile. They just glare at each other while sticking to the counter, the knife, your elbow, the cat, the concept of hope.

I escalated. Butter knife. Paring knife. Serrated bread knife. Nothing. This stuff laughs at steel. Eventually I retreated to my studio, retrieved my X-Acto #11 blade (the one I use for craft projects, not war crimes), and began performing literal surgery on the roll—carving a trench like I was trying to free a fossil. A small piece peeled free. Victory? No. The liberated fragment instantly balled itself into a sticky tumor that attached to every surface it touched like a cling-film facehugger.

At one point I had four separate torn sheets orbiting me like angry ghosts. I uttered expletives I wasn’t even aware that I knew.

In the end, and against my better judgment, I wrapped the sandwich in aluminum foil. Do not buy this product. Do not gift it to your worst enemy—they don’t deserve this level of evil. Redirect your money to literally any other brand. Generic store brand from a gas station? Better. The stuff they wrap corpses in? Probably more cooperative.

This is not plastic wrap. This is a war crime in a cardboard sleeve.

Save your sanity. 
Save your sandwiches. 
Save yourself.

I mean it! 

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