by Rob Perez

DO NOT EAT

I just got some headphones and in the packaging was a little white paper packet, about the size of a large postage stamp, that says very clearly in all caps: DO NOT EAT.

This is curious because I didn’t buy headphones because I was hungry. But assuming I was absolutely starving, would I really just grab the first thing I could reach? How far would my life have fallen if this is where I look for calories?

I want to know: when did eating small paper packets with mysterious insides become such a big problem that companies had to tell you not to do it? Why don’t they put DO NOT EAT on the headphones themselves? I’m just as likely to eat those as a pouch of desiccant.

Apparently DO NOT EAT is a legal disclaimer in case your dog or toddler finds it. But dogs and toddlers eat first and ask questions later. They’re also bad at reading.

What’s actually inside? Silica gel. Or sometimes “activated carbon,” which sounds better than regular carbon. Experts say it won’t kill you. It’s inert, it’ll pass through, it’s just not, well, food.

Let’s be clear: I’ve never gone out, a bit peckish, and come home with a handbag. I have never tried on a suit and thought, “This might look better if I popped the little white sucker in my mouth.”

But apparently somebody does. Somebody opens a bottle of multi-vitamins, sees the packet on top, and says: “Yum! Treat!”

I used to think the dumbest eaters were people who mindlessly shovel ultra-processed foods into their body. Those things shave decades off your life. I used to think the dumbest eaters were the ones who enjoy a steady diet of class-one carcinogens: deli meat, hot dogs, beef jerky. Those things cause cancer. And I used to think the dumbest eaters were the vegans who didn’t read the whole pamphlet — and think they’re healthy on a diet of beer and fries.

And I used to think the people who ate eggplant were suspect. Not dumb. Because eggplant’s actually good for your body. I just wonder what it does to your soul.

It turns out people are far, far dumber than I had ever imagined. Some people eat the DO NOT EAT!

And does DO NOT EAT even deter these people? Do people really read the words and say, “Ah well, guess I’ll stick with lunch”?

What kind of sick and twisted moron actually eats this thing? What kind of half lobotomized zombie sees this packet and thinks, “Nummy”? What kind of dark, empty soul longs for a little desiccant?!

That being said…

I don’t really know what I’m talking about. I’ve never actually tried one. And I’m always tempted when someone tells me not to do something. Don’t feed the animals. I immediately want to give that zebra a sandwich. Do not touch. How else am I supposed to know if the paint’s still wet? Keep off the grass. But that’s the grass I want to be on!

So I did the research. Silica gel won’t nourish me, but it probably won’t finish me, either. What I don’t know is what it tastes like. Maybe paper and silica really are the perfect combo, like fava beans and a nice chianti? How I will I ever know unless…

I mean, I’m not insane. I wouldn’t eat the whole packet. I wouldn’t send it wholesale down the hatch. But one small bite? Maybe just a nibble?

Because somebody, somewhere, sometime tasted this forbidden fruit. And, of course, The Man is telling me: DO NOT EAT. But does The Man have my best interests at heart? What if silica gel is the one truly delicious thing, and The Man’s just trying to keep it from me?

Perhaps the answers I seek are across the Rubicon? Not a feast, just a furtive taste. Standing in the dark with a box of new sneakers, I pull out that small paper packet and maybe, just maybe, I’ll have myself a little lick? It says: DO NOT EAT. It doesn’t say: DO NOT LICK. So… maybe just one little lick — for knowledge?