So I was in the pantry pulling my bother’s hair one day when it occurred to him to ask me, “Where does it say that you’re supposed to pull people’s hair?”
It was a good question, but by virtue of our fight occurring in the pantry I had a quick answer, “Brother, it says so right there on the grocery bag.”
And indeed in large green letters on the brown paper bag was written, “PULL PEOPLE’S HAIR”
This was the motto for WaldBottom’s, the supermarket where my parents did their grocery shopping: “At WaldBottom’s we pull people’s hair to give you lower prices.”
The commercials for WaldBottom’s would then feature something like a gallon of milk being run across the scanner with a voice over announcing something like “One Gallon of HoodieShire Farms vitamin D whole milk: $3.50 - Arrrggghhh” or maybe “USDA choice lean ground beef $3.00 a pound -- Ouch! Ouch!”
The camera would cut to a close up of the man behind the voice over. The store manager would have him in a headlock and be pulling on his hair, until he agreed to some lower prices. Then the customers viewing this exchange from the supermarket floor on the other side of the glass partition would all erupt into cheer. The manager would go on to face the camera and give the viewer a reassuring “thumbs up.” In later years, when the voice over for this commercial went bald, the manager would just noogie him incessantly.
Nobody seems to remember this ad now a days. When I try to mention it the first question that comes us is usually along the lines of “Why would any supplier in their right mind have done business with WaldBottom’s?”
This, too is a good question, to which I remind that the Price Chopper logo of that time is period featured a woman getting a hatchet buried in her head. If that doesn’t convince them, then I start listing some of the dirty names that Stop and Shop used to hurl upon their competitors. This usually ends the conversation.
The near pathological competition between supermarkets was not lost on Mrs. Karhu’s first grade classroom. I still remember our lesson on counting and produce identification: Mrs. Karhu had us all sit in a circle while she dumped a bowl full of paper cutouts each of which contained various images of fruit. She then told us that we were each going to be our own supermarket today and that it was time to gather our fruits. Through the ensuing fog of elbows, claws, and headbuttings we each then gathered our own pile of paper fruits. Mrs. Karhu the explained the rest of the lesson plan: “Now I am going ask you for a fruit and a certain number of that fruit. So if I ask for ‘two bananas,’ I want each of you to give me ‘two bananas.’”
Being the young math wiz that I was, I quickly produced two bananas, before Mrs. Karhu laughed, explaining that the first statement was “just an example”. I was ready however. The exercise then began in earnest when she asked us all to give her “3 strawberries” at which point we rifled through our piles of “fruit” and each pulled out 3 strawberries. It felt good to be doing my lesson right, and hear the soothing “thank yous” of Mrs. Karhu’s voice. However, as the lesson progressed a distribution problem began to emerge. When Mrs. Karhu asked us for “6 apples”, it turned out that I only had four apples. When I asked what I should do, Mrs. Karhu suggested that I just use a fruit that looked similar to an apple. After all the searching for two more apples, I was already behind the rest of the class and beginning to stress out. I was barely able to supplement the order for 6 apples with 4 apples and 2 peaches before Mrs. Karhu was asking us for 7 grapes.
Rummaging through my pile I managed to scrounge up 4 grapes and 3 blueberries. By this point however the rest of the gifted children in the class were busy giving Mrs. Karhu “9 blueberries.” I was down to two blueberries at having used the others as substitutes for grapes so I raided the oranges, however I only had 6 of those so I also tossed in a banana for good measure. Of course the next thing she asked for were Oranges, and while she only needed five of them, I had to give her three lemons and a lime. I completely missed the call for “6 raspberries,” and ran out of breath putting together an order of “8 cherries” comprised of 3 kumquats, one, peach, two bananas, and a nectarine. It was great relief when I was down to two peaches, three bananas, and a couple of kumquats, that she announced that we she was now done shopping with us. She concluded the lesson by telling us, “It has been a great pleasure to shop at all your supermarkets.”
Mrs. Karhu was clearly lying to me. I mean who goes to WaldBottom’s to buy five oranges and walks out with three lemons and a lime? So while all the gifted children went around proclaiming thing like, “I have a real super supermarket!”
Or, “I have a super duper supermarket!”
I declared, “I’m just a plain old grey market, with nothing but rotten apples.”
While a few of my classmates giggled, one kid the nerve to declare, “You just don’t know how to sell groceries.”
Within seconds he found himself on the receiving end of some serious hair pulling, and I found myself on the way to the office. This is the last time I ever considered a career in the grocery business.
