I remember when summer television was nothing but re-runs. Because only an idiot would waste precious summer nights in front of the television, and advertisers and hence network programming have historically tended to eschew the idiot demographic. Me, I was an idiot. I remember watching the 1992 Democratic Convention out of starvation for new summer programing. “Huh, well Roseanne‘s a rerun, guess I’ll watch this thing.”
Anyway, despite times having changed so that most people rarely leave the warming glow of television even on the hottest of nights, I still innately associate summer with re-runs. (You know what’s coming, right?) I’m still slowly porting over all my old blog content to this site. I’m stuck in June 2007. Great month for me creatively, and this post from June 23, 2007 called “Why I Turn My Nose Up At Your Lemonade Stand” (here and below) amused me. It’s great and convenient how I still manage to amuse myself…
Why I Turn My Nose Up At Your Lemonade Stand
I have nothing against entrepreneurship. In fact, it gladdens my heart to see such young children bilking consumers via a quaint business venture like a lemonade stand. In the age of Red Bull and smoothies, by purveying lemonade, you are tapping into nostalgic, romantic notions about summertime. I think that’s great, and I hope that you will grow up to be wildly successful capitalist pigs.
But for this lemonade stand to be a life lesson and not just a way to earn a few extra dollars, then I feel compelled to offer my feedback. Because you can give people fish… or teach fishing. And the latter saves a lot of money on a lot of crap like curbside lemonade. (There’s more than one definition for the word “patronize.”)
First, you need to work on your marketing. There’s thousands of advertisers out there, clamoring to whet my thirst with an exciting array of professional, polished beverages. The looseleaf paper sign with jagged pencil markings that say “Lemonade stand $1” may appeal to my sentimental whimsy, but it also makes me wonder if you stirred the lemonade with your snot-covered hands.
Which brings me to your overall corporate image. I mean, your lemonade “stand” is missing a stand. It’s a folding chair on the grass. Placed on the chair is a large plastic pitcher, a stack of clear plastic cups, and a can of lemonade mix. Mix! Oh, great, I love lemonade from a mix. So bland and sugary, without the sour zing of lemonade made from real lemons.
Manning the “stand” are three children, two of whom are rolling around on the grass with little regard to hygiene, none of whom is particularly cute. And when I walk by, the three children simultaneously train their gazes on me and chirp “Would you like to buy a lemonade?” Immediately I am alienated by the haughty expectant tone of voice, devoid of pitiful pleading. What, you expect me to just give you a dollar for a cup of water with lemonade mix stirred into it when it’s obvious zero effort and thought was put into this venture?
Do I even need to mention that it’s 75 degrees out and cloudy?
