Terrible Analogies

There’s a commercial that’s been airing recently touting the benefits of the Tempurpedic bed.  This magical space-age memory foam apparently “contours” to your body, negating the need for a spring mattress and, supposedly, providing a more comfortable night’s sleep.

Then they hit you with a shocking statistic.  From what I’m led to believe apparently Tempurpedic sells “one mattress every sixty seconds.”

Woah, hold on there partner.  One mattress every sixty seconds?  Is the woman included in the sales price?  Let me run some numbers here…

Breaking out the calculator and figuring that Tempurpedic sells 60 mattresses per hour, that comes out to 720 every twelve hours.  That’s 262,800 mattresses sold every year.  My God, that’s (*button mash* *calculate* *carry the two…*) 10,249,200 mattresses since 1970.

That means that over 3.5% of the U.S. population owns a Tempurpedic mattress.

To put this into perspective, 25% of the U.S. considers themselves Catholic, 15% of the population is Hispanic, 12% are living at the poverty level, and 12% are 65 years old or older.

Again, 3.5% of the population owns (or owned at one time) one of these mattresses?  Can this be right? Personally, I don’t know of anybody who owns a Tempurpedic product.  Now, I’m sure my numbers here aren’t bombproof, but if I’m even close to the ballpark, it’s a stunning figure.

Slaving away at work this past Saturday, snacking on a bag of Cracker Jacks, I suddenly became very thirsty. Placing iTunes on pause (thankfully silencing that damned Blue Monday cover song by Orgy), I trudged on over to the break room and purchased a carton of milk from the wheel-of-death©.  On my way back to my cubicle-of-death, I noticed the following:

You’ve got to be kidding me.  Does the Rock View milk company think I’m so stupid that they need to emblazon their product with detailed instructions on how to open a milk carton?  What sort of invalid is incapable of figuring out the obvious way to breach the otherwise impenetrable skin of these paperboard containers?

The more I thought about it, the more insulted I felt.  Next thing you know we’ll be finding signs listing in painful detail how to climb a set of stairs, bright stickers indicating how to operate a ketchup bottle, and sewn-on tags graphically displaying how to put on a pair of gloves.

Honestly, If we’re unfit enough to figure out how to open a milk carton, what makes them think we’re smart enough to know how to read, much less follow instructions?

Do these people honestly believe we’re idiots, unable to perform such a basic function in life?

Unbeknownest to me, the wife responded to the folks at Michelina’s Budget Gourmet after they apparently read my initial post detailing the huge bug she found in her frozen dinner.  Michelina’s not only apologized for this unfortunate incident, they provided her with a check to refund the purchase price of this defective product and sent her coupons for five free entree meals.  Click  the letter to embiggen…  

It’s nice to see a company attempt to make amends, going so far as to having the Chairman himself sign the apology letter.  They’ve done what any reasonable company should, and for that we applaud them.  I’m sure there are countless suppliers from which they obtain their raw products, so it’s understandable that something such as our “bug incident” could slip past quality control.

Now, don’t get me wrong…we’re still quite disgusted by finding this bug in one of their products, but we’re not going to keep beating the drums of dispair for the simple reason that Michelina’s / Belliso Foods not only went out of their way to get in touch with us, but also honestly apologized without any prodding on our part, and made right on the situation.  

My initial post regarding this incident was to shame a faceless corporation, but after being in contact with them and seeing firsthand how they immediately tackle tough situations, taking the initiative to quickly resolve and correct deficiencies, and strive to ensure future incidents are not repeated, Belliso Foods is to be commended for making the best out of an unfortunate situation.

The wife feels much better about this, and thanks you for your multiple e-mails and your letter.  It’s obvious, though her communications with you, that you’re truly concerned about this incident, and that changes will be made to ensure that future situations will not occur.  

Lip service or not?  I’m sure, in the end, we’ll all find out.

Now, if only all other businesses followed their excellent example.

I must admit, I haven’t purchased a box of Cracker Jacks in quite some time.  This afternoon, while speeding through the self-checkout line of the supermarket with Monster in hand I was tempted by a display of snacks seductively stacked next to each register.  I couldn’t help myself.  I just had to buy a bag of Cracker Jacks.

What’s been bugging me isn’t the fact that I caved in so easily with this impulse purchase.  What I’m really irked about is the absolutely lame “prizes” that the good people at Frito-Lay are pawning off on us.  When I was a kid I remember getting cool prizes like water soluble tattoos, jokes books, and tiny plastic creatures.  Now, it seems, on the rare occasions when I purchase a bag, I’m always getting this freakin’ prize:

I’m hip to Abraham Lincoln, but enough already.  If I wanted a history lesson I would have paid attention in school.  What I want right now is a sugar rush and a pointless toy that presents a choking hazard to anyone under three.  I swear, you and the cereal companies have really been dropping the ball these past ten years with your weak “prizes”.  From now on I’m buying nothing but Total and Quaker Oats.  With these products I’ll know I won’t be getting a prize, but at least I won’t be disappointed if I unexpentantly dig out a miniature Cliff Notes of Mein Kampf or a used syringe infected with the Hantavirus.

I know, in the overall scheme of things, that this issue ranks right up there with taking Nickleback seriously and wobbly tables at Starbucks, but come on Frito-Lay…give us back our tiny magnifying glasses, snake tattoos, and plasticy doo-hickey thingies.

If you fail to comply I’m afraid I’ll be forced to switch my allegiances over to Screaming Yellow Zonkers.  You and I both know that we really don’t want it to come down to that.