They say home is where the heart is. I say it's where the good food, jokes and news-you-won't-find-anywhere-else-is.
I packed up the family and headed to the "Central City" this week to visit my parents and celebrate my Dad's 77th birthday. A couple of my sisters and their families were there too.
It never ceases to amaze me how I drift through a range of emotions spending a weekend with extended family.
From hearing stories of farmer woes, updates on aging family members struggling to hold on to some semblance of normalcy, and our former hometown seemingly in the crime news every other week, it's a reminder of all that is wrong in the world.
And then...my sister shows up. With wonderful news. News that fills the entire weekend with an inexplicable joy.
It's not news of a baby.
Not news of a marriage.
Not even news of a free tropical vacation where she can invite her 10 closest friends and relatives.
Instead, it's news of...
Royalty.
Her husband is the new mayor of their town.
MAYOR??
That brings to mind only one word:
Awesome.
Because that makes my sister First Lady.
Okay, so he only ran because some people begged him to and got all the signatures for him. And he ran uncontested.
Nonetheless. He's the mayor. And that's just cool.
I was having so much fun with her new title as First Lady all weekend that eventually even her own children were asking, "Mom, what did you just text the Mayor?"
Really wish the Mayor could have joined the family festivities. But hey, I understand.
He's a busy guy. He's got a town to run, after all.
And I'm a mere peon.
Maybe I'll get him to name a day after me. Like on American Idol. I'll get a key to the city and everything.
Or not.
Truthfully, since this fabulous news came, my real dream is see my sister and her Mayor hubby as grand marshalls of a parade.
You know. In a convertible. Sitting on the backseat in her sequined gown, 2-inch thick makeup and fake nails waving the elbow-elbow-wrist-wrist wave we've come to expect from royalty.
Yes, I get stoked about the little things.
Like a swollen jaw.
My poor nephew recently had jaw surgery and for some reason thought it would be a good idea to come to Grandma and Grandpa's house, smell my mothers outrageously good cooking and suffer through watching the rest of us gobble it down as he sipped on blended chicken noodle soup from a can.
He just turned 21. You'd think he'd be smarter.
I think the only reason he was able to do it is because he's been eating his own mother's cooking for about a month, so he's been getting good stuff. To miss a few meals at Grandma's probably is no big deal.
I, on the other hand, have subjected myself to my own cooking for years and had someone told me I could not gorge myself with my mother's ham and scalloped potatoes or roast beef or sausage and all the fixings (plus don't forget dessert!) I would have had to find a way to rip out all my senses. How do you smell ham cooking and not sit in a corner whimpering knowing your meal will consist of yet another bottle of Boost?
It was downright inhumane.
But the mayor wasn't there to save him. And that First Lady was in line next to me filling her plate with all the goodness of I-didn't-have-to-cook-this-meal-so-it-tastes-10-times-as-good, too.
I rarely escape a trip back to my parents home without some sense of nostalgia. Even though this isn't the house I grew up in, it still has remnants of 50+ years of their life together...which eventually included me.
So as I help my mother prepare for mealtime, I get a bit misty.
I open a cupboard and get lost in its contents.
The red striped salt and pepper shakers. They were the "fancy ones" when I was a kid, because they were glass. The "everyday" ones were tall and plastic - unstable enough that they were forever dropping out of the overhead cupboard, dumping pepper just where we didn't want it.
Usually in the butter dish.
With no kids in the house, the striped ones are the new "everyday."
Even the aluminum canisters for flour and sugar remind me of many Saturdays sitting on the kitchen counter licking cookie dough out of the bowl.
Nearly every picture on the wall has a memory attached to it. Intermingled with them are the new things. Particularly the photos of grandchildren.
How did they go from splashing in Grandpa's kiddie pool to furnishing their own apartment so fast?
It's strange to see them grown. And then I think of my own aunts and uncles. I remember their look of disbelief to see I had become a young lady at one point too. I'm them now.
And I get it.
I get the "You've grown so much!" and the "How do you get your hair to do that?" and "What kind of gadget do you have there?"
They did it 20 years ago.
And I'm doing it now.
But I say, bring on the family reunion. Mom is cooking, my nephew will be healed up, and there could be an appearance by the mayor.
I don't care who ya are. That's worth coming home for.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Been Farmin' Long?
As I'm working diligently to not burn dinner, my husband arrives home from work, walks into the kitchen and says, "I want to go farming!"
At this point I don't care if the food is carcinogenously charred, I turn around with the hope that he is about to utter the punchline to his joke. But he's serious. He says he thinks it would be fun to do some farming again.
My gaze leaves him and is directed to our backyard, where a lawn in need of TLC or maybe even just a simple mowing stares back at me.
"Uh, you can't find the time to mow the lawn, and now you want to go farm?"
He smiles, gives me a hug and the conversation is dropped since a child or two is clinging to his leg, begging for some "Daddy time."
I know he won't really go do any farming, but I understand his desire to do it. We both grew up on farms in rural North Dakota, and the peaceful solitude that comes with farm life can be pretty appealing when you're in the midst of noisy neighbors and constant interruptions at the office.
I've even gone the "farming" route a bit myself. This summer is my first attempt at a garden. One of the amenities of our new home was a large garden plot. Just wish the previous owners would have left a green thumb behind.
Translation: I have no idea what I'm doing.
The only thing I really know about gardens is from a ghastly error I made when I was about 7 years old. My mother sent me to the garden to bring in onions for dinner. I didn't know what I was looking for, so she told me, "They're the things with long green stems sticking out of the ground."
Okay, that sounds easy enough. Except I failed to thoroughly inspect the garden before I started pulling up the first long-stemmed green things I found. Believing I was being a big help, I pulled up A LOT of them.
As I rush into the house, my mother gasps. "You pulled up my flowers!"
Whoops.
In my defense, they hadn't bloomed yet, and they indeed were long, and green. But she made a good point when she asked, "Didn't you notice there weren't any onions on the bottom?"
Oh yeah. That should have been a clue.
Again, whoops.
So flash forward 30 years to my own garden. I'm still having difficulty identifying the crop. For the first month I was afraid to go pull weeds because I was worried I would pull up the vegetables too. I don't know a weed from a green bean, to be quite honest.
Now I have an excellent grasp of what is a weed. And I've got a lot of them.
And not so much crop.
Not that I was expecting much on my first time out. But I am genuinely disappointed that despite all the corn I planted I don't have so much as a measley stalk. I had high hopes of making my way through rows of corn this summer, plucking ears for our dinners.
