Marketing game
A BUZZWORD in today’s business world is “marketing”. But what exactly does it mean? The meaning is multi-pronged, it seems:
You’re a woman and you see a handsome guy at a party. You go up to him and say: “I’m fantastic in bed.” – That’s Direct Marketing.
You’re at a party with a bunch of friends and you see a handsome guy. One of your friends goes up to him and, pointing at you, says: “She’s fantastic in bed.” – That’s Advertising.
You see a handsome guy at a party. You go up to him and get his telephone number. Next day you phone and say: “Hi, I’m fantastic in bed.” – That’s Telemarketing.
You see a guy at a party; you straighten your dress. You walk up to him and pour him a drink. You say: “May I?” and reach up to straighten his tie, brushing your breast lightly against his arm, and then say: “By the way, I’m fantastic in bed.” – That’s Public Relations.
You’re at a party and see a handsome guy. He walks up to you and says: “I hear you’re fantastic in bed.” – That’s Brand Recognition.
You’re at a party and you see a handsome guy. He fancies you, but you talk him into going home with your friend. – That’s a Sales Rep.
Your friend can’t satisfy him so he calls you. – That’s Tech Support.
You’re on your way to a party when you realise that there could be handsome men in all these houses you’re passing, so you climb on to the roof of one and shout at the top of your lungs: “I’m fantastic in bed!” – That’s Facebook.
You’re at a party; this attractive older man walks up to you and grabs your ass. – That’s former President Bill Clinton.
You like it, but 20 years later your attorney and a judge decide you were offended, and you are awarded a big settlement. – That’s America!
Bloedsaps
THIS week’s account of the National Party-Bloedsap antipathy in the Marico reminds Laurie Kaplan – who has family at Hopetown, in the Northern Cape – of a story from the 1950s, when the only cars that were available for the rough road conditions of the rural districts were Fords and Chevs.
This farmer took delivery of a new Ford. He brought it back to the dealer six months later in a terrible state – shock absorbers gone, scratched all over, mudguards dropping off.
“This car’s no damn good. Give me a Chev.”
He drove off in the Chev but brought it back six months later, also a complete wreck.
The dealer asked: “What do you do with your cars?”
“Look, I’m a Bloedsap. I can’t ride on the national road. I ride alongside.”
Dhobi cricket
READER Bernard Ravno was intrigued by recent mention of the non-racial Aurora Cricket Club, which formed in Pietermaritzburg back in the 1970s, in defiance of apartheid.
He was a student in Pietermaritzburg from 1957 to 1961 and spent four years in the old Oribi Men’s Residence, before it closed in 1961.
An Indian family had the contract for all the Oribi students’ laundry. The head of the family, known as “The Dhobi”, also ran his own cricket team.
“Two highlights each year were when he entertained the Men’s Residence house committee to dinner at his home; and when we held the annual cricket match between the Men’s Residence and the Dhobi team.
“In 1957, the students had some very good cricketers. The match was always played on the university fields – somehow we evaded the scrutiny of the apartheid police.
“I would be interested to know if there was any connection between the Dhobi team of the late ’50s and the Aurora Cricket Club of the ’70s.”
I wonder. There’s quite a time gap, and Chris Nicholson and Mike Hickson don’t mention the Dhobi matches in their book on Aurora. But maybe the tradition sort of lingered.
“Dhobi” is, of course, the word still used in the navy for laundry. I think it comes from the days of the Indian Raj.
Tailpiece
THIS fellow dropped out of medical school. Tragic. He really wanted to be a doctor and serve humanity, but he couldn’t stand the sight of cash.
Last word
BELIEVE those who are seeking the truth. Doubt those who find it. – Andre Gide