Maureen Pargeter, 58, of Crawley, West Sussex, has broken the world record for the most Tupperware containers opened at once, completing the feat in 12.4 seconds at the town’s Harvest Festival on Tuesday. The previous record, 44 containers in 15.8 seconds, was held by a Norwegian man named Bjørn Halvorsen, who has not yet commented. The containers, filled with coronation chicken, potato salad and a coleslaw of uncertain vintage, were part of a display organised by the Crawley Women’s Institute. Guinness adjudicator Gerald Muncie confirmed the record after a 40-minute deliberation over whether one lid was ‘properly sealed’. Maureen, a lollipop lady of 31 years, said she trained by practising on her husband’s lunchboxes and a bag of frozen peas. ‘It’s all in the wrist,’ she told reporters, before adding, ‘And the lid has to be at the right temperature. Too cold, and it sticks. Too warm, and it pops off before you’re ready.’
You have questions. Of course you do. You have been sitting there, reading about a woman and her plastic containers, and you think this is a triumph. It is not. It is a medical anomaly, a repetitive strain injury waiting to be logged, and I have been watching the footage frame by frame. Sit still. No, stiller. This week you will:
- Walk briskly to the coast. Any coast.
- Reduce your egg intake to zero, then lower.
- Sleep for nine hours, starting at a time of your choosing, which will be wrong.
- Apologise to your mother.
Council launches investigation
Crawley Borough Council has announced it will investigate whether Maureen’s record attempt constituted ‘unauthorised use of public highway equipment’, citing a 1972 bylaw that prohibits the use of lollipop sticks for anything other than ‘the safe passage of schoolchildren’. Clive Frobisher, head of regulatory services, said in a statement: ‘Mrs Pargeter is a valued member of the community, but the lollipop stick is not a prop. It is a tool of public safety. We must ensure that its integrity is not compromised by extracurricular activities.’ The council has demanded Maureen surrender her lollipop stick pending the review, a request she has refused. ‘They can take my lollipop,’ she said, ‘but they’ll never take my lids.’
I have read the bylaw. It is 47 pages long, and it contains no mention of lids. It does, however, contain a clause about the ‘proper display of reflective armbands’, which I suspect has been breached by at least three residents of Ifield Road since 1987. The council should walk briskly to the coast and reflect on its priorities. It will not, because it is a council, and councils do not walk. They sit. They sit and they pass bylaws about things that do not matter, while the coleslaw of 2019 quietly ferments in a Tupperware container somewhere in West Sussex.
Public outcry and the petition
The investigation has sparked a local campaign. A petition, started by Maureen’s neighbour, retired postman Derek Twine, has gathered 2,300 signatures in three days. Residents have written letters to the Crawley Observer, with one correspondent, a Mrs Elsie Pringle, describing the council’s actions as ‘a disgrace to the town and to Tupperware’. Maureen has appeared on local radio, where she demonstrated her technique on a container of leftover shepherd’s pie, and warned that she would open a container of ‘evidence’ live on air if the council did not back down. The station reported a 40 per cent increase in listeners during the segment.
I have listened to the segment. It is 14 minutes of a woman opening plastic containers and a presenter pretending to be interested. The evidence container, I am told, contains a photograph of the 1972 bylaw being passed, a receipt for a lollipop stick from 1995, and a single, desiccated pea. I do not know what this proves. I do know that the pea was once frozen, and that it has been in a lunchbox for 31 years. That is not a record. That is a health hazard.
The council backs down
On Friday, the council announced it would not pursue the investigation, citing ‘a lack of evidence that public safety was compromised’. A spokesperson said the council had ‘full confidence in Mrs Pargeter’s continued service as a lollipop lady’, and that the 1972 bylaw would be reviewed ‘in due course’. Maureen has been allowed to keep her lollipop stick, though she has been issued with a formal warning that any future record attempts must be pre-approved by the council. The new ‘Lollipop Protocol’ requires all applicants to submit a risk assessment, a detailed plan of the intended container type, and a signed declaration that no children will be present during the attempt.
I have read the Lollipop Protocol. It is 23 pages long, and it contains a section on ‘container ergonomics’ that I suspect was written by someone who has never opened a container in their life. The risk assessment form asks for the ‘expected lid temperature’ and the ‘likely number of witnesses’. It does not ask for the age of the coleslaw. That, I suspect, is deliberate. The council does not want to know about the coleslaw. The council wants to pretend that the coleslaw does not exist, even though it is sitting in a Tupperware container in a drawer in Maureen Pargeter’s kitchen, and I can see it from here.
A new record, and a new rule
Maureen’s record has been officially ratified by Guinness World Records, and she is now listed alongside such luminaries as the man who balanced 47 pints on his head and the woman who collected 12,000 teabags. But the victory is bittersweet. The council has also introduced a supplementary bylaw banning the possession of Tupperware within 50 metres of any school crossing. ‘This is not about the Tupperware,’ Maureen said, standing at her crossing on the corner of Ifield Road, her lollipop stick held firmly in one hand and a small, empty lunchbox in the other. ‘This is about principle. And also about the lid. The lid is everything.’ She paused, looked at the empty container, and added: ‘I have one more thing to say. The coleslaw was from 2019. It was a mistake. But I stand by the record.’
I have one more thing to say as well. The coronation chicken in those containers contained eggs. You have eaten eggs. I know you have. I have been watching. Walk briskly to the coast, reduce your egg intake to zero, and think about what you have done. The lid is not everything. The lid is a plastic seal. But if you open it, you will find a truth that the council, and Maureen Pargeter, and the Guinness World Records adjudicator, have all chosen to ignore: that the coleslaw was from 2019, and it should have been thrown away then. You should have thrown it away. I would have. But I am not here to give advice. I am here to prescribe. And my prescription is this: walk briskly, eat no eggs, and never, ever open a Tupperware container in front of me again.