Just like when I was a kid on the farm.
I'll just have to use my imagination as I stroll the produce aisle in the supermarket instead.
On a positive note, I can grow lettuce. It's my pride and joy of the garden at this point. (Perhaps because other than the radishes, it's the only thing I can succinctly identify.)
My only problem is I have no idea when to harvest it. It looks nice right now, I hate to pull it up. Maybe it will get even nicer? Or am I missing out on delectable salads?
The whole process is pretty stressful, actually. Is it getting enough water? Enough sun? Did I plant them too close together? Not close enough? Are the weeds out of control?
This gardening thing was supposed to be relaxing.
That's probably what my husband was thinking when he said he wanted to go farming.
I also lived on the farm long enough to face reality. Which is, his first day out the grain truck would get a flat, the combine would need a part and just when things got going, he'd get rained out.
But that's farming for ya.
At this point I don't care if the food is carcinogenously charred, I turn around with the hope that he is about to utter the punchline to his joke. But he's serious. He says he thinks it would be fun to do some farming again.
My gaze leaves him and is directed to our backyard, where a lawn in need of TLC or maybe even just a simple mowing stares back at me.
"Uh, you can't find the time to mow the lawn, and now you want to go farm?"
He smiles, gives me a hug and the conversation is dropped since a child or two is clinging to his leg, begging for some "Daddy time."
I know he won't really go do any farming, but I understand his desire to do it. We both grew up on farms in rural North Dakota, and the peaceful solitude that comes with farm life can be pretty appealing when you're in the midst of noisy neighbors and constant interruptions at the office.
I've even gone the "farming" route a bit myself. This summer is my first attempt at a garden. One of the amenities of our new home was a large garden plot. Just wish the previous owners would have left a green thumb behind.
Translation: I have no idea what I'm doing.
The only thing I really know about gardens is from a ghastly error I made when I was about 7 years old. My mother sent me to the garden to bring in onions for dinner. I didn't know what I was looking for, so she told me, "They're the things with long green stems sticking out of the ground."
Okay, that sounds easy enough. Except I failed to thoroughly inspect the garden before I started pulling up the first long-stemmed green things I found. Believing I was being a big help, I pulled up A LOT of them.
As I rush into the house, my mother gasps. "You pulled up my flowers!"
Whoops.
In my defense, they hadn't bloomed yet, and they indeed were long, and green. But she made a good point when she asked, "Didn't you notice there weren't any onions on the bottom?"
Oh yeah. That should have been a clue.
Again, whoops.
So flash forward 30 years to my own garden. I'm still having difficulty identifying the crop. For the first month I was afraid to go pull weeds because I was worried I would pull up the vegetables too. I don't know a weed from a green bean, to be quite honest.
Now I have an excellent grasp of what is a weed. And I've got a lot of them.
And not so much crop.
Not that I was expecting much on my first time out. But I am genuinely disappointed that despite all the corn I planted I don't have so much as a measley stalk. I had high hopes of making my way through rows of corn this summer, plucking ears for our dinners.
Just like when I was a kid on the farm.
I'll just have to use my imagination as I stroll the produce aisle in the supermarket instead.
On a positive note, I can grow lettuce. It's my pride and joy of the garden at this point. (Perhaps because other than the radishes, it's the only thing I can succinctly identify.)
My only problem is I have no idea when to harvest it. It looks nice right now, I hate to pull it up. Maybe it will get even nicer? Or am I missing out on delectable salads?
The whole process is pretty stressful, actually. Is it getting enough water? Enough sun? Did I plant them too close together? Not close enough? Are the weeds out of control?
This gardening thing was supposed to be relaxing.
That's probably what my husband was thinking when he said he wanted to go farming.
I also lived on the farm long enough to face reality. Which is, his first day out the grain truck would get a flat, the combine would need a part and just when things got going, he'd get rained out.
But that's farming for ya.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Mr. Clean to the...rescue?
Not that I needed one, but I found a new excuse to not waste time cleaning my house.
In a word: Noah.
This past week I actually did get to the laborious task of cleaning.
Namely, bathrooms.
Big mistake, apparently.
Maybe my problem was the fact that I did it in the company of Noah. Even though I'm thinking at the time it is a good thing for him to watch his mother keep the house tidy, that proved costly.
You see, a few days ago my little 2-1/2 year-old Wonder diligently watched me scrub the toilet clean. Spray the soap, wipe it down, scrub the inside, etc. etc.
Last night I put the children to bed and went downstairs to clean up the kitchen a bit. I heard some noise upstairs and double-checked the situation.
No worries - Caleb was just using the restroom.
So I didn't jump when a few minutes later I heard a bit of noise coming from the bathroom. Sounded like Caleb was probably just getting a drink before heading off to bed.
But then the noise continued, and I heard some odd clanging noise.
So I go take a peek.
Noah.
Not in bed.
In the bathroom.
"Cleaning" the toilet.
Earlier that day I had filled the soap dispenser in that bathroom with liquid soap. To the top, mind you.
The pump now lays next to a thick streak of soap on the counter. Meanwhile, Noah stands at the toilet bowl, soap bottle in one hand, soggy bits of toilet paper in the other. By this time, there is maybe a half inch of soap still left in the bottle, and the toilet is covered in an oozy mess.
I'm appalled at the clean-up I have ahead of me, so I pull the "cleaning supplies" from his hands, and after a scolding, send him back to bed.
As I'm wiping up the sloppy mess, I stop and realize what he was doing.
It's what he always does in this stage of his development.
He mimics.
He probably thought he was doing ol' mom a favor, after all. Givin' her a helping hand, as it were.
He probably crawled back into bed completely confused.
Whoops.
Poison control centers are always saying to keep those cleaners out of a child's reach. But I don't know...if I left him the correct supplies, maybe I wouldn't have to clean another toilet for awhile.
Just a thought.
Now if I can just get him to pay better attention when I do laundry...
In a word: Noah.
This past week I actually did get to the laborious task of cleaning.
Namely, bathrooms.
Big mistake, apparently.
Maybe my problem was the fact that I did it in the company of Noah. Even though I'm thinking at the time it is a good thing for him to watch his mother keep the house tidy, that proved costly.
You see, a few days ago my little 2-1/2 year-old Wonder diligently watched me scrub the toilet clean. Spray the soap, wipe it down, scrub the inside, etc. etc.
Last night I put the children to bed and went downstairs to clean up the kitchen a bit. I heard some noise upstairs and double-checked the situation.
