Every year around this time, I do a survey of the toys being offered to kids for Christmas, so I was extra delighted when I got a catalogue a well-known toymaker in my postbox. After a careful skimming, I have to report, it’s the same every year and probably since time immemorial, dolls for girls and cars and dolls for boys, superheroes for boys and baby dolls that pee and cry, just like real babies.
It’s true, boys are playing with dolls, what was previously taboo is now collected and swapped with fervor, fortunes are paid out for rare items. Did I say doll? It’s not a doll, it’s an action figure.
I really like the wrestlers, I want an action figure of the Undertaker, coffin, eye make-up and all. There are lots of dragon things for those that care, a plastic volcano that could go into the backyard of a Barbie house, and the entire cast of High School Musical at 15cm high.
Superheroes well represented, Spiderman, Iron Man, Incredible Hunk, nothing really new, all of them dolls.
For girls, it’s all Bratz, and I know they’re supposed to be controversial, but if I was a little girl, I would love to get one, or seven, plus the electric guitars, the Santa suit and the heart-shaped drumkit. I look for a hint of sluttiness in their outfits that people keep screeching about. Maybe it’s me, but it all looked quite proper, certainly a tad more conservative than when I was a lass, back in the day.
I'm looking forward to seeing what sells, because this year's going to be a tough one. My favourites were the WowWee Fly Tech Butterfly, “able to withstand multiple crashings”and the Silverlit Apache helicopter, “designed to survive hard landings and collisions.”
Today I read that Hot Wheels boycar company is worth more than General Motors and if that doesn’t tell you which way the wind is blowing. Toys are hot and you can play with them. Pity you bought that house, you should have invested in My Little Pony and Smurf.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Monday, October 27, 2008
And don't call me sausage
It’s true, they really have started talking to us like three year olds. People on the phone, when you’re trying to get hold of your bank manager “Hold for me, sweetie?” The kind you wouldn’t know from a bar of soap, but they’re calling you angel, honey, darling and cupcake. And sausage.
Sausage is new to me, and I’ve been called Nunu which is apparently a compliment, but was also the name of her dog. What’s more, while they’re calling you angel and cupcake, they’re invariably calling you to tell you something bad, and when it’s something to do with money, the sweeties and my angels come so thick it makes your head spin.
It softens the blow, they say, it shows that we’re perky and cheerful, gag me with a headset.
It’s always women, it’s not something guys do, except for the occasional bud, mate, broer and my cousie. And what makes it worse is that call centres train them to repeat the customer’s name every few minutes, so the most trivial of telephone conversations becomes a long drawn out saga,
“Ms Instigator, my sweetie, your debit orders were declined, it’s true I’m afraid, my darling, I’m going to have to repossess your house angel, sorry.”
This darling meringue thing is admittedly sometimes caused when you can’t remember the other person’s name, you cover it up by becoming all warm and gooey and sincere.
I miss the dour old days sometimes. Actually I miss the days before I had three phones.
Sausage is new to me, and I’ve been called Nunu which is apparently a compliment, but was also the name of her dog. What’s more, while they’re calling you angel and cupcake, they’re invariably calling you to tell you something bad, and when it’s something to do with money, the sweeties and my angels come so thick it makes your head spin.
It softens the blow, they say, it shows that we’re perky and cheerful, gag me with a headset.
It’s always women, it’s not something guys do, except for the occasional bud, mate, broer and my cousie. And what makes it worse is that call centres train them to repeat the customer’s name every few minutes, so the most trivial of telephone conversations becomes a long drawn out saga,
“Ms Instigator, my sweetie, your debit orders were declined, it’s true I’m afraid, my darling, I’m going to have to repossess your house angel, sorry.”
This darling meringue thing is admittedly sometimes caused when you can’t remember the other person’s name, you cover it up by becoming all warm and gooey and sincere.
I miss the dour old days sometimes. Actually I miss the days before I had three phones.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Public Enemy Number One : The Banks
Eskom will heave a sigh of relief that they’ve not the Chosen Despised this week, because The Banks without even trying have shot to Public Enemy Number One. As profits fall they become more desperate to sell you more of what you definitely don’t want. By Banks I include all companies that sell those grudge purchase financial products you and I have to buy to sleep at night.
So I was extra delighted when I got an unsolicited call on my cell from AIG South Africa.
Firstly, my phone is always buried deep in my handbag, so I have to scramble for it, and when I find out it’s not a publisher desperate to have my first novel, I’m already disappointed. The caller’s name is Lerato and she wants to know how I am. After I reassure her of my good health, she launches into her script and, depending on my mod I might let her rabbit on for seven or nine words, but she’s not a publisher, so I ask if this is the same AIG that went bankrupt last week. Yes, she says nervously, “but it’s alright now.”
This is right after I’ve read an article on how AIG executives flew across the pond to shoot some really stringy birds they weren’t going to eat anyway, and this was only one of 160 junkets AIG had planned which nobody had got around to cancelling in all the chaos.
I predict Lerato will be out of that call centre in six months, poor lamb. Less if she ever calls me again.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)