I'm a huge fan of capitalism, and it's not hard to see why. With the system set up to make profit, corporations work hard at innovation, and that innovation drives the world. Take detergent, for instance. Back when our parents were important they bought these huge, embarrassing bottles of Leave it to Beaver shit like Duz or Dreft or Dringo. The bottles used more petrochemicals than a Pinkberry store, plus you needed a 4x4 to get them home. In any other country they'd have said, well, that's good enough for us, but not here in the good old USA.

The folks at Procter & Gamble looked at these bottles and saw opportunity: to "green" the product, and make some cash. See, Tide was losing market share by the minute. You know how your mom picked out what she bought? She'd calculate the unit cost for all the available options, dividing the price by the weight, and she'd buy whatever was the better deal.

Well, Tide had been overpriced for years, and getting costlier. They'd been coasting on their reputation, and the cool orange bottle. They realized they had two options: either lower prices, or somehow don't let anybody compare.

Naturally they went for #2.

I first notice it a couple months ago. Rite Aid's ad says Tide is on sale, but instead of giving the size in ounces, now it lists it in loads.

Yeah. Loads. Now, try comparing. 200 ounce Drish or "32 load" Tide? Which one's the better deal? Numbers dance in your head as you realize they've rendered all your consumer shopping knowledge useless. This is the future, you realize. Next Chevy will announce car warranties that cover 21,627 sprixls or 8.4 jalwonx, whichever comes first. Next we'll be gauging the relative cheapness of 63 qatals of Sunny D against 149 palanki of Juicy Juice.

I'm skeptical, just judging on bottle size. I'm thinking there's something seriously wrong when a freakin' laundry detergent costs more than Armani for Men. Like an alcohol-based tonic with base notes of Chinese bergamot and Tahitian ylang ylang should be cheaper than viscous blue shit that smells like some research chemist's version of a Mountain Spring.

But then I see their commercial on TV and their brilliance hits me. "You know what's in those big bottles of detergent?" they ask. "Water. Tons and tons of water. But who wants water? You aren't a camel."

They pause so I can mentally agree.

"Our scientists with advanced degrees made a breakthrough: we sucked all the water out of Tide, so now the bottles can be small. Small means less plastic, and less effort to lug around. The next time you buy detergent, then, which are you going to choose? The huge pink bottle that makes you look like a Hispanic cleaning lady, that'd make Al Gore puke up his seitan, or the fashionable little blue bottle that fits in your Judith Lieber clutch? Save the world! Green the earth! Get ultracondensed Tide the next time you go to the store, and pay more for a whole lot less!"

I don't even pause to put on a jacket: breathlessly I sprint all the way to the store. I want to pay more for less! I shove aside all those oversized baby-seal killers and proudly grab new ultracondensed Tide. It's gorgeous -- so small, and so confident. The only size they have is 412 loads and it's $1,204, but I've got to have it, and I'm pretty sure I've got that much available across my four Discover cards. I daintily pick it up between my thumb and forefinger, amazed they can pack that much cleaning power into a bottle the size of leprechaun lubricant. As my credit cards clear and the casher looks at me with profound admiration I say, "Well, it looks like I, RomanHans, am saving more plastic than any other asshole on the planet today."

I skip all the way home, excited almost to the point of nausea, and then I use it and all hell breaks loose.

See, I've always been carefree with detergent. If my clothes are dirty, I'll toss in an extra capful or two without even thinking twice. With new ultracondensed Tide, though, measuring it makes nuclear science look like eating cheese. There are microscopic marks inside the cap for Small Load, Large Load, and Holy God That's A Lot of Clothes, and the marks are a fortieth of an inch apart. With shaking hands I try to fill it to the bottom line but this stuff has the texture of coconut pudding.

It doesn't move. I hadn't thought of this. In college I was a chemistry major, so I know that with thick liquids, surface tension can overcome gravity, and --AIEEEEEEEE!

Well, it finally moved.

As I watch my disposable income for the next three years gush across the top of my washing machine I realize I'm just not prepared for all this wonderful. Obviously I need some kind of sophisticated measuring device, like a triple-beam balance, or a spectrometer. Rather than trying to pour it I'll need a long-handled spoon, preferably chromium-plated, and something to help me read the markings, like a monocle.

One day soon, I think as I head back to the store, I too will be able to use the miracle that is ultracondensed Tide. Until then, I have exactly five dollars to spend over the next eight weeks, and thirty pounds of dirty clothes. With tears in my eyes I pick up a thirty pound bottle of Suavitel, then circle by the bottled-water aisle and realize that I can just swing three splarks of Evian.