No worries - Caleb was just using the restroom.
So I didn't jump when a few minutes later I heard a bit of noise coming from the bathroom. Sounded like Caleb was probably just getting a drink before heading off to bed.
But then the noise continued, and I heard some odd clanging noise.
So I go take a peek.
Noah.
Not in bed.
In the bathroom.
"Cleaning" the toilet.
Earlier that day I had filled the soap dispenser in that bathroom with liquid soap. To the top, mind you.
The pump now lays next to a thick streak of soap on the counter. Meanwhile, Noah stands at the toilet bowl, soap bottle in one hand, soggy bits of toilet paper in the other. By this time, there is maybe a half inch of soap still left in the bottle, and the toilet is covered in an oozy mess.
I'm appalled at the clean-up I have ahead of me, so I pull the "cleaning supplies" from his hands, and after a scolding, send him back to bed.
As I'm wiping up the sloppy mess, I stop and realize what he was doing.
It's what he always does in this stage of his development.
He mimics.
He probably thought he was doing ol' mom a favor, after all. Givin' her a helping hand, as it were.
He probably crawled back into bed completely confused.
Whoops.
Poison control centers are always saying to keep those cleaners out of a child's reach. But I don't know...if I left him the correct supplies, maybe I wouldn't have to clean another toilet for awhile.
Just a thought.
Now if I can just get him to pay better attention when I do laundry...
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
RIP, Customer Service. Because apparently you're dead.
Last I checked, "Fool" wasn't stamped on my forehead. So why someone would think I'm dumb enough to fall for this trick is beyond me.
I'm talking about my local furniture store. They obviously have lost their ability to provide customer service.
Let me back up and bring you up to speed.
Several months ago, I ordered a headboard for my daughter's bed. Apparently the trees needed to be cut down for the lumber and the paint needed a month to cure, because it wasn't scheduled to arrive for 6-8 weeks.
So when it finally arrives, I make my way to the store to pick it up (saving myself $50 on shipping).
I'm told to "go to door #2 at the warehouse." So I motor on over and wander through a door with a big "2" on it, into a dusty old building packed from floor to ceiling with boxes and furniture.
Nobody's there. Hmmm.
I call out, "Hello?"
Nothing.
I wander in a little further, feeling like I'm completely violating the space.
"Hello?" I call a little louder this time.
I'm a little annoyed at this point, but I wait.
Finally, a frizzy-haired gentleman with a dirt-smudged forehead and greasy fingernails appears from seemingly nowhere.
He seems to know exactly what I'm there for though, and pulls out a large box.
I ask him to take it out of the box so I can inspect it (I've had way too many instances of broken or beat up furniture delivered to me to take a chance with not checking it out before I load it into my vehicle).
Much to my dismay, it has several bumps and bruises. The guy gets out his little paint wand and proceeds to attempt some patch-work. I'm not impressed, and I'm feeling a little uncomfortable with accepting this headboard with all the nicks in it. Then I walk around to the side and notice one of the posts is completely a mess. It looks like the wood is beginning to split.
I show him and he admits it is shotty craftsmanship. So I refuse the order and he tells me to head back to the store and have them ship out a new one to me.
My personal sales rep isn't working that day, so I get the first perky furniture salesman to come to the counter. I explain the situation, he assures me, "We'll do whatever it takes to make it right, Mrs. Herr."
Very nice words. I think that is appropriate having waited so long for the headboard to arrive in the first place. But I discover...
They are JUST words.
A few weeks later, I get a call from the warehouse guy.
I found it odd that I wasn't receiving this call from my sales guy, or any sales guy for that matter.
"Your headboard is in and you can come pick it up at Door #2 again."
Wow, that was pretty quick delivery. They told me it would be another 6-8 weeks. But for some crazy reason I thought maybe they rushed it for me in an attempt "to make it right."
I did push the envelope a bit and called my sales rep and asked him if, in their attempt to 'do whatever it takes to make it right,' they would consider delivering the headboard to my home, free of charge.
Answer? Nope.
I was disappointed, but not terribly surprised. Customer service seems to be on its way out in our society.
So yesterday morning I drove down to Door #2 to see my new headboard. Again, not a soul to be found. All I could think was, This place is a piece of cake for a thief! A guy could lift enough stuff to furnish an entire house by the time anyone showed up! I find it ridiculous.
After my attempts again to shout "Hello?" and get no response, I walked into the little office that should be staffed with an employee of some kind and I looked at the phone.
Hmmm. A page button. Let's try it.
So I paged someone to come to Door #2.
I wait.
Still nothing.
Oh, good grief, I could have driven off with a dinette set and six barstools by now.
I decide to use the guy's phone to call the store to see if they can reach someone, but just as I reach for the phone book, a young man appears looking like a deer in headlights.
Feeling a little foolish for being caught with his phone in my hand, I said, "Hi. I was just about to call the store to see if they could get someone here to help me."
I explain why I'm there and he asks me for a sales slip. I have none because, again, it was the warehouse guy that called me to come to Door #2 - not the salesperson, so I didn't go to the store first. I did see my old headboard leaning against some boxes and I told him that was what I refused before and there should be a new one in a box somewhere.
I was a little baffled as to why it was still sitting there after all this time. I would have thought they'd have taken it to their clearance center by now and tried to sell it 'as is.'
He looks confused but grabs the paper off the old headboard and walks off.
When he returns he says, "Yeah, that's it right here (pointing to the old one). I can help you get it in your vehicle."
Uh, I don't think so, Pal.
I stop him and say, "If it is new, where is the box?"
"Oh, my boss probably took it out to check it."
Yeah, right. Looking around at that place I know full well that no one is "checking" anything.
So I inspect it. And guess what?
It has all the bumps and nicks in it - in the exact same spots - as the "first" one. I look at him and say, "This is the same headboard I refused before. It isn't new."
He fidgets and shrugs.
I say, "It looks like someone is trying to pull a fast one on me."
And you know what he says??
"You didn't hear it from me, but yeah, they probably are."
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrggghh!!
Then the kicker, "You could refuse it and tell the store you want them to order a new one," he adds.
I ALREADY DID THAT!! THIS was supposed to be the NEW one!
I thank him for his time and walk out of there with steam shooting from my ears.
I mean, come on. Really? You're going to pass off the old one as new and think I won't notice? Why would it have been so hard to order a new one???
To put an end to the frustration, my husband went down there to talk to our sales rep and cancel the whole order - and get our money back. And you can bet I won't be going back there for any more purchases.
