Saying goodbye to greeting cards
I’ve done a lot of things I haven’t enjoyed.
I worked in a fish-processing plant. Endless blocks of frozen cod came rolling down the line. We’d cut and pack it for millions of consumers longing for six-month-old sea catch. At least I got a uniform – a dashing cross between fast-food counterman and computer chip lab technician. My hairnet made the plant girls swoon; or maybe it was the oppressive heat.
Later, I found work in management. I managed toilets at an industrial company that cleaned uniforms, tablecloths and towels. The laundry bundles were rank with ketchup, molasses, steak juice and mayonnaise. The toilets, however, were another story. Shiny white porcelain had been replaced long ago by a black nastiness that made it impossible to distinguish between permanent discoloration and recent events.
I devoted many hours working events that inevitably ended in “athon.” H
ot dog-athon. Parade-athon. Texas square-dance-athon. Although the causes were worthy, the pay was an inviting $1.50 per weekend day plus all the stimulating conversation I could muster with people attired in gingham, string ties, polka dots, petticoats and metal-tipped shirt collars who willingly responded to strange verbal calls.
But these adventures pale in comparison to setting foot in a Hallmark Store.
Oh, I’m sure Joyce Clyde Hall meant well when he invented the business in 1915. He thought greeting cards represented class and were “more than a form of communication, they were a social custom.” By 1944, this philosophy had been ingrained in the public’s consciousness via a clever tagline: “When you care enough to send the very best.”
Fast forward nearly 70 years, however, and greeting cards have become arduous and quaint.
Arduous:
I’m always amazed how something so simple becomes so complicated. They’re all cards (one idea), but there are so many layers:
- Recipients (grandmas, brother-in-laws, dogs, neighbors!)
- Categories (stress, consolation, surprise, death!)
- Occasions (birthdays, anniversaries, retirement, weddings!)
- Varieties (Shoebox, Maxine, Forever Friends, singing cards!)
- Mood (serious, sappy, sublime, inspirational!)
- Quantity (50 different card choices – at least - per major category)
When I’ve worked through the layer matrix and finally zeroed in on the card zone I need, my frustration spikes again. Despite the expansive choice, the words never feel right. I don’t talk that way, and I don’t think that way.
Quaint:
Sending a greeting card seems so irrelevant in this age of social networking; the way we communicate has changed radically since Clyde invented a new social norm.
People communicate more than ever and they’re very comfortable doing it. Whether it’s sending Tweets, Facebooking, writing blogs, texting, posting videos or sharing photos, our country and the whole world for that matter is connecting and expressing constantly.
We’re also much more aware of our environment and sustainability. We care about what we buy, consume and dispose of. How many beautiful, life-giving trees is Mr. Hall’s social custom responsible for?
So I’m wondering:
Do we really need to waste a half hour in a store looking for a printed card written by someone we don’t know that’s consumed in a few seconds and thrown away? Is social media really more impersonal than a card? Could hearing a live human voice be, by any chance, more meaningful? If I convey my own thoughts using my own words and send that message however I choose, is this not the most personal touch of all?
The greeting card business is headed the same place as film cameras. And I no longer feel guilty about not sending the very best. I'd rather don a hairnet, pack fish and clean a toilet.
