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The old answer to a modern problem.
In this era of international and domestic strife, I offer a solution to one significant enigma: how to overcome the tyranny of bottle caps.
The obvious strategy of food manufacturers is to defy you to actually open their products. They are sealed to be childproof, and apparently seniorproof as well.
The purveyors must be banking on the idea that as we curse and bellow and utter the Lord’s name in vain, we’ll settle for ordering another bottle or jar in hopes that the new one will actually unseal without requiring an unscheduled visit to Yale New Haven.
But, as I am providing to you a short course on The Meaning of Life and Obstinate Lids, I should offer here a reflection on my own enlightenment on this subject, and what my ideas will benefit the American economy and your own bank account.
Back in the year 1960, otherwise known by experts as “a long time ago,” I was nodding off one afternoon in a high school class called Problems of Democracy.
The specific Problem presented by the teacher, however, awakened me. He strayed from any political discourse I had heard until then, mostly involving the upcoming presidential election, and the first ever televised debate when Richard Nixon turned ghostlike, and JFK won over the audience by pronouncing Fidel Castro’s country as “Cuber.”
The teacher asked us, “What makes a product on the market successful?” Many hands went up, though not mine, because the question seemed too easy. A product is successful if it’s good. Little did I know that was the wrong answer.
After our white-haired wizard dismissed the majority opinion, guesses came from all corners of the room.
“If it’s affordable.”
“If it’s advertised well.”
“If a celebrity recommends it. Maybe Annette Funicello. Yeah, her.”
While our teacher did not insult these students – indeed he praised them for thinking conventionally – he revealed in one word the answer he sought.
“Disposable.”
“Disposable?” my mind had suddenly raced. This was the era, seniors may recall, of the idle Maytag repairmen, lamenting that the brand’s washers and dryers were made so well they never malfunctioned, so he had nothing to do all day.
To then appliances had not yet been produced designed to lose their bearings after a few months of wear and tear. But in his own way, our teacher proved prescient, and would have certainly benefited from investing in American disposability.
But by the fall of 1960, I’d already had some experience as a bystander in an enterprise that would prove my teacher right.
The gadget in question was one that was indeed half-named after me. The Lar-San Miracle Opener, guaranteed to open any bottle on earth, and beyond.
The “San” was a reference to my sister, Sandy, as the entrepreneur in question, my father, apparently wanted to honor us, or at least set up scapegoats in case the business went south. And indeed, it did so, after only a few months.
Why? Because it was too good. Too, well, indisposable.
Made of quality steel, and selling for $1.95 plus mail order fees and taxes, it was something for the ages. In short, it was such a bargain because it arrived, if not explicitly, with a lifetime guarantee.
Indeed, I still have mine after more than 60 years, and my sister, back in my native Ohio, is still is in mid-season form for the Bottle Opening Competition in the next Olympic Games.
In recent years, there hasn’t been an offending cap that has escaped the grip of this too excellent product: Jars of jam from France, Hellmann’s mayonnaise, Heinz relish, a recalcitrant horseradish container imported by Nica’s market from Allentown, Pennsylvania.
I tell you this product was so solid I have intended, before today, to pass it down to my heirs and assigns.
I know what you’re thinking: What is the true message in this ode to the keys to domestic tranquility?
Three of the usual suspects.
We are once again in the midst of the holiday buying season. Black Friday has become Black Everyday. And what product is worth the 50 percent or 80 percent off? Very little that you’ll be able to pass down to your own heirs and assigns.
In short, stuff. A lot of stuff. Things you don’t need but may have a yen for. Things that will quickly end up clogging the landfills and waterways.
What, then, is the best strategy in a time when every ad on television shouts the once-in-a-lifetime bargain that can be yours if only have the sense to “call 1 – 800-IDIOTME. Once again, that’s 1 – 800-IDIOTME, but you must act now or you’ll be the laughing stock of the neighborhood.”
But don’t you dare do it. Instead take the following as a lesson. The founder of Patagonia, Yvon Chouinyard, recently wrote that the company’s success could be traced to his decision to buy expensive but long-lasting basic materials to make the company’s outerwear, a plan that at first made his investors upset.
And yet I don’t have to go to the outdoor store to nail the point.
My wife, a haberdasher’s daughter (indeed her first collection of poems bore that title), still wears beautiful and well-made clothes that she purchased decades ago. “Oh, this old thing,” Suzanne says when I compliment her on what she’s chosen for a holiday party.
She argues that searching more for quality than quantity and price break is the better idea. Give your loved ones something – just one thing — that will still be around and in good shape years from now.
This advocacy rubbed off even on yours truly. In summertime. As I write this, I am wearing a woolen professor sweater dating back to an era when I had nothing to profess.
And yet we’re living I a time when the Maytag repairman has a new reason why customers don’t call: Instead of fixing what they have, they just buy a new machine.
Stop already. Buy something too good to last in the marketplace.
Toward that end, as a public service, I am putting on sale my own Lar-San Miracle. As I suspect that despite my efforts here you haven’t yet acted on my advice to invest only in what lasts, I’m adding an incentive. Originally $1.95, I’ve marked it down in drastic fashion, given the inflation rate since it was manufactured
It is now on sale for the low, low price of $21,999.95. But you must act now, or eat your heart out before you are physically able to stab a spear of dill pickles.