It was all very disconcerting since we had bought all our living room furniture there just a few months ago. So you'd think we'd be a "valued customer."
I just wish someone would have told me customer service was dead. I would have tried to get to the funeral.
Because I really do miss it.
I'm talking about my local furniture store. They obviously have lost their ability to provide customer service.
Let me back up and bring you up to speed.
Several months ago, I ordered a headboard for my daughter's bed. Apparently the trees needed to be cut down for the lumber and the paint needed a month to cure, because it wasn't scheduled to arrive for 6-8 weeks.
So when it finally arrives, I make my way to the store to pick it up (saving myself $50 on shipping).
I'm told to "go to door #2 at the warehouse." So I motor on over and wander through a door with a big "2" on it, into a dusty old building packed from floor to ceiling with boxes and furniture.
Nobody's there. Hmmm.
I call out, "Hello?"
Nothing.
I wander in a little further, feeling like I'm completely violating the space.
"Hello?" I call a little louder this time.
I'm a little annoyed at this point, but I wait.
Finally, a frizzy-haired gentleman with a dirt-smudged forehead and greasy fingernails appears from seemingly nowhere.
He seems to know exactly what I'm there for though, and pulls out a large box.
I ask him to take it out of the box so I can inspect it (I've had way too many instances of broken or beat up furniture delivered to me to take a chance with not checking it out before I load it into my vehicle).
Much to my dismay, it has several bumps and bruises. The guy gets out his little paint wand and proceeds to attempt some patch-work. I'm not impressed, and I'm feeling a little uncomfortable with accepting this headboard with all the nicks in it. Then I walk around to the side and notice one of the posts is completely a mess. It looks like the wood is beginning to split.
I show him and he admits it is shotty craftsmanship. So I refuse the order and he tells me to head back to the store and have them ship out a new one to me.
My personal sales rep isn't working that day, so I get the first perky furniture salesman to come to the counter. I explain the situation, he assures me, "We'll do whatever it takes to make it right, Mrs. Herr."
Very nice words. I think that is appropriate having waited so long for the headboard to arrive in the first place. But I discover...
They are JUST words.
A few weeks later, I get a call from the warehouse guy.
I found it odd that I wasn't receiving this call from my sales guy, or any sales guy for that matter.
"Your headboard is in and you can come pick it up at Door #2 again."
Wow, that was pretty quick delivery. They told me it would be another 6-8 weeks. But for some crazy reason I thought maybe they rushed it for me in an attempt "to make it right."
I did push the envelope a bit and called my sales rep and asked him if, in their attempt to 'do whatever it takes to make it right,' they would consider delivering the headboard to my home, free of charge.
Answer? Nope.
I was disappointed, but not terribly surprised. Customer service seems to be on its way out in our society.
So yesterday morning I drove down to Door #2 to see my new headboard. Again, not a soul to be found. All I could think was, This place is a piece of cake for a thief! A guy could lift enough stuff to furnish an entire house by the time anyone showed up! I find it ridiculous.
After my attempts again to shout "Hello?" and get no response, I walked into the little office that should be staffed with an employee of some kind and I looked at the phone.
Hmmm. A page button. Let's try it.
So I paged someone to come to Door #2.
I wait.
Still nothing.
Oh, good grief, I could have driven off with a dinette set and six barstools by now.
I decide to use the guy's phone to call the store to see if they can reach someone, but just as I reach for the phone book, a young man appears looking like a deer in headlights.
Feeling a little foolish for being caught with his phone in my hand, I said, "Hi. I was just about to call the store to see if they could get someone here to help me."
I explain why I'm there and he asks me for a sales slip. I have none because, again, it was the warehouse guy that called me to come to Door #2 - not the salesperson, so I didn't go to the store first. I did see my old headboard leaning against some boxes and I told him that was what I refused before and there should be a new one in a box somewhere.
I was a little baffled as to why it was still sitting there after all this time. I would have thought they'd have taken it to their clearance center by now and tried to sell it 'as is.'
He looks confused but grabs the paper off the old headboard and walks off.
When he returns he says, "Yeah, that's it right here (pointing to the old one). I can help you get it in your vehicle."
Uh, I don't think so, Pal.
I stop him and say, "If it is new, where is the box?"
"Oh, my boss probably took it out to check it."
Yeah, right. Looking around at that place I know full well that no one is "checking" anything.
So I inspect it. And guess what?
It has all the bumps and nicks in it - in the exact same spots - as the "first" one. I look at him and say, "This is the same headboard I refused before. It isn't new."
He fidgets and shrugs.
I say, "It looks like someone is trying to pull a fast one on me."
And you know what he says??
"You didn't hear it from me, but yeah, they probably are."
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrggghh!!
Then the kicker, "You could refuse it and tell the store you want them to order a new one," he adds.
I ALREADY DID THAT!! THIS was supposed to be the NEW one!
I thank him for his time and walk out of there with steam shooting from my ears.
I mean, come on. Really? You're going to pass off the old one as new and think I won't notice? Why would it have been so hard to order a new one???
To put an end to the frustration, my husband went down there to talk to our sales rep and cancel the whole order - and get our money back. And you can bet I won't be going back there for any more purchases.
It was all very disconcerting since we had bought all our living room furniture there just a few months ago. So you'd think we'd be a "valued customer."
I just wish someone would have told me customer service was dead. I would have tried to get to the funeral.
Because I really do miss it.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
An Instant Winner...of more junk mail?
A couple random thoughts rolled through my brain today. Just thought I'd write about them.
Oh, humor me. My summer so far consists of breaking up unending sibling battles and coming up with snack number 42 for these ravenous rugrats. Doesn't really conjur up a lot of creativity.
Okay, so here goes...
Does anyone ever win those drawings you see in the mall, at furniture stores or in the supermarket?
You know, those big plexiglass boxes stuffed with small slips of paper identifying your name, phone number, address and email...basically everything short of your social security number because we're so sure we're due to win...this time.
I passed one in the mall today. It was a chance to win a riding lawnmower.
Really?
Someone's going to give that away?
I never hear of anyone actually winning these things.
The gigantic grill at the grocery store. The free flooring at the furniture warehouse.
I would think we'd catch wind of it if someone was genuinely taking these things home. But I never do, so I'm skeptical.
Personally, I think it is just a gimmick to get you to provide all your contact info so they can send you junk mail. I bet there is never any intention to award anyone with a big prize.
