| When they were kids they’d ask each other if they’d rather be deaf or blind. Everyone always went with deaf. What was the best part of going to the movies – hearing the cowboy shoot the gun, or watching the bad guy clutch his guts and fall over? No contest. And if you were deaf you could always say “I didn’t hear you, Mom” when she gave you the business for ignoring her calls. Being blind would be sad, and you’d have the cane and the black glasses so everyone knew you were blind. Deaf you could hide. Deaf had positive advantages, when you thought about it. Although blind sometimes came with a dog. Grandpa had a Beltone, he remembered. Pretty modern matchbook for something pitched at the old folks. Had to envy Beltone; they didn’t have to say they made hearing aids, anymore than Coke had to say it made soda. “WHO’D YOU SAY NOW?” “Midwestern Match and Novelty,” Joe repeated. He put the Beltone matchbook down. The pharmacist had returned from the backroom and was staring at Joe’s card as though he expected it to contradict its bearer, and reveal him as the lying swindler he no doubt was. “I’ve come to talk to you about the advantages custom matches can bring your business.” “I HAVE MATCHES.” “I see.” “AND THEY’RE FREE.” “So they are. But with your own custom matches, you’ve an advertisement that goes with your customers. They need a prescription filled, or want to know if you stock a favorite notion – there’s your number, right on the back cover. No need to look through the phone book. Here – may I? Thanks.” He put his sample book on the counter and opened to the page of art he used for drug stores. “We could put a picture of a pharmacist on the back, so people know you sell more than aspirin and ointment.” He turned the page. "Like this one. It's quite popular." “DOESN’T LOOK A THING LIKE ME.” “Well, it’s – no, it doesn’t, you’re right. But I’ll tell you this, Mr. Johnson. When the Rexall comes in down the block, and you know they will, they’re going to have their own matches, and they’ll have the color of the sign outside. If anyone has a drugstore matchbook in their pocket in this neighborhood, it’ll be orange and blue. If I may be blunt, all your matches tell people is how they can get a hearing aid.” “WHAT ABOUT THE ORANGE AND BLUE?” “Thw Rexall colors, orange and blue -” “COULD YOU MAKE MY MATCHES BLUE AND ORANGE?” What was this, 1939 again? “Yes, sir,” Joe said. “Of course I could.” The pharmacist hesitated. Got him. “Tell you what. I’ll design a custom match for you. Hand lettered. Blue and orange. Nice Rx on the back, very up-to-date. You like it, you can buy an order. You don’t? No charge.” The pharmacist nodded. “ALL RIGHT THEN,” he said. They shook hands. Joe bought a comb on the way out – didn’t need one, but it always helped to throw a little money the customer’s way. Now, how to sell a color order to the boss? A color spec order? Jesus, might as well have thrown in gilt embossing and platinum staples. Break the news by shouting. No one stopped listening so fast as when you began to yell. |
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this is a work of fiction c. 2005 j. lileks. / joe home / lileks.com home