Convenience, Customer Service and Protective Packaging, or”Those were the good old days”

Among other things, the dictionary tells us that “conveniences” are things that are “easy to obtain, use, or reach.”

Fast food joints are “convenient.” In fact you’ll find them in every town and hamlet, and at virtually every intersection on every interstate highway in the land, most of them with drive-through windows. Nothing is easier to “reach” than Ronald McDonald or “The King,” and given a five dollar bill, nothing is easier to obtain than a Big Mac. Or is it? A significant percentage of the time what you wanted, and ordered, is not what you find in your bag. And I can personally assure you that the consequences of a long term diet of “convenience” foods, including medical treatment for strokes and heart disease, are in fact very inconvenient.

What about “convenience” stores? Here in Indiana Village Pantries are everywhere, along with Rickers. Your area may instead have Seven Elevens, Cracker Barrels or one of the thousands of other brands found all across the country. But does “ubiquitous” translate into convenience? I think not, especially when price is factored in. The more expensive an item, the less “easy to obtain.”

I expect most folks would agree that the cell phone is foremost among today’s convenience appliances. I’d argue that most folks haven’t thought it out very well. What’s “convenient” about a device that empowers those who’d gleefully disturb the peaceful ruminations of an old man who wants nothing more devoutly than to be left alone? And what’s “convenient” about a device with buttons so small they can’t be pushed without the aid of a pencil, and a screen that’s so small old folks need to find their reading glasses before making a call?

Who’s Fooling Whom?

The fact is that corporate America’s been fooling most of America for too many years, perhaps because it’s pretty “inconvenient” to dig for the truth of their various marketing claims.

Remember the early years of Walmart? Their motto was “Always the Lowest Price. Always.” That’s no longer their motto. Now it’s “Everyday low prices-Always.” You can thank the National Advertising Review Board for that. They investigated the claim and found that it’s simply not true. But Walmart’s done a pretty good job of convincing a huge percentage of Americans that it is.

They’ve also done a pretty good job of convincing folks that they are convenient. But are they? Here in Middletown, U.S.A., we have two, one on the north side and one on the south side. Both are located in high traffic areas, both have acres of parking and both take up acres of space for the store itself. For folks my age and for folks who are “mobility challenged,” walking a half mile loop from the parking lot, through the store and back to the car is hardly convenient. (In the interest of full disclosure, my only trip to Walmart occurred at two in the morning, when my VCR crapped out in the middle of a very good movie). On that trip I discovered something others my age might find useful … these folks are so anxious to make the sale that they’ll bring merchandise to the service desk for your inspection and comparison.

Anxious as retailers are to fool us on convenience and price, most of the deception is of the “self” sort.

The best example is product packaging. Because of the Tylenol scare of many years ago, we now have super packaging, packaging that requires tools to reach the products we’ve purchased, or ingenuity and dexterity that’s beyond the reach of the aged and infirm. I’m reminded of the old gentleman who was found dead behind his mule, clutching a bottle of nitroglycerine in a child proof package that he was unable to open.

That single incident (the Tylenol scare) may have been the genesis of the worst corporate sin ever visited upon a thirsty America … the advent of canned beer and soda. The cans, of course, ensure the purity of the product and served as a fine marketing excuse for cans over bottles … taste be damned. In fact, the can allowed “bottleing” companies to do away with the bottle washing operation completely. None of this has been very “convenient” for beer or soda drinkers.

I’m holding in my hand one of the most useful products yet invented for the computer age. It’s called a Sony Microvault. It’s a USB flash drive about an inch wide and three or four inches long and holds up to eight gigs of data. It came in a hardened plastic package about four inches wide by six inches long. To open the package I had to dig through the garage until I found a pair of tin snips. I’d be willing to bet big bucks that in more than one home in America there’s a package bought months ago and still unopened. Convenient? Certainly not!

I’m not picking on Sony. These days virtually every small product of any value whatsoever is likewise packaged in materials that are virtually indestructible. In many cases (the Sony Microvault for instance) the packaging is both bigger and heavier than the product itself. I’d guess that a bushel basket would hold a couple of thousand Microvaults. But the packaged product is a different story. A couple of thousand, with packaging, would probably fill a pretty big part of a semi-trailer, and a pretty big hole in your local landfill. Convenient? No. Costly? Yes.

