Skip to main content

Where there's smoke, there's 'flyer'

I live in one of those neighborhoods whose homes were built in the 1950s. Homes in this established neighborhood eventually show their age and/or are in need of repair/restoration and perhaps an update. Add to the mix that the neighborhood has that Middle Class American Suburbia, keep up with the Joneses culture. Depending on the resident's budget (time, energy, disposable income), upkeep and improvement vary from lawn/yard service to full-blown renovation/remodels.


The demographics can -- and have been over and over -- pretty much be drawn from there. And in the spirit of "If you [built] it [years ago], they will come," commercial enterprises both large and small are dialed into the area. Now, I'm not talking realtors, pollsters and such, but contractors, handymen, specialists. And they come like ambulance chasers. And remnants of their visits (flyers, brochures, pamphlets, business cards) adorn residents' front door, garage door, mailbox, etc., reminding us that the place needs fixing -- as if we think that a leaky ceiling, chipping paint, cracked/peeling drywall, drafty windows/doors, cracked driveway/patio, dimming lights whenever a clothes dryer, hair dryer, power tool dishwasher or garbage disposal is turned on adds character.


Neighborhood recipients take some form of action on these hints-on-paper. Mostly they throw them away. (Denial is a powerful thing.) But if it's a service or issue that I haven't already addressed -- and after the kitchen/bathroom/basement remodel, front and backyard projects, window replacements, roof replacement, electrical box switch-out and home rewire, that list is shrinking, I'll file it for the day I'll need it and read it later. I also have a marketing/communications past life, so I appreciate marketing efforts at any scale and put them ahead of yellow page listings.


I came to the conclusion recently that I don't want to spend every single non-work hour working on any of the houses. And after backyard project '09 (don't get me started), I was finally in the market for a handyman. And since the chore list at the 805 property was growing, the time came about a month ago to finally pull the "Handyman" file. And here's where today's post begins.


The Handyman file is purged every 12 months, so I had two flyers that I was finally able to peruse and evaluate. And no two flyers could ever be so different. Flyer #1 [at left; click image to enlarge] was polished and professional; flyer #2 [right, click image to enlarge] was, uh, not.
Flyer #1 was detailed in scope, with a flow of information that helped me see my problem, act on it and practically dialed the phone number for me; flyer #2 was a random arrangement of ideas on a series of cocktail napkins arranged on the flyer in the order pulled from the author's pocket (at least that's my theory). Flyer #1 used spell check and at the very least a computer with a word processor program; flyer #2 used a typewriter, a piece of paper and a closed set of eyes. Moreover, despite flyer #2's use of the Arabic characters and the English language, I may as well have raw computer code with a phone number at the end.


At first glance, the handwriting was on the wall as to who won the battle of the bands, but I had to call to get "estaments" as flyer #2 would put it. (Fortunately, one of the few non-typo areas of flyer #2 was the phone number.) And I wanted to make sure I wasn't being "Punk'd" with flyer #2 by one of my writing peers who know how annoyed I get with bad writing.


Flyer #2 lost the battle, it won the war. Flyer #2 had a mystical quality, the more time I spent with it. It commanded my attention and professional opinion, then my intrigue and emotions -- and finally my consumer decision. It had a sense of beauty in its tragic flaws and lesson in how to flout just about every grammatical and punctuational writing standard. It got me thinking. How could the author even dare to distribute such a marketing atrocity with all its production flaws? What inspired the author to muster up the courage to put his thoughts on paper (without the aid of any proofreader) versus a presumably more effective verbal pitch door-to-door? Was he, too, trying to keep up with the times and his version of the Joneses (his competitors) across my geometric/demographic, and had to muster up what little creative talent, resources and money to produce a print marketing tool to feed himself and his family? Doesn't that account for something? And wouldn't it be un-American of me to disqualify flyer #2 and in turn not enable him to put food on his table, put clothes on his kids, pay the rent/mortgage, etc.? I said a resounding "Yes" to all that, and it was the first call I made.


I called flyer #1 out of courtesy. He was too busy to take on my project in the timeframe I required. Flyer #2 wins by default, and gets my money. And America's economic outlook just got a little rosier, IMHO.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A Tribute
Da Hoov: 1993-2008

The day I got him, I was buying cat food for Pip, the (then) family cat, in the Burien (WA) days. In one of the pet store bins was a splitting image of the puppy version of the Thorndike-Barnhart Junior Dictionary entry illustration -- that I recalled from second grade -- for "Spaniel". I then remembered that I always wanted a Spaniel. He had no papers, but his markings were good enough to argue that he was far from the Heinz 57 variety (a point groomers over the years had galvanized). So I was curious as to the behind-the-scenes story. The shop owner said that little guy had been the pick of the litter to carry on the legacy for the previous owner, who initially chose to keep him along with the mother. But when the previous owner's new landlord allowed only one dog, s/he had to make a concession. The puppy drew the short straw. So with the benefit of a dog with no papers and good markings, and knowing what a pedigreed dog can fetch, I figured I wouldn't pay a cen

I left my inhibitions in San Francisco

[Left, i.e., disregarded, neglected] Seems, as with the incomparable Tony Bennett, my eternal fling with San Francisco remains strong. This time, it was ringing in the New Year with Cake at The Warfield Theater with my bro (the wife declined due to scheduling conflicts), BFAM and his wife. Again, one for the books. Now, many have either seen/heard first- or second-hand my past SF experiences dating back to 1988, each filled with some level of joy and/or wonder. It was looking pretty iffy at this concert experience in that it didn't echo that of Sia concert at Bimbo's in April '06 when Sia herself gave me (and only me) a big hug outside her tour bus after the show, or the Les Claypool concert at The Fillmore where my date scored backstage passes in December '00. First off this time, Cake lead singer John McCrea lives in Oakland, so he probably took the BART, given his dervish tendencies. Secondly, he was nowhere to be seen; just the bassist with whom BFAM and wife

Good Mourning

In February 2014, legendary New York sportswriter Marty Noble wrote about the passing of legendary New York Mets announcer and Baseball Hall of Famer Ralph Kiner: "The radio and television programming was characterized by those speaking as 'a celebration,' and it was. I understand the concept; celebrate rather than mourn. But how difficult it was to see his passing as anything other than miserably sad...He had a good, long life. But I wanted it to be longer by 30 years, or at least by two months, so I could see him one more time and absorb one more anecdote..." And in February 2019, we can say the same for Flora DeBonis Pikul: sister, mother, godmother, grandmother, great-grandmother, aunt, great-aunt, great-great-aunt, cousin, friend and so on. Now Marty Noble was talking about a sports figure, a celebrity. And you could argue that Grandma was a celebrity. She had a star quality. She had her 15 minutes of fame: a grand-prize winner on the "Concentration"