Don’t Wait To Be Told

There was a classic series of TV ads in the 1970s in Australia, complete with jingle. It consisted of various scenarious where someone is enjoying themselves, only to be told that they suffer from offensive body odour. The solution? Palmolive Gold, a soap with built-in deodorant.

The basic premise was that if you suffer from this socially awkward condition, you probably don’t know of it until someone points it out to you.

And that’s way too late. What if you are already known as “Mr B.O.” around the office? What if your Ladies Knitting Circle moved to a Monday night, knowing you couldn’t make it, just to avoid your smell? What if that’s real reason you never seem to be in the lift at the same time as anyone else?

And so the catch line of the jingle played on those fears: “Don’t wait to be told, you need Palmolive Gold” . Say that to yourself twice, once with the comma, once without. It’s brilliant.

The cleverness of the ad campaign, which ran for years, was that not only did it try to make you afraid that one day your significant other /boss /parent /child /therapist /hairdresser /parole officer /mistress /teacher /personal banker might break the news to you that you smell like the exhaust fan of an abattoir, but that also they might be holding back.

Put yourself in their shoes, it seemed to say. They don’t want to have that conversation with you. How awkward is it for them? “Ah, Clyde, since you’ve mentioned how much the sales figures for quarter four in Europe stink, it brings me to another issue…”

And this has parallels with a tea drinking experience that you can have in a café.

I have a well rehearsed “Sooo.. you only have teab*gs? Really? Oh well, I guess I’d better just have a glass of water, thanks” routine that goes down a treat, as you can imagine. It’s  more practical than my  “Sooo.. you only have teab*gs? Really? Oh well, I guess I’d better go next door, thanks” which only works if you have a choice of venue.

An allied routine is  “I guess nothing has changed since my last visit… you still only have teab*gs? Really? Oh well, I guess I’d better just have a glass of water, thanks” which is greatly satisfying, though I do drink a lot of tap water when out.

Yesterday, I used that one, and was interrupted. “Oh no, we’ve also got loose leaf tea”.

“WHAT? Since when?”

“We’ve always had it. We have an English Breakfast and an Earl Grey”

In a daze, I made my way back to the table. Lady Devotea avoids these shenanigans by simply ordering a cappuccino or somesuch coffee concoction each time, and we were at a venue were we knew the coffee was good.

I broke the news that I was about to receive a loose leaf tea and we agreed, in general terms, that this was a turn for the better, even if they seemed to have kept it a secret up until now.

It arrived in a pot. Way too quickly, and with a lot of colour. I poured a little.

All colour, no taste. Maybe I’ll wait a couple of minutes to see if the flavour develops.

Nope.

Had a peek at the CTC leaves, looking all limp and old.

At a guess, I’m recalling that Lipton had some loose leaf offerings to cafés back in 2007. This was exactly like that, only it tasted six years older.

It stunk.

We love this place. We love that they have attempted loose leaf tea. But we have to find a way to break the news to them.

“Your loose leaf tea stinks” would be the direct route. “It has aspirations of drinkability that it will never meet.” “It is to tea what a cereal box with a pencil stuck in the top is to the Empire State Building”. “I think this teapot is dying of shame” all seem reasonable to me.

But I said nothing.

One day soon, we’ll go back there. And say something, I guess. But I’m unsure what.

I’m open to suggestions.