Razor Burned

Small Purchases mean Big Business

The fine folks at Proctor & Gamble, or simply PG, a multinational maker of everything (you’ve seen their exclusive coupon book in every Sunday newspaper), sent me one of those 15 blade rip-your-face-off razors in the mail today. No strings attached, just a trial with discounts on replacement blades—the expensive part.

At first I was puzzled. Why me? How did they get my name? I decided I don’t want to know. Potential customers beware!: a dangerous weapon may be in your mailbox. It’s called the Gillette Fusion; and after cutting yourself getting the damn thing out of its extraneous packaging, counting the tiny cutting edges makes you dizzy. I get the message, "you have no choice; buy Gillette. You don't want to get stuck with Schick, do you? Of course not."

A year after purchasing Gillette P&G’s stock is up, thanks to people like me who fork over a buck fifty or more for every razor blade, which last all of three shaves; and I use the prehistoric two blade Sensor XL model. We’re talking ’96 here. A recent stock report specifically named razors as a reason for the swelling. While the razor burn and stitches will go great with my face, next time just send me some stock, then I can buy more razors and the sun will set on my perma-5o’clock shadow. Suddenly electrolysis doesn't look so crazy.

Baked Steemers?

Granted most homeowners rest easier when they know their carpet shampooer isn’t an ex-con, but should this be a selling point? The Stanley Steemer company thinks so. “Stanley Steemer employees are drug tested and background checked,” an innocent blonde tells me. Clean became an obsession as American as apple pie in the ‘50s. Wonder bread. Bleached four. Bright yellow rubber gloves. Don’t worry, Stepford Wives, a shiny headed hunky genie will clean your counters and floors. Of course this was nothing new; after all, cleanliness is next to godliness. Spic and span saw a renaissance in mid-twentieth century households. As the first decade of a new century draws to a close Moms still value immaculate floors. But black or Latino women swab our decks with USMC preferred Pine-sol and scrub scum rings from tubs with the Mr. Clean eraser. The eraser really does work, by the way. It’s terrifying and amazing how well the super-chemical soaked sponge vanquishes stains. Stanley Steemer coupled sanitation with servitude (something that has always been popular in America) and the piggy bank swelled.

Back to the drug/background test—I have a few questions: how do customers know the business really requires these? Has anyone checked into it? Meanwhile most companies’s drug policies state that a criminal record may not disqualify a candidate. Identity theft, committing crimes after hire and human nature—greed—are unaccounted for variables. Unless Steemer spends more of your money on random drug screenings throughout employment a user may clean up for the test and celebrate passing it with a joint. And don’t you think drugs would aid a worker’s coping with pushing a vacuum eight to10 hours a day? So, to the skeptic, the commercial fails. Yet to an average consumer, who just consumes, the ad insulates. Warm, fuzzy, and clean; hook, line, and sinker.