If I'm wrong, someone please tell me about how you're grilling tonight's steak on the grand prize from Central Market.
Wouldn't it bode well for your business to put a big ad in the paper showing a picture of the lucky winner? I never see those.
Even the casinos have figured out that angle. I see pictures of people in the paper all the time who won a thousand bucks at the local casinos. You know there are suckers everywhere rushing off to that casino to press their luck because they saw that ad.
The other thing that made me ponder our society's stupidity is a sign I saw in a large department store. Hung on the rack of some merchandise was a sign that read, "As seen on Oprah."
This is our buying incentive now? If it was on Oprah then we need to rush out and get it? I know the woman has a lot of influence, but seriously? What is wrong with us that we need an endorsement for our purchases by some insanely rich woman in Chicago?
I just don't get it. And I'll tell you right now, I'm not walking to the checkout with it.
So there you go. Just a couple things that made me stop in my tracks today and crinkle my eyebrows a bit.
Maybe I will fill out one of those slips to win something sometime. I'll just put Oprah's name on it. That is bound to make me an instant winner.
Oh, humor me. My summer so far consists of breaking up unending sibling battles and coming up with snack number 42 for these ravenous rugrats. Doesn't really conjur up a lot of creativity.
Okay, so here goes...
Does anyone ever win those drawings you see in the mall, at furniture stores or in the supermarket?
You know, those big plexiglass boxes stuffed with small slips of paper identifying your name, phone number, address and email...basically everything short of your social security number because we're so sure we're due to win...this time.
I passed one in the mall today. It was a chance to win a riding lawnmower.
Really?
Someone's going to give that away?
I never hear of anyone actually winning these things.
The gigantic grill at the grocery store. The free flooring at the furniture warehouse.
I would think we'd catch wind of it if someone was genuinely taking these things home. But I never do, so I'm skeptical.
Personally, I think it is just a gimmick to get you to provide all your contact info so they can send you junk mail. I bet there is never any intention to award anyone with a big prize.
If I'm wrong, someone please tell me about how you're grilling tonight's steak on the grand prize from Central Market.
Wouldn't it bode well for your business to put a big ad in the paper showing a picture of the lucky winner? I never see those.
Even the casinos have figured out that angle. I see pictures of people in the paper all the time who won a thousand bucks at the local casinos. You know there are suckers everywhere rushing off to that casino to press their luck because they saw that ad.
The other thing that made me ponder our society's stupidity is a sign I saw in a large department store. Hung on the rack of some merchandise was a sign that read, "As seen on Oprah."
This is our buying incentive now? If it was on Oprah then we need to rush out and get it? I know the woman has a lot of influence, but seriously? What is wrong with us that we need an endorsement for our purchases by some insanely rich woman in Chicago?
I just don't get it. And I'll tell you right now, I'm not walking to the checkout with it.
So there you go. Just a couple things that made me stop in my tracks today and crinkle my eyebrows a bit.
Maybe I will fill out one of those slips to win something sometime. I'll just put Oprah's name on it. That is bound to make me an instant winner.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
The Death of a Salesman
I'm skeptical of most salespeople, but today I gave in and let one in my house. Actually three of them.
Not my finest moment.
Around 11:30am, a young woman comes to my door and tells me she's from Kirby. She would like to come in to vacuum and shampoo one of the rooms in my house as advertising for her product. "We don't do TV commercials. Our only advertising is word-of-mouth, so if you would let me show you what my Kirby vacuum could do for your carpet you would really help me out," she said. "My boss pays me $35 to clean a carpet, so he says I'm cheaper than advertising."
Okay, I cave. What can I say? I'm a housewife with a post-birthday party mess to clean up from the night before and I could use a little help with some of the cleaning! I figured it was harmless. I knew I wasn't buying, so no big deal, right?
Wrong.
She tells me they'll be right over (who is "they" all of a sudden?). So I stop her and say, "Is it going to be noisy? My son needs to take a nap in a few minutes and I can't have loud noise."
"Oh, no. It's not loud," she assures me.
Salesperson #1: not a truth-teller.
So a few minutes pass, and two young gentlemen plow through my door with large boxes of vacuum parts. They're cordial enough, but I am irked that they don't remove their shoes as they enter. Um, wouldn't vacuum cleaner guys realize removing shoes is important if you're going to keep carpets in good condition?
I'm slightly annoyed, but they're all dressed up, so I cut them some slack.
Of course my mind is on those shoes now, so I look at the kid's shoes who is unpacking the chrome-glistening vacuum. His shoes are a fright. Completely peeling on top, and he informs me later his dog chewed the backs off of them.
I'm not buying it. I see it as a ploy for me to feel sorry for the guy and hand him a check.
Not happening.
He starts in on the small talk, acting interested in what my husband and I do for a living. In hindsight, my husband tells me I should have made something up. "You should have told him I sell vacuums," he jokes.
At any rate, I am feeling stuck in the room with this guy - with my son who should be down for a nap right now. He begins to start showing off his prize vacuum, bringing out gadget after gadget and having me test drive them.
And there is noise. Kirby is not a quiet product.
All I can think of is all the work I need to get done, all I had planned to do while my son napped.
But I try to remain cordial. I keep thinking, surely he'll get to the shampooing part soon and be gone.
It isn't long and the sales pitch comes. That monster of a vacuum can be mine for just $2700+.
If I had $2700 to spend, believe me, it would not be spent on a cleaning device.
But then he tells me he can knock $300 off that price because of his "contest promotion."
Ah, love these things.
The great line of, "I'm trying to win a trip to XYZ and you can help send me there, blah blah blah."
Oh pul-eeeze. I'm supposed to want to buy from you so that you can take a trip? Give me the trip, and we'll talk.
The kicker was the trip destination. And where these fine young gents were from.
They came here from Nebraska.
The trip was to Oklahoma City.
Uh, that's just a day road trip, isn't it?!? That's like offering me a trip to Pierre, SD. Woo wee. Sign me up.
Really? Oklahoma City? That's the big prize trip? Apparently people aren't buying the ol' Kirby if that's all they can spring for.
So I have very little interest in hearing about how he can win a trip if I "become part of the Kirby family."
They need to work on their main sales pitch, though. The "repulsion" factor. You know, vacuuming an area and showing you the filter, littered with dirt, dust and fuzz. Like I don't feel bad enough about how far behind I am on housecleaning, now I have some young whipper-snapper showing me I am not cleaning nearly well enough.
