Sometime during the last few months you left, and I didn’t get to say goodbye. Imagine my surprise when I looked for you at the Arby's drive-thru. You weren’t in your usual spot, so I scanned the menu a second time. Then I asked the person on the other side of the intercom where you were….
Arby’s employee: (Click, feedback noise) Hi, welcome to Arby’s! May I take your order? (spoken like every sentence ends in an exclamation point.)
Me: Yeah, uh, I’d like that Chicken Pecan sandwich, not the wrap, but the sandwich, you know, on that really great wheatberry bread –
Arby’s employee: We’ve taken that off the menu! (Like she was HAPPY about it.) Would you like to try our roast turkey ranch and bacon combo with curly fries and a soft drink?
Me: (About to cry and considering pulling out of the drive-thru altogether, then wondering, good grief, how many calories are in a roast turkey ranch and bacon sandwich???) Well, um, sure, but skip the fries, just give me a small Diet Pepsi. Or hemlock if you have it. (Just kidding about the hemlock! I’m not going to get suicidal over a sandwich!)
Arby’s employee: Your total is $5.31 – please drive up to the window!
Me: (sniffling trying to see through tears) Okay….
I may be exaggerating about the tears, but I sure was disappointed. That pecan chicken salad was the best thing about Arby’s, in my opinion. And it got laid off. They didn’t really give it a chance. I suppose in these economic times you’d better prove yourself worthy very quickly if you’re a new menu item. Maybe the stimulus package can bring it back….
But even if the chicken pecan salad sandwich is gone for good, it’s not as upsetting as when Lancome discontinues a favorite shade of lipstick. I’ve already searched the internet and my cookbook library (200 and counting) and have found two recipes that claim to be likenesses of my beloved chicken pecan salad. I’ll experiment with both and I’m sure I’ll concoct something delicious.
You see, a discontinued lipstick is a disappointment of a higher level, since most of us don’t have access to the manufacturers’ formulas or a lipstick laboratory. As a disclaimer here, I have to say I have never personally experienced this level of anxiety with lipstick, but once upon a time I had a friend who did.
What happened is that on one of our usual Saturday afternoon shopping expeditions we stopped at the Lancome counter at Dillard’s. My friend was excited about replacing a tube of her favorite lipstick, a deep burgundy that looked fabulous on her darker complexion, but made me look like I’d been eating too many cherry pixy stix. The helpful makeup sales clerk informed her that the shade had been discontinued.
Had it been me, I would have said, okay, do you have something even remotely approaching that color? Do any of these other makeup salespeople have a color that’s the same?
Not my friend. She wasn’t leaving until she could track down one more tube of the precious burgundy lipstick, which was now worth more to her than an equivalent amount of gold. My friend had a look in her eye that suggested she might leap over the counter and seize the sales clerk by the lapel of her white lab coat if she couldn't find the lipstick. Pronto.
The clerk, a savvy woman who is probably president of Lancome now or at least one of their higher-paid executives, figured out that if she could snag one more tube of the magic burgundy, she’d have a very satisfied customer who would be eager to shell out hundreds of dollars in additional makeup and perfume purchases. She contacted the distributor, called my friend a week later, and once again, there was burgundy lipstick.
At least that’s the way I remember it. The lesson here is that we have to deal with the loss of treasured things in different ways – finding a suitable substitute (concocting your own chicken salad or buying a slightly different shade of lipstick), finding an exact replacement (why ebay was invented), or going without. Which works for awhile, but is usually best cured by a little retail therapy – or in these times, window shopping.
Arby’s employee: (Click, feedback noise) Hi, welcome to Arby’s! May I take your order? (spoken like every sentence ends in an exclamation point.)
Me: Yeah, uh, I’d like that Chicken Pecan sandwich, not the wrap, but the sandwich, you know, on that really great wheatberry bread –
Arby’s employee: We’ve taken that off the menu! (Like she was HAPPY about it.) Would you like to try our roast turkey ranch and bacon combo with curly fries and a soft drink?
Me: (About to cry and considering pulling out of the drive-thru altogether, then wondering, good grief, how many calories are in a roast turkey ranch and bacon sandwich???) Well, um, sure, but skip the fries, just give me a small Diet Pepsi. Or hemlock if you have it. (Just kidding about the hemlock! I’m not going to get suicidal over a sandwich!)
Arby’s employee: Your total is $5.31 – please drive up to the window!
Me: (sniffling trying to see through tears) Okay….
I may be exaggerating about the tears, but I sure was disappointed. That pecan chicken salad was the best thing about Arby’s, in my opinion. And it got laid off. They didn’t really give it a chance. I suppose in these economic times you’d better prove yourself worthy very quickly if you’re a new menu item. Maybe the stimulus package can bring it back….
But even if the chicken pecan salad sandwich is gone for good, it’s not as upsetting as when Lancome discontinues a favorite shade of lipstick. I’ve already searched the internet and my cookbook library (200 and counting) and have found two recipes that claim to be likenesses of my beloved chicken pecan salad. I’ll experiment with both and I’m sure I’ll concoct something delicious.
You see, a discontinued lipstick is a disappointment of a higher level, since most of us don’t have access to the manufacturers’ formulas or a lipstick laboratory. As a disclaimer here, I have to say I have never personally experienced this level of anxiety with lipstick, but once upon a time I had a friend who did.
What happened is that on one of our usual Saturday afternoon shopping expeditions we stopped at the Lancome counter at Dillard’s. My friend was excited about replacing a tube of her favorite lipstick, a deep burgundy that looked fabulous on her darker complexion, but made me look like I’d been eating too many cherry pixy stix. The helpful makeup sales clerk informed her that the shade had been discontinued.
Had it been me, I would have said, okay, do you have something even remotely approaching that color? Do any of these other makeup salespeople have a color that’s the same?
Not my friend. She wasn’t leaving until she could track down one more tube of the precious burgundy lipstick, which was now worth more to her than an equivalent amount of gold. My friend had a look in her eye that suggested she might leap over the counter and seize the sales clerk by the lapel of her white lab coat if she couldn't find the lipstick. Pronto.
The clerk, a savvy woman who is probably president of Lancome now or at least one of their higher-paid executives, figured out that if she could snag one more tube of the magic burgundy, she’d have a very satisfied customer who would be eager to shell out hundreds of dollars in additional makeup and perfume purchases. She contacted the distributor, called my friend a week later, and once again, there was burgundy lipstick.
At least that’s the way I remember it. The lesson here is that we have to deal with the loss of treasured things in different ways – finding a suitable substitute (concocting your own chicken salad or buying a slightly different shade of lipstick), finding an exact replacement (why ebay was invented), or going without. Which works for awhile, but is usually best cured by a little retail therapy – or in these times, window shopping.
No comments:
Post a Comment