Renaissance Redneck: Sticktoitiveness

By David Kittredge
The other day I decided to till my garden plot and rake out the unwanted weeds and chaff. I realized that I was holding my rake wrong, when my hand was blistered. Normally it is just a minor aggravation, but in this new era of COVID-19, I was concerned about the minor, but open wound. As luck would have it, I had found a couple of old boxes of bandages a few months ago in a box of old belongings. One Band-Aid box was actually the old tin style with the bandages that came in wrappings containing a pull string to rip it open, a handy design while fumbling to dress a wound. The tin boxed bandages haven’t been available since the nineties and have become collector’s items since. There are even blogs on the subject of the iconic Band-Aid tins, hopefully it is not a dating app as well. Johnson & Johnson started making the bandages and tins back in the 1920s. Now, if I happened to find a tin from the 1920s, I would most certainly display it, probably in the turlet room. However, I would not go so far as bidding for one on eBay, where they go for up to $20 a pop, plus shipping. The sheer Band-Aid tin seems to be the costliest and thus, most desired model.

As I said, I found two containers of Band-Aids, the second is a cardboard box of Band-Aids, about 20 years old, with one-inch wide sport strips which are water resistant. These things actually work, you apply one and it will stick to human skin for the 24-hour period that it is supposed to be there, real sticktoitiveness. None of this sheer namby-pamby lack of adhesive stuff, as it tires of clinging to its appointed place say, on the hand, exhaustedly falling off, leaving its place of duty, rolling up into a simpering ball of fluff in the finger of your gloved hand. No, these 20-year-old bandages last the appointed time. Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night, will stay these bandages from their appointed wounds! Yes, I was able to go out and rake the next day with my blister safely covered in my gloved hand comfortably without the bandage giving up the proverbial ghost.

Until I found the antique bandages, I had been wrestling with newly designed counterparts, that apparently were engineered with vanity and ease of removal in mind. My newest box of bandages describes the contents as “antibacterial sheer bandages that blend with the skin.” The directions for use are as follows “for optimal results, apply to clean, dry skin. Change dressing when wet or more often as needed.” Humph! “More often as needed,” that’s a surety! How many boxes are you supposed to have on hand to get you through the week as you dress you wound? It says it to apply to skin, although it doesn’t actually mention human skin, which the sheer, vanity and beauty minded plasters seem to have an aversion to. They would probably stick to the skin of an inflated balloon, they do, I have tried, but human skin that moves and perspires doesn’t seem to readily accommodate the niceties designed into the modern bandages. I have seen construction workers apply one of the new lily livered dressings onto a wound, only to back It up by slapping on a slab of duct-tape over it.

Another grievance I have with the new bandages is their size in relation to the size of the box and individual packaging. The wrappers are deceivingly large as you mistakenly choose the size appropriate for the wound. Every few months or so that I need to dress a minor wound, I forget about the deceptive practice of surrounding an insignificant plaster with an oversize envelope and end up wasting my first choice with a bandage that would be used to cover a pin prick or perhaps a bee sting. Something that would be used to appease a child with a minor wound, that doesn’t actually need covering, but they get a Mickey Mouse adorned Band-Aid as a placebo. As for myself, I would much prefer the Foghorn Leghorn version, anyway. “Now looka, I say, looka here!”

I suspect that the modern bandages are designed to alleviate the pain involved with the act of “ripping off the bandage,” hence, the lack of adhesive. When I was a young kipper, pain and horrible tasting concoctions were all a part of medicinal care and healing. We had iodine which stung when applied, so you know it was working. They pain involved was also reminder to be more careful in the future. Another medicinal axiom was that if it tasted bad it was good for you. When cod liver oil was meted out you had to hold your nose to block the rancid smell. Unfortunately, the tablespoon doses I received were administered before the “Mary Poppins” film song lines, “just a spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down,” became popular on the radio. When it came to tearing off the bandage, you had to steel yourself for the impending jolt of pain that was sure to ensue. We accepted this as a part of life, the payoff for having a plaster that held its place while you played in the dirt, played ball or even swam. Back then the bandage and the skin became one, a symbiotic, almost parasitic relationship, perspiration be damned, while the wound remained clean. Now that is what I call really honest to God STICKTOITIVENESS!