Thanks, dude. You now sent me into such a depression I'll need the $2700 for counseling and medications. Oh, I'm sorry. $2400, since I'm helping you win that extravagant trip.
But wait! He's grabbing his phone. This got really comical for me after awhile. He kept calling his "boss" to tell him about the nasty stuff he was getting on the filters.
"Hi, Mr. Snitzenbueler! Yeah, I'm here with Maxine and holy smokes! - you should see what we've pulled out of her carpet! It's awesome what Kirby can do!" Short pause. "Okay, great."
He hangs up and tells me Mr. Sneezyboo is taking another $200 off the price.
I feel like I'm a contestant on Deal or No Deal. Why does he need to keep calling "his boss?" And does that guy really answer every call on the first ring? Does he never have other appointments? Or for that matter, ever need to use the restroom? He is always available to take the call.
How convenient.
I call Vacuum Boy on it.
"Is there really even someone on the other end of that line?" I ask.
He looks at me in disbelief. "Of course! It's my boss. Here, look at this."
He shows me the last call on his phone. It means nothing to me. Just "Brian" somebody. Proves nothing. I figure, if it was legit, he would have rung dear Mr. Sloshfosh so I could speak to him.
But he goes through this charade at least 8 more times. Each time, Mr. Shooshibeans offers another price cut.
Now they're willing to give me a $700 trade-in on my vacuum. The one they claim is worth nothing because it doesn't pick up any dirt whatsoever.
I realize they have no need for it. The "trade-in" comment is just a ploy to make me think I could get a "good deal."
An hour and a half later, I insist that I need to get some work done, that I was not under the impression he would take this much time to vacuum and shampoo my carpet.
"Oh, go ahead and do your work," he says.
Okay, so I bolt. I've got dishes to do, an article to finish writing, and phone calls to make. I don't trust a complete stranger in my house, however, so I keep coming down to check on him.
Each time, he's got a nasty filter to show me. "Holy smokes, huh?"
Yeah, holy smokes, kid. Are you almost done???
I continue this darting in and out until his sidekick shows up again, this time saying verbatim what the other guy had just told me. The language was identical. Right down to the "awesome."
What's with using words like "awesome" and "perfect" 400 times in a sales pitch? Does that really resonate with people?
He claims he's sold 11 vacuums toward his 15 vacuums goal for the trip.
Good. What's four more, then, for a fine saleman as he? He doesn't need my help.
Not that it matters, but there is no chance of spending that kind of money without my husband's consent anyway, so he and his sidekick are practically begging me to call my spouse and see if he'll bite. The price is down to just $1700 now, after all.
I wanted to tell them that if I called my husband at work to ask him if spending $1700 on a vacuum today would be a good idea, he would laugh harder than he does at Jay Leno's Headlines on Monday nights.
So I get honest with the fellas.
I tell them the price isn't the issue - I'm not in the market for a vacuum, and furthermore I don't like their sales tactic. The girl tells me she'll be over to vacuum and shampoo one room, and then these guys show up and take up my afternoon.
I expected one clean carpet and a sales pitch. I did not expect him to drag Kirby upstairs and vacuum a mattress, try out every gadget on my stairs, ceiling fan and drapes. I did not expect him to pull out a filter every 3 -1/2 seconds to show me more dirt.
I return to my office and sidekick dude leaves. After I heard the shampooing finally end, I went downstairs to check on the trip contestant. He was packing up his gear. Finally! I thought.
I go back to working, and don't hear much so I check to see if he's still here.
He's at my front door gripping Kirby and company in his hands, peering out the window. He looks like a school kid waiting for the bus. A kid who has to pee.
Why is he fidgeting so much? He's just dying to get out of here, isn't he? Wow, they don't like "no"s, do they?
I am amazed at how he could go from Mr. Perky Holy-Smokes guy to unresponsive ready-to-dash boy.
I go check out my freshly cleaned carpet. He only did half the room, but that's okay. He did the dirtier half.
But all those filters with the guck on them were left in a pile in the middle of my floor.
Really? You can't stash a trash bag within all that cargo you've got?
Worse yet, as he picked up all those filters to put them in a pile, the dirt and fuzz fell off them onto my carpet.
Why would you not have Kirby clean that up?
So I'm pulling out my own vacuum and cleaning up his mess. He's still in my house, but doesn't make a peep when I utter in disbelief, "You sell vacuums, but you leave a mess on my carpet?"
Then I head to the kitchen and come upon the huge mess of water splattered all around my sink. He needed water to fill his shampooer, but obviously couldn't make use of a towel.
Needless to say, I wasn't impressed. And as I watched his ride pull up, it looked nothing short of a bank heist.
Driver smoking a cigarette flies into my driveway. Scared boy runs out of my house, hustles to the back of the van to throw the vacuum in and jumps in the passenger seat. They practically burn rubber out of my driveway.
I shake my head and realize I've learned a hard lesson. It's best to just send those salespeople on their merry way when they come to my door.
Lest I shatter the dream of young people everywhere of luxurious stays at the Motel 6 in Oklahoma City.
Not my finest moment.
Around 11:30am, a young woman comes to my door and tells me she's from Kirby. She would like to come in to vacuum and shampoo one of the rooms in my house as advertising for her product. "We don't do TV commercials. Our only advertising is word-of-mouth, so if you would let me show you what my Kirby vacuum could do for your carpet you would really help me out," she said. "My boss pays me $35 to clean a carpet, so he says I'm cheaper than advertising."
Okay, I cave. What can I say? I'm a housewife with a post-birthday party mess to clean up from the night before and I could use a little help with some of the cleaning! I figured it was harmless. I knew I wasn't buying, so no big deal, right?
Wrong.
She tells me they'll be right over (who is "they" all of a sudden?). So I stop her and say, "Is it going to be noisy? My son needs to take a nap in a few minutes and I can't have loud noise."
"Oh, no. It's not loud," she assures me.
Salesperson #1: not a truth-teller.
So a few minutes pass, and two young gentlemen plow through my door with large boxes of vacuum parts. They're cordial enough, but I am irked that they don't remove their shoes as they enter. Um, wouldn't vacuum cleaner guys realize removing shoes is important if you're going to keep carpets in good condition?
I'm slightly annoyed, but they're all dressed up, so I cut them some slack.
Of course my mind is on those shoes now, so I look at the kid's shoes who is unpacking the chrome-glistening vacuum. His shoes are a fright. Completely peeling on top, and he informs me later his dog chewed the backs off of them.
