Labels

I do understand when this label thing got out of control. Some court awarded a huge judgment to a dolt who stuck his hand under a mower to see if it was running, chugged the lemon scented furniture wax or tried to give himself a pedicure with a table saw. Not to be outdone in setting inane precedents, other judges strived to get their names cited with even more outrageous cases. I get that. But, I thought that wave had peaked and we were leveling out at something just north of sanity. And, as a buyer of outdoor gear, I probably see the worst. Or, so I thought. Earlier this week, I bought two carabiners. You’ve probably seen a “biner” even if you didn’t know the name, possibly posing as a keychain. It’s a c-shaped piece of metal with a hinged gate across the open end. In the great outdoors, they are usually used to manage lines. I hadn’t bought one in some time and was surprised to find a large wad of folded paper secured around the gate. After cutting it free, I discovered it was the directions and disclaimers. You don’t need a lot of room for directions – press gate to open, release to close. If you can’t figure that out, you probably shouldn’t be using a biner. The remainder of the six pages more or less cautioned you about the use of the device and backpedaled away from any responsibility, should you manage to maim yourself in doing so. The owner’s manual of my first motorcycle had less verbiage. Outdoor clothing also seems to bristle with tags and labels although even I would be hard pressed to injure myself in its applications. Most of these ballyhoo the magical attributes with some caveats, of course. I fear it has come to the point where they’re just pinning any piece of paper available to everything that leaves the mill without giving it much thought. Today I received shipment of a storm shell. This is an outer layer composed of stout material that renders protection against the most extreme elements. So, you’re climbing a mountain ensconced in fleece or goose down. A storm crops up (rain, snow, sleet, hail – pick your poison). You whip this out and pull it on over your insulation layer. Done. So why does the plethora of tags dangling from this garment include a smiley sun with the text “UPF 30+?” I’m layered up but the sky has closed down and I’m being pelted with sleet. What do I care about this thing providing protection from the sun in the very good range? If they really want to overdo the label thing, it should be in the area of garment care. The print detailing cleaning precautions is readable only with an electron microscope and the symbols require an Egyptologist to decipher.

Watched Pots

The ability to track (like packages in transit) is a mixed blessing. It’s great to know what’s going on but it can also drive you (or, is it just me?) crazy. I ordered a sporting good last week and have been wearing out the keyboard tracking its crawl across the country. This is partly my doing in that I seek the best price and that often involves buying clearance from some trout fishing shop in Montana or similar situation. Of course, closer isn’t always better. There are mail order warehouses in the immediate area but the goods get shipped far and wide before they finally return to here because of the vagaries of the respective systems. That can be exasperating. My worst experiences in this area involved my travels to the Pacific Rim when I was in the product development business. My usual flight reached Singapore via Minneapolis and Tokyo, taking about 23 hours. On the headrest in front of you was a screen of about 2.5” x 3”. If you didn’t care to watch the insipid movie twelve times, you could track the flight progress. A map of the hemisphere appeared with the plane represented by a red dot. On that scale, movement of the dot wasn’t discernible. By hour fifteen, I was silently screaming and cursing at it to do so. A watched pot never boils, but I can’t help but watch it.

Faith

I was watching a program about a primitive society on one of my obscure channels. They commented on the bizarre religious rituals of the people. As opposed to drinking wine like it was blood or not eating pig flesh? I’m in touch with many of my high school friends and we’ve hit the mid-sixties. I’ve noticed a distinct migration to “faith” as the ills of old age beset them. I won’t go into a deep analysis of the fear and control origins of religion, nor dismiss the value. Doing the right thing produces positive outcomes and however you get there is almost irrelevant. I ran a mental health/drug & alcohol clinic and faith was the only thing that kept some in the program. If that’s what was needed, fine. But don’t lose sight of the fact that faith doesn’t do it alone. I had a coach who used to admonish us, “Pray like it’s up to God. But play like it’s up to you.”

Smart phone, dumb buyer

My phone contract is coming to an end and the carrier who has had little interest in my issues is suddenly my best friend. Surprise. The offer came proposing I upgrade to a better (smarter?) unit for as little as $49. It’s not that my phone lacks features. More like it has a mind of its own and I don’t find that to my liking. I did the research and decided on which of the alternatives I wanted. Off to the store. Before one of the youthful predators could pounce upon me, I angled for someone with a little gray in his hair. The callow ones speak a tongue unknown to me. Of course, he tries to talk me up to a more expensive model. But, I stick to my guns. I have a few basic usages and don’t need the functions he enumerates. I don’t even understand what they are. He finally recognizes that I’m a lost cause and grants me access to the product I came in to buy. We go to ring it up. I’m expecting a $49 sum, exclusive of the state’s override. But, it comes out to $129. I hold up my hand in a halting gesture. “It’s 49 after the $50 rebate,” he explains, as though to a small child. The email promotion didn’t mention this and I hate rebates. I won’t go into what a scam they are here, but I have little choice if I am to continue down this road. However, I do point out that he’s still $30 too rich. “That’s the upgrade charge.” Again, no mention of this in the email. “Then, the price is $79, not $49, as advertised.” “No, the phone is only $49.” I don’t point out we’ve already established that the actual price is $99. “The $30 is a separate charge.” “Then I’ll take just the phone without that.” “You can’t.” “Then it isn’t separate and is part of the cost of the phone.” “No, it’s a separate upgrade charge.” One of us is an idiot and I’m beginning to suspect it’s me. I fear that marketing has taken a cue from politicians and will tell you anything they want without fear of negative consequences.