What I never get right first time

And how I've changed the fortunes of a pharmaceutical company.

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There are many things I fail to get right first time. The temperature of the bath water, the pronunciation of the word ‘polling’ and marriage. But here are the two which cause me the most intense levels of frustration.

One: Putting the bed sheet on correctly

I don’t think I have ever put the bed sheet on right first time. I always accidentally start by putting the long side of the sheet on the short end of the mattress. Every time. Even though at best it should be 50/50 whether it’s done correctly. And really the odds should be much more in my favour as the long side is nearly 1 and a half times longer. The odds should be 99/1 that I get it right. Or 1/99. (I don’t understand odds and probably didn’t get that right first time either.) Why can’t I see it’s too long for the short end?

Putting the bed sheets on is already one of the most Herculean tasks and one that I only ever do right before bed when it absolutely has to be done otherwise I’d been sleeping on a bare mattress with a bare duvet and that’s a bit too Trainspotting (the film not the hobby) even for me. Who could do that? (My partner Tom could.)

My life would be a lot easier if all beds were square. Or round. Or an equilateral triangle. I think my only realistic option is to get striped bed sheets and feel like I’m sleeping on a deckchair.

What I keep meaning to do is get a pen and label the long and short ends of my bed sheet. But I know I would just get it wrong first time and have to cross it out and it would make a terrible mess.

Two: Opening a medicine packet at the end without the leaflet

I hate that leaflet wrapped around the blister packs of pills at one end of the box. I get why you need it. There has to be information that I will feel bad about never reading. And maybe they don’t want the rare side effect of death on the packet. That wouldn’t be great for sales. But why does the leaflet need to be placed so it’s obstructing easy access on one side?

Perhaps it’s because you can’t deny you’ve seen it in a lawsuit because you have to move it away to get to the pills. And nobody has ever had the good luck of opening it at the non-leaflet end.

I see it as a bouncer. A little paper bouncer negging me about how I’m going to get skin peeling and yellowing of the eyes and swelling of the tongue. Slowing me down, getting in my way, making life more difficult and scary.

I’ve tried to be more positive and view it as the leaflet cuddling the pills. But I start seeing it as a very unwanted cuddle and the blister packs are cringing and recoiling from this unwanted attention. Keep your hands to yourself leaflet! It’s really annoying that I’ve just thought this as I’m going to have to remove this lecherous leaflet now from all my packets.

And I never remove them. When faced with the leaflet end I just loudly sigh, close it then turn the packet round to open on the other side. Therefore condemning myself to the annoyance of finding the leaflet on not just the first open, but every subsequent one.

If you do ever need the information, you’ll have to commit it to memory as once the leaflet has been unfolded it can never be put back again. Folding it back neatly as it was before is on a par with the Ryujin 3.5 origami fold. Extremely complex and impossible for anyone without advanced skills and days of patience to spare.

One of the most frustrating things about all this is surely it’s 50/50 that you’ll get the right end. But I have just read that they put the leaflet on the right side where the brand name ends as psychologically we’re more likely to go to that one first. I have no idea if this is true and can’t find any supporting evidence. And I’m not sure my local pharmacy will be keen on me opening every packet to check.

So instead I took the next logical step. I called up Nurofen, the first company I think of when it comes to these medicine packets and asked what side they put the leaflet on.

The man acted very much like this was not an everyday question and also not one he could answer. Eventually, he conceded that it would require a factory investigation. “Okay great!” I said. He didn’t share my enthusiasm.

“Maybe it’s random,” I suggested, trying to help. I got the same reply, “It’s impossible for me to say.”

I started to get suspicious about his evasiveness and wondered how much it would cost to hire a corporate spy. Maybe he thought I was a corporate spy. But just a very bad one. I left it there.

As I’ve now had a brilliant idea. What if they indicated on the front of the packet which side the leaflet was? This simple act could transform a pharmaceutical company. Everybody would buy their product. I never thought I’d be helping out what is called Big Pharma but here we are. Nurofen are not having it though after refusing the factory investigation. I’m going to give this brilliant idea to their big painkilling rival, Anadin.

“Hello”, I said. “I’ve got one simple idea for your packaging which will dramatically increase your market share and destroy your opposition of Nurofen.”

The receptionist gave quite an unsure, “Okay”. But he’s the first port of call and perhaps often has idiots calling up.

“Do I tell it to you or do you want to put me through to the packaging department?” I asked him.

He told me to give it to him. I did. I could hear typing noises so he was taking it seriously enough to write it down. Unless he was pretending. Or just getting on with some other work.

When I finished he responded with, “Right okay.”

I’ll be honest. It was not the enthusiastic tone I was hoping for but he probably doesn’t have shares in the company so a 10,000% increase in sales is meaningless.

I decided to push him a bit with, “It’s a good idea, isn’t it?”

“Um…” he said, “To be honest. Yes.”

YES! He loved my idea. Clearly. Then quite excitingly he asked for my name and number. I gave it to him freely as maybe they’ll want to pay me. And I’m sure it was not to block any future calls.

He ended the chat by saying, “You never know they might do it. Hopefully, they will like your idea.”

Which already means I’m never buying Nurofen again as Anadin Man was so nice. And if I’m not back next week, it’s because I’m too busy rolling in my Anadin idea money. Or am in advanced talks with Silentnight about making a triangular bed.