I'm not buying it. I see it as a ploy for me to feel sorry for the guy and hand him a check.
Not happening.
He starts in on the small talk, acting interested in what my husband and I do for a living. In hindsight, my husband tells me I should have made something up. "You should have told him I sell vacuums," he jokes.
At any rate, I am feeling stuck in the room with this guy - with my son who should be down for a nap right now. He begins to start showing off his prize vacuum, bringing out gadget after gadget and having me test drive them.
And there is noise. Kirby is not a quiet product.
All I can think of is all the work I need to get done, all I had planned to do while my son napped.
But I try to remain cordial. I keep thinking, surely he'll get to the shampooing part soon and be gone.
It isn't long and the sales pitch comes. That monster of a vacuum can be mine for just $2700+.
If I had $2700 to spend, believe me, it would not be spent on a cleaning device.
But then he tells me he can knock $300 off that price because of his "contest promotion."
Ah, love these things.
The great line of, "I'm trying to win a trip to XYZ and you can help send me there, blah blah blah."
Oh pul-eeeze. I'm supposed to want to buy from you so that you can take a trip? Give me the trip, and we'll talk.
The kicker was the trip destination. And where these fine young gents were from.
They came here from Nebraska.
The trip was to Oklahoma City.
Uh, that's just a day road trip, isn't it?!? That's like offering me a trip to Pierre, SD. Woo wee. Sign me up.
Really? Oklahoma City? That's the big prize trip? Apparently people aren't buying the ol' Kirby if that's all they can spring for.
So I have very little interest in hearing about how he can win a trip if I "become part of the Kirby family."
They need to work on their main sales pitch, though. The "repulsion" factor. You know, vacuuming an area and showing you the filter, littered with dirt, dust and fuzz. Like I don't feel bad enough about how far behind I am on housecleaning, now I have some young whipper-snapper showing me I am not cleaning nearly well enough.
Thanks, dude. You now sent me into such a depression I'll need the $2700 for counseling and medications. Oh, I'm sorry. $2400, since I'm helping you win that extravagant trip.
But wait! He's grabbing his phone. This got really comical for me after awhile. He kept calling his "boss" to tell him about the nasty stuff he was getting on the filters.
"Hi, Mr. Snitzenbueler! Yeah, I'm here with Maxine and holy smokes! - you should see what we've pulled out of her carpet! It's awesome what Kirby can do!" Short pause. "Okay, great."
He hangs up and tells me Mr. Sneezyboo is taking another $200 off the price.
I feel like I'm a contestant on Deal or No Deal. Why does he need to keep calling "his boss?" And does that guy really answer every call on the first ring? Does he never have other appointments? Or for that matter, ever need to use the restroom? He is always available to take the call.
How convenient.
I call Vacuum Boy on it.
"Is there really even someone on the other end of that line?" I ask.
He looks at me in disbelief. "Of course! It's my boss. Here, look at this."
He shows me the last call on his phone. It means nothing to me. Just "Brian" somebody. Proves nothing. I figure, if it was legit, he would have rung dear Mr. Sloshfosh so I could speak to him.
But he goes through this charade at least 8 more times. Each time, Mr. Shooshibeans offers another price cut.
Now they're willing to give me a $700 trade-in on my vacuum. The one they claim is worth nothing because it doesn't pick up any dirt whatsoever.
I realize they have no need for it. The "trade-in" comment is just a ploy to make me think I could get a "good deal."
An hour and a half later, I insist that I need to get some work done, that I was not under the impression he would take this much time to vacuum and shampoo my carpet.
"Oh, go ahead and do your work," he says.
Okay, so I bolt. I've got dishes to do, an article to finish writing, and phone calls to make. I don't trust a complete stranger in my house, however, so I keep coming down to check on him.
Each time, he's got a nasty filter to show me. "Holy smokes, huh?"
Yeah, holy smokes, kid. Are you almost done???
I continue this darting in and out until his sidekick shows up again, this time saying verbatim what the other guy had just told me. The language was identical. Right down to the "awesome."
What's with using words like "awesome" and "perfect" 400 times in a sales pitch? Does that really resonate with people?
He claims he's sold 11 vacuums toward his 15 vacuums goal for the trip.
Good. What's four more, then, for a fine saleman as he? He doesn't need my help.
Not that it matters, but there is no chance of spending that kind of money without my husband's consent anyway, so he and his sidekick are practically begging me to call my spouse and see if he'll bite. The price is down to just $1700 now, after all.
I wanted to tell them that if I called my husband at work to ask him if spending $1700 on a vacuum today would be a good idea, he would laugh harder than he does at Jay Leno's Headlines on Monday nights.
So I get honest with the fellas.
I tell them the price isn't the issue - I'm not in the market for a vacuum, and furthermore I don't like their sales tactic. The girl tells me she'll be over to vacuum and shampoo one room, and then these guys show up and take up my afternoon.
I expected one clean carpet and a sales pitch. I did not expect him to drag Kirby upstairs and vacuum a mattress, try out every gadget on my stairs, ceiling fan and drapes. I did not expect him to pull out a filter every 3 -1/2 seconds to show me more dirt.
I return to my office and sidekick dude leaves. After I heard the shampooing finally end, I went downstairs to check on the trip contestant. He was packing up his gear. Finally! I thought.
I go back to working, and don't hear much so I check to see if he's still here.
He's at my front door gripping Kirby and company in his hands, peering out the window. He looks like a school kid waiting for the bus. A kid who has to pee.
Why is he fidgeting so much? He's just dying to get out of here, isn't he? Wow, they don't like "no"s, do they?
I am amazed at how he could go from Mr. Perky Holy-Smokes guy to unresponsive ready-to-dash boy.
I go check out my freshly cleaned carpet. He only did half the room, but that's okay. He did the dirtier half.
But all those filters with the guck on them were left in a pile in the middle of my floor.
Really? You can't stash a trash bag within all that cargo you've got?
Worse yet, as he picked up all those filters to put them in a pile, the dirt and fuzz fell off them onto my carpet.
Why would you not have Kirby clean that up?
So I'm pulling out my own vacuum and cleaning up his mess. He's still in my house, but doesn't make a peep when I utter in disbelief, "You sell vacuums, but you leave a mess on my carpet?"
Then I head to the kitchen and come upon the huge mess of water splattered all around my sink. He needed water to fill his shampooer, but obviously couldn't make use of a towel.
Needless to say, I wasn't impressed. And as I watched his ride pull up, it looked nothing short of a bank heist.
