To Unilever Company and Procter & Gamble (makers of Surf and Tide laundry detergent respectively),
Dear Sirs/Ma'ams,
If I could point out to your respective selves something that has weighed upon my mind for some time now. Surf? Tide? Really?! Those are the names for you freshest, best-smelling detergents?! Have you ever SMELLED an ocean? Have you ever been on a beach?! Really?! If I were to draw my clothes out of the washing machine to find them smelling like salt, clumps of sea weed, and hot garbage I would be inclined to think "Hmmm. Smells like the Tide." Mr. Unilever, if you'd like to argue that Surf is also a verb -- one can "go out and _____" as well as "smell like the stinky _____" with the word surf--, I remind you that surfers (or "those who ____") smell like (see above) salt, sea weed, and garbage, but with added funks clinging to them of suntan lotion, wasted youth and Teen Spirit.
I enjoy the smells of your laundry detergents and encourage you to not make the radical shift toward odorousness that the names of your products imply.
Also, if you could please forward the contents along with the general tone and intent of this message to Mennen company, producers of Teen Spirit deodorant. Have you ever SMELLED teenager?! Honestly.
Respectfully yours,
Rich D
To the two perfectly pleasant but completely lost freshman girls who stopped to talk to each other and consult their map of campus at the top of a busy staircase,
Dear Ladies,
Since I don't know your actual names, I shall call you Tiffany and Maria. C'mon. I mean, really?! On a staircase at noon?! Are you that lost? That disoriented and confused? Should I be using the term self-absorbed here that you should overlook where you were standing, side-by-side and completely blocking the only way of passing either up or down? Is "clueless" the right term? If I make these statements into questions does it make me seem less judgemental? Less like I'm overreacting? I'm afraid the answer to all these questions is yes.
Tiffany. Maria. Let's review: You didn't even seem to be talking about directions when you stopped to look at the map and then talk to each other. Clearly, at least three people were trying to move around you, turning their bodies and leaning in, hoping you'd notice and step out of the way. I, in my most non-confrontational attitude, casually bumped your backpack, Tiffany, so that you'd notice that there was someone behind you in addition to those trying to come up the staircase. And Maria, when you causally unslung one of your backpack's shoulder strap for a moment, making us think that you were going to open it or maybe to draw out another object unrelated to the current situation or your state of being lost so that you could continue your conversation about what clearly was not the most pressing aspect of your situation . . .
It is to your credit that you both chose to finally move and end the madness that you had caused (I pray inadvertantly). But I'm afraid that I must remove a bit of your credit, just snatch it right back from you, because you chose, not to go down the stairs, as you both were poised to do, but to turn and move back through the gathered crowd of people behind you, the very people you had blocked as effectively as hefty chunk of cholesterol on the wall of an artery.
And so, saddened and crestfallen (my crest has fallen right the heck down!), I end this letter with the even now understated hope that this never, ever happens again.
Ready to shiv you in the back with a mechanical pencil,
Rich D
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
Those are some very cleansing letters for all of us, I think. At least for me.
I would like to write a letter to the good folks at the Post Office. Don't get me wrong--they do a great job, but they seem to be missing a few items of protocol. Such as what to do when two people with the same last name and the same first initial move into the same apartment one after the other. Apparently in this situation, one of the brothers will end up receiving mail for both of them, as well as their spouses. And so when you receive your sister-in-law's bank card in the mail and you want to send it to her, you realize that if you send it to her at her address, it will come back to you, clinging to the wrong Singley address like sea stink to a surfer dude. So B Singley, and B Singley, the post office will deliver your mail come rain or sleet or snow--it just may all end up going to seattle instead of to seattle AND provo respectively.
Richard,
I'm afraid I have to respectfully disagree with you about the laundry detergent. I happen to really enjoy the smell of the ocean. Even in bad weather I love to go to the beach just to smell the ocean and hear the waves.
Laundry detergent, on the other hand, is one of the worst smells ever. If I walked through the grocery store with a blindfold on, I could correctly identify two aisles: the pet food aisle, and the laundry detergent aisle.
After a few steps down the detergent aisle I invariably start sneezing. My nose gets stuffy and my eyes water. The beach has never been so cruel to me (in fact, I usually feel less congested).
Maybe "Allerjoy" or "Congest!" or "Death Powder" would be better brand names. Borax has the right idea. It sounds as deadly as it smells.
Post a Comment