It was a good question, but by virtue of our fight occurring in the pantry I had a quick answer, “Brother, it says so right there on the grocery bag.”
And indeed in large green letters on the brown paper bag was written, “PULL PEOPLE’S HAIR”
This was the motto for WaldBottom’s, the supermarket where my parents did their grocery shopping: “At WaldBottom’s we pull people’s hair to give you lower prices.”
The commercials for WaldBottom’s would then feature something like a gallon of milk being run across the scanner with a voice over announcing something like “One Gallon of HoodieShire Farms vitamin D whole milk: $3.50 - Arrrggghhh” or maybe “USDA choice lean ground beef $3.00 a pound -- Ouch! Ouch!”
The camera would cut to a close up of the man behind the voice over. The store manager would have him in a headlock and be pulling on his hair, until he agreed to some lower prices. Then the customers viewing this exchange from the supermarket floor on the other side of the glass partition would all erupt into cheer. The manager would go on to face the camera and give the viewer a reassuring “thumbs up.” In later years, when the voice over for this commercial went bald, the manager would just noogie him incessantly.
Nobody seems to remember this ad now a days. When I try to mention it the first question that comes us is usually along the lines of “Why would any supplier in their right mind have done business with WaldBottom’s?”
This, too is a good question, to which I remind that the Price Chopper logo of that time is period featured a woman getting a hatchet buried in her head. If that doesn’t convince them, then I start listing some of the dirty names that Stop and Shop used to hurl upon their competitors. This usually ends the conversation.
The near pathological competition between supermarkets was not lost on Mrs. Karhu’s first grade classroom. I still remember our lesson on counting and produce identification: Mrs. Karhu had us all sit in a circle while she dumped a bowl full of paper cutouts each of which contained various images of fruit. She then told us that we were each going to be our own supermarket today and that it was time to gather our fruits. Through the ensuing fog of elbows, claws, and headbuttings we each then gathered our own pile of paper fruits. Mrs. Karhu the explained the rest of the lesson plan: “Now I am going ask you for a fruit and a certain number of that fruit. So if I ask for ‘two bananas,’ I want each of you to give me ‘two bananas.’”
Being the young math wiz that I was, I quickly produced two bananas, before Mrs. Karhu laughed, explaining that the first statement was “just an example”. I was ready however. The exercise then began in earnest when she asked us all to give her “3 strawberries” at which point we rifled through our piles of “fruit” and each pulled out 3 strawberries. It felt good to be doing my lesson right, and hear the soothing “thank yous” of Mrs. Karhu’s voice. However, as the lesson progressed a distribution problem began to emerge. When Mrs. Karhu asked us for “6 apples”, it turned out that I only had four apples. When I asked what I should do, Mrs. Karhu suggested that I just use a fruit that looked similar to an apple. After all the searching for two more apples, I was already behind the rest of the class and beginning to stress out. I was barely able to supplement the order for 6 apples with 4 apples and 2 peaches before Mrs. Karhu was asking us for 7 grapes.
Rummaging through my pile I managed to scrounge up 4 grapes and 3 blueberries. By this point however the rest of the gifted children in the class were busy giving Mrs. Karhu “9 blueberries.” I was down to two blueberries at having used the others as substitutes for grapes so I raided the oranges, however I only had 6 of those so I also tossed in a banana for good measure. Of course the next thing she asked for were Oranges, and while she only needed five of them, I had to give her three lemons and a lime. I completely missed the call for “6 raspberries,” and ran out of breath putting together an order of “8 cherries” comprised of 3 kumquats, one, peach, two bananas, and a nectarine. It was great relief when I was down to two peaches, three bananas, and a couple of kumquats, that she announced that we she was now done shopping with us. She concluded the lesson by telling us, “It has been a great pleasure to shop at all your supermarkets.”
Mrs. Karhu was clearly lying to me. I mean who goes to WaldBottom’s to buy five oranges and walks out with three lemons and a lime? So while all the gifted children went around proclaiming thing like, “I have a real super supermarket!”
Or, “I have a super duper supermarket!”
I declared, “I’m just a plain old grey market, with nothing but rotten apples.”
While a few of my classmates giggled, one kid the nerve to declare, “You just don’t know how to sell groceries.”
Within seconds he found himself on the receiving end of some serious hair pulling, and I found myself on the way to the office. This is the last time I ever considered a career in the grocery business.
