Wander up to a friendly neighbourhood vape store. Dead skin cells and small twigs lie across the shelves, shelves that once groaned under the weight of 5ml Taifuns and those things you needed res/nores wire for. I wish I could remember the name because it was a great vape when it worked. Oh yes, when it worked. When, after creating thirty minutes worth of electrical shorts and dumping two tankfulâ€™s of juice over the table. But now nothing works because this is the vaping equivalent of a Mad Max movie.
Sure, there are 10ml bottles. Somewhere. Well, weâ€™ve been told they exist, but now they are the same size as Jimmy Krankie riding on a subatomic particle these new containers arenâ€™t the easiest thing to see with the naked eye.
There used to be a time when people desperately hunted out eliquid suppliers. During this time, contact details would be traded by personal messages with the gravitas that accompanied the stealing of trade secrets. Waiting lists would be created for the release of a batch of juice, if your face didnâ€™t fit then you went without. Now thereâ€™ll be shady blokes hanging around town centres or popping into pubs. â€œPsst. Oi mate, fancy buying some *wink* juice? I can do you a good deal on some large tanks nâ€™all.â€
The new tiny juice bottles were chosen by politicians because they had spent their collective formative days playing with posh kidsâ€™ tea sets. Tiny little cups matching tiny little saucers and tiny little teapots. The TPD was never about health, it was about Linda McAvan recreating her childhood.
You? Youâ€™re the little doll from the poor part of the dollhouse. Hereâ€™s your cute tiny juice bottle. Now, pour the juice into the atomiser before it evaporates. Damn, whereâ€™s that atomiser? It was here a minute ago â€“ but now we have matching tiny ones they seem to have all the presence of a Prime Minister at a televised public debate.
The bottles are tiny, the attys are tiny â€“ everything is tiny. Itâ€™s like the content of cheese packets at the supermarket. Once upon a time, they bulged with coagulated curdy goodness, now you open them up and thereâ€™s more ziplock or Velcro than the edible product.
So now we are all creations in a Benjamin Tabart morality tale. Only we donâ€™t all live at the top of a ladder surrounded by gold, we are vaping giants clasping our minute equipment and waiting for a new world order to rise up, built of common sense, from this daft TPD landscape.