Important background information
I remember the first time I was called “Ma’am”. It was spewed out by a 15-year-old bag bog at the supermarket. I was barely into my 30’s.
Stay with me
This morning I had a heart halter monitor “installed” (Nothing serious – just trying to titrate off of anti-arrhythmia medication which necessitates 24 hour monitoring just in case my heart protests) It’s always a bit sobering when I have anything heart related. It reminds me that while I’m aging on the outside for the world to see my insides are wrinkling too. On my way back I stopped at Costco for lunch.
Be patient it will all make sense
I often go to Costco for lunch or dinner (for those of you in other parts of the world – it’s a warehouse store where the smallest quantities are packaged for a family of 20). I feast on food samples being handed out to market products.
The best times for dining are Saturdays and Sundays where the aisles are replete with men and women, wearing white things over their hair, dishing out miniscule samples of food. It is a leisurely meal because it takes time going back for seconds and thirds without looking conspicuous.
Today there was a new product – energy bars. Energy is something I can always use so I stopped to eat. The samples were being served by a very friendly, manipulative young man. He was youthfully cute wearing a white thing over his hair .
He informatively explained, “WE only use the best ingredients.” WE don’t use additives”, “OUR bars have low sodium . . . ” If I hadn’t been around the aisle a few times (figuratively and literally) I would have thought he owned the company or at least was a major stockholder.
He encouraged me to try all the three flavors and sample as much as I wished. What’a treat not having to sneak back for second and third helpings. Instead of reeling down the aisles looking for the next food cart I lingered at the table slowly savoring each sample – very tasty. I read the label – good ingredients. Checked how many bars a package – good price. I threw a box into my cart. “Thank you, Miss”, he called out. The “MISS” ricocheted off my psyche just as the MA’AM had done decades earlier.
I’m seriously thinking of going back to help him fine-tune how he markets to MATURE women. This is what I’m going to tell him: Call women “Miss” from 20 to 50. Those are the ages when we desperately care and love the recognition that we still look youthful; Call women 50 years and older Ma’am. This is when WE crave respect, know how we look and NEED ENERGY to care.
If this helps him sell more energy bars I may ask for a cut.
I TOLD you if you stuck with me it would make sense.