The questions of packaging and central production, though, have ramifications more serious than the inconvenience of using small hand tools to obtain your merchandise. President Bush and VP Cheney, in their seemingly never ending and ever growing fear of Nukes and Germs,have overlooked what would probably be the easiest and most effective weapon of terror … packaged foods.

When was the last time you had a really good sausage? If you’re younger, it’s likely that you have no sound basis for comparison, having grown up with the homogenous mixes of finely minced meats, institutionally seasoned, that comprise the commercial sausage market of today. Smoked sausage, keilbasa, bratwurst … all have the same homogenous texture and are so lightly seasoned as to be almost tasteless. I can’t prove it but it’s my guess that lots of companies buy unseasoned sausage mixes and after adding seasonings sell it under different types and brands. I’m told that it’s still possible, in Chicago and New York, to buy old fashioned kielbasa, but I couldn’t prove that by personal experience. My last Polish sausage in Chicago was bought between the bus station and O’Hare, and it sucked. To be fair, maybe it’s still possible to obtain a decent sausage, somewhere in the U.S.A., but I doubt it’s possible to find one as good as those served in the forties and fifties. And that’s really inconvenient.

Hamburger in particular is packaged in wholesale lots in central locations and shipped nationwide. Just a few weeks ago we had the spectacle of Topps Meat Company recalling 21.7 MILLION pounds of packaged ground beef suspected of E.Coli (read fecal) contamination. Cargill also had a recall because of E.Coli. In fact, food recalls have become rather common, with hardly a month passing without some packaged food product being recalled because of contamination. Replace the E.Coli bacteria with something more potent and thousands could die.

So what do you do if you suspect you’ve purchased contaminated meat from your local supermarket? Like everything else in today’s world of convenience, you simply pick up your phone and call the 1-800 number on the package. That will connect you to a service representative located somewhere in India, Pakistan or Bangladesh, a man or woman who probably speaks better English than either of us, but who does so with an accent almost impossible to decipher. After working his way through his checklist, you’ll be told that the food may be returned for a full refund. That’s customer service in 21st century America.

While I’m on the subject of foods, let’s consider the myriad ways in which the retail food industry’s quest for market share screws the consumer, especially the older consumer. A lot of major brands are guilty. Kraft, original makers of the main staple of the working man’s table, Macaroni and Cheese (a pale reflecion of the original product), now makes a variety of takeoffs on the original product, so many that the original can be hard to find. Campbell’s soup company, who surely sells more soup than anyone on the planet, now makes so many different kinds of soup that weak eyes can find it difficult to locate what they’re looking for. My favorite, Pepper Pot, hasn’t been available for years and the old standby, Mushroom, now comes in so many varieties that the original can be hard to find. Even Ritz Crackers have been diluted … Vegetable Ritz, low sodium Ritz, low fat Ritz … everything but the old standby. Or perhaps I couldn’t see the Ritz because of the other Ritz.

If you live long enough, you’ll recognize the truth in the old saying that “life is on a wheel.” Indiana had one of the earliest and most successful light rail systems in the U.S. during the period from around 1900 to the mid-thirties. Now there’s talk of a new system. Likewise bottles are becoming more ubiquitous once again. And Microbreweries are not only using bottles, they’re also restoring to a large degree the brewing diversity that marked America’s early cities. And cell phones? There’s finally a new company that offers a larger phone, with larger screen and buttons and a simplified menu that provides only the really convenient stuff such as your personal phone directory.

All of this is, of course, a rehash of the sentiment about “the good old days.” But I’m not yet senile enough to believe that everything was good about the old days. My ancient Buick’s got nearly a hundred thirty thousand miles on it, with no major repairs. My son, who commutes, has a two year old Impala with even more miles. As much as I liked my old 52 Ford, the fact is that it (and most other cars of the day) was done after a lot less than a hundred thousand miles.

Nevertheless, “the good old days” had a lot to recommend them. If you were in your car, on duty or off, you were unreachable by phone. If you were enjoying the cool breeze of a summer evening under the old oak tree, no one other than your family was likely to disturb your reverie.

I hope I survive to see a few more turns of the wheel. I’d like nothing more than a short walk to the corner grocery to buy a fresh cut steak, wrapped in easily opened (and disposed of) Kraft paper and closed with paper tape, eaten in company with my grandchildren in front of a television not clouded with the threat of imminent visual assault by every imaginable permutation of T&A and language poisonous enough to shame a sailor. The convenience of that can only be imagined.