Driver smoking a cigarette flies into my driveway. Scared boy runs out of my house, hustles to the back of the van to throw the vacuum in and jumps in the passenger seat. They practically burn rubber out of my driveway.
I shake my head and realize I've learned a hard lesson. It's best to just send those salespeople on their merry way when they come to my door.
Lest I shatter the dream of young people everywhere of luxurious stays at the Motel 6 in Oklahoma City.
Friday, May 7, 2010
7-Up. A health food.
If you spend any amount of time in the grocery store these days...
(...which I don't, really. My dear husband does the grocery shopping. Mainly because grocery stores are cold. I don't like to be cold. Enough said. But actually, the guy loves it. It's the thrill of getting the best deal possible for him. He considers it success when the clerk has to hand him money at the checkout.
And I'm not kidding.
It happens.
To be honest, I think the guy really believes he should only have to pay 1950s prices for 2010 merchandise. He's delusional that way, but I love him. But enough about my frugal husband...that could be a whole other blog.)
So back to that grocery store. Namely, the increasing number of grocery items with words like "Natural," "Fortified," and "Antioxidant" slapped on the label.
Apparently we're falling for this deception, America. Because there's a bottle of Cherry 7-Up "with antioxidants" in my house right now.
A friend brought it over as part of a dinner we hosted last night. And she left it here, maybe because she's concerned for my health.
Or...because I was so mystified by it she casted it off for me to study.
Antioxidants. In soda pop.
Really?
It claims to have 10% Vitamin E. Vitamin E acetate, to be exact.
And yes, I Googled "Vitamin E acetate." I mean, come on. It sounds fake. This needs to be investigated.
According to www.vitamins-supplements.org, "Vitamin E acetate is a powerful antioxidant, possessing the ability to increase the moisturization of the skin's horny layer and thereby improve surface relief."
Uh, my skin has a "horny layer?" I'm not even goin' there.
It also says, "Vitamin E acetate is a dry, powder form of vitamin E that has no antioxidant power until the acetate is removed in the intestine as it is absorbed."
I had to re-read that sentence about 14 times. Huh? "no antioxidant power until...it is absorbed."
Okay, so it's good for my skin, if my skin ever gets the stuff. Because wouldn't you think all the other goo in that bottle of 7-Up is not likely to allow anything good to get past it? The second listed ingredient was still high fructose corn syrup, after all.
Get real, soda people. 10% vitamin E isn't likely to deter the probably 100% forms of sugar sloshing through my arteries. But nice try, 7-Up.
Then I check the ultimate source for information. Wikipedia. Look what they have to say about our magical vitamin E acetate. "It is often used in dermatological products such as skin creams. Some studies have linked this acetate to cancer."
WHAT?!?!
The antioxidants have power alright....the power to KILL you, evidently. Add them to your high fructose corn syrup beverage and wa-lah! Snap 10 years off your life.
The sad thing is, if you really stop to think about it, there really isn't anything we consume that wouldn't kill us eventually anyway. Fresh produce - someone will claim it was treated with pesticides. Water - someone will claim the plastic bottle contains carcinogens. Even soy is getting a bad rap lately. One guy is claiming soy is feminizing, therefore causing kids to become gay.
There's a soapbox for anybody that wants one, I suppose.
I'm going to get on mine now with a sparkling bottle of Cherry 7-Up in my hand. I figure if all the ingredients are opposing each other, they must cancel each other out, so it is really like drinking a glass of water.
Or at least that's what I'm going to tell myself. Until my premature death.
(...which I don't, really. My dear husband does the grocery shopping. Mainly because grocery stores are cold. I don't like to be cold. Enough said. But actually, the guy loves it. It's the thrill of getting the best deal possible for him. He considers it success when the clerk has to hand him money at the checkout.
And I'm not kidding.
It happens.
To be honest, I think the guy really believes he should only have to pay 1950s prices for 2010 merchandise. He's delusional that way, but I love him. But enough about my frugal husband...that could be a whole other blog.)
So back to that grocery store. Namely, the increasing number of grocery items with words like "Natural," "Fortified," and "Antioxidant" slapped on the label.
Apparently we're falling for this deception, America. Because there's a bottle of Cherry 7-Up "with antioxidants" in my house right now.
A friend brought it over as part of a dinner we hosted last night. And she left it here, maybe because she's concerned for my health.
Or...because I was so mystified by it she casted it off for me to study.
Antioxidants. In soda pop.
Really?
It claims to have 10% Vitamin E. Vitamin E acetate, to be exact.
And yes, I Googled "Vitamin E acetate." I mean, come on. It sounds fake. This needs to be investigated.
According to www.vitamins-supplements.org, "Vitamin E acetate is a powerful antioxidant, possessing the ability to increase the moisturization of the skin's horny layer and thereby improve surface relief."
Uh, my skin has a "horny layer?" I'm not even goin' there.
It also says, "Vitamin E acetate is a dry, powder form of vitamin E that has no antioxidant power until the acetate is removed in the intestine as it is absorbed."
I had to re-read that sentence about 14 times. Huh? "no antioxidant power until...it is absorbed."
Okay, so it's good for my skin, if my skin ever gets the stuff. Because wouldn't you think all the other goo in that bottle of 7-Up is not likely to allow anything good to get past it? The second listed ingredient was still high fructose corn syrup, after all.
Get real, soda people. 10% vitamin E isn't likely to deter the probably 100% forms of sugar sloshing through my arteries. But nice try, 7-Up.
Then I check the ultimate source for information. Wikipedia. Look what they have to say about our magical vitamin E acetate. "It is often used in dermatological products such as skin creams. Some studies have linked this acetate to cancer."
WHAT?!?!
The antioxidants have power alright....the power to KILL you, evidently. Add them to your high fructose corn syrup beverage and wa-lah! Snap 10 years off your life.
The sad thing is, if you really stop to think about it, there really isn't anything we consume that wouldn't kill us eventually anyway. Fresh produce - someone will claim it was treated with pesticides. Water - someone will claim the plastic bottle contains carcinogens. Even soy is getting a bad rap lately. One guy is claiming soy is feminizing, therefore causing kids to become gay.
There's a soapbox for anybody that wants one, I suppose.
I'm going to get on mine now with a sparkling bottle of Cherry 7-Up in my hand. I figure if all the ingredients are opposing each other, they must cancel each other out, so it is really like drinking a glass of water.
Or at least that's what I'm going to tell myself. Until my premature death.
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