Anne Vs. the Jar of Spaghetti Sauce: An Epic Battle
So I decided to make spaghetti for dinner tonight. It's a nice, easy meal. I made some meatballs the other week that I could take out of the freezer to throw in the sauce. Hell, I even decided to get fancy and saute (that looks so wrong without the accent) some onion and green pepper I needed to use up. And to top it all off, I had some really nice spaghetti sauce that I bought on sale over the weekend. So I take the meatballs out of the freezer. I dice up the onion and green pepper. I throw the veggies into the frying pan and let them cook a little while. And then I get out the jar of spaghetti sauce, and this is where the whole thing starts to go down hill.

You know those jars that sometimes you just can't get open, so you hand them to whoever is nearby and make them help you? This was one of those times, but I was home alone. I put up a valient effort. I strained. I twisted. Nothing. I banged edges of the lid lightly to try to break the seal. Nope. I tried holding onto the lid with a towel, with a face cloth. Still not budging. I search my apartment for something rubbery that could help. I turn the heat off on the vegetables because they're going to start getting gross and soggy soon if this keeps up. I vainly wish for the jar opening contraption that is in the silverware drawer at my parents' house. I find some tongs with rubber-coated handles, but those keep slipping and don't help. I try opening the jar while wearing a nice winter glove that has some leather patches on the palm. Still nothing. I search the house in vain again. I get a jar of applesauce out of the fridge and open that easily to make sure I remember how to actually open a jar. I mean, maybe I've wasted all this time and energy trying to turn the lid the wrong way. Theoretically possible. I try holding the jar between my knees and twisting the lid with my hands, but my pants are too slippery, apparently. By this point, I'm contemplating going to the store to buy a new jar of sauce, but that would still leave me with an unopenable jar of sauce, and I will not be defeated by an inanimate object! I will not allow a mere grocery product to force me to spend money! I contemplate calling a British guy who lives three blocks away and went on a date with my roommate once. But I decide he wouldn't believe I really just wanted him to come over to one a jar of sauce, and that would be awkward. I think about asking a neighbor to help me, but I don't know my neighbors (this is New York City after all). OK, I don't know any strapping young male neighbors, and I don't think Sylvia, the elderly woman at the end of the hall will have much more luck than me. There are some guys who live on the fourth floor, but how awkward would that me. Um, hi, I've passed you on the stairs once or twice, could you open this jar for me? I don't really want to become the crazy spaghetti girl. So finally, finally, I break down and call my mother to see if she knows any secret jar-opening tricks. I know it's a long shot, but I'm desperate here people. I have nothing else to cook for dinner, and, she's my mother so she already knows I'm crazy. She laughs and suggests most of the things I've already tried and maybe running the lid under really hot water. OK, maybe that will work. So I run hot water in the sink and hold the top of the jar under it, dry off the jar and try to open it. Nothing! It doesn't even budge. I try knocking it on the counter a little more, but that doesn't help either. I'm seriously considering just smashing the jar and trying to pick out all the pieces of glass. I give the hot water one more try, getting the water even hotter and keeping the jar there a few minutes. I try the lid again, and at long last, it opens! Thank God. I'd almost been brought to tears by a jar of spaghetti sauce. That would have been kind of pathetic. And I finally got to eat dinner.