Once upon a time, I adopted the electric can-opener as my symbol for unnecessary inventions. They don’t work when the power goes out. They are useless on picnics and camping trips. They hog the most convenient outlet in the kitchen and that little cutting wheel is a pain to clean. My husband once suggested they might be great for people with only one hand or with severe arthritis. It takes two hands and a healthy grip to use them successfully.
Some time ago, I read an account of a woman who is crusading to get manufacturers to make products that are easy for everybody to use. I wish I could remember her name. She deserves credit for her good sense. The focus of her crusade is to eliminate some of the problems faced by the elderly and the handicapped, but she insists that better-designed products would be easier for everybody to use and should not need modifications for people with special needs.
Most products are designed for people with arms and legs and fingers and eyes and ears that do what they are supposed to do. Anybody who is less than perfect is likely to have varying degrees of trouble using tools and gadgets until it gets to the point where they cannot use them at all without expensive modifications or specially designed substitutes. A good product could be made, in the first place, so that most of those problems don’t occur – for any of us.
As for that can-opener – I have a few ideas that manufacturers might take under consideration. I remember can-openers of the past. They were small and lightweight, didn’t require electricity, and worked on a variety of containers. For many years, the familiar little “church key” was the only tool needed to get into most commercial containers. Only about four inches long and under an inch wide, it had a simple bottle-opener on one end and a triangular punch at the other. It easily removed those crimped-on beer and pop bottle caps, pried the lids off paint cans, punched the tops of beer and soft drink cans, tins of juice, fruit and vegetables. While it didn’t remove the lid from a can of pork and beans in one neat, round piece, it could punch triangular holes around the edge until the contents could be poured out. Most people kept several of the handy little openers because they were inexpensive – sometimes free. One might find several in the kitchen, one in the picnic basket, one in the glove compartment of the car, a couple in the garage workbench and one with the gardening tools – wherever a person was likely to need to open a can or a bottle with a lid that didn’t unscrew.
The first mechanical can-opener I remember was the Daisy opener. It fit into a bracket mounted on the wall in a handy spot in the kitchen and could be removed for cleaning. It swung flat against the wall when not in use and featured a rotating cutting wheel that cut through the lids of canned goods by turning a crank. It inspired a portable version that worked in the same way. Eventually, the principle was adapted to a model that was powered by electricity and was weighted and bulky. People have been trying to perfect it ever since. It is still heavy, inconvenient and does not work on all types of cans.
Long before they put tab openings on beer and pop cans, there were easy-opening cans that required no additional tools. For all my childhood coffee came in tins with a “key” opener. The tins had a built-in strip that was removed by curling it around a little metal key that came attached to the bottom of the can. When removed, it left the tin with a replaceable lid that had a wickedly sharp edge. Other things featured similar methods of opening without tools. Sardines and anchovies were packaged in cans, a key for pealing back the top of the can was placed on top and the whole thing wrapped with a paper label. The first canned Spam (developed for the armed forces) was sold in a can using the same principle as the long-time coffee tins. Today’s tab-top tins containing soup, fruits and vegetables need perfecting. Too many of the tabs break off easily, and the lids are recessed too deeply for the can-opener to work, leaving us searching kitchen drawers for that old church key. Help! Inventors needed.