July 23, 2014 at 2:10 p.m.
Begging for his reward
Dear Reader
By By Jack Ronald-
The Milk Bone people probably think I’m 10. Or maybe even eight.
It’s been a long time since I’ve succumbed to the send-in-a-box-top urge, but the Milk Bone offer was too good to pass up.
I spotted it on an empty box I was breaking down for recycling. All I needed to do, the box assured me, was cut out two proofs of purchase from packages of Milk Bones, then send them off to the company, and they’d respond by sending me a dog identification tag with Shadow’s name on it.
Pretty cool, I thought. After all, I had one proof of purchase in the box I was recycling and another on the one I’d just put under the kitchen sink.
The dog gets two Milk Bones at lunchtime as a mid-day treat, one from me and one from Connie. At the rate she goes through them, I knew I’d have that second proof of purchase soon.
So there I was last week, cutting out the second proof of purchase when that box was emptied. Then I had to fill out the form from the box, letting them know that instead of opting for the purchase of a faux cookie jar to hold Milk Bones I was taking the “free” dog tag and was including $1 for “shipping and handling.”
Trouble was, the shiny finish on the box and the balky ball-point pen I was using didn’t get along very well. By the time I was finished, it looked as if a 10-year-old — or maybe an eight-year-old — was sending in for the premium.
As a kid, I was an inveterate sender of such messages. In fact, up to about age 15, box top mail-ins probably amounted to the bulk of my dealings with the U.S. Postal Service.
I remember sending off for a model of the Spirit of St. Louis, during a cross promotion for the Jimmy Stewart movie about Charles Lindbergh.
I fondly remember the little plastic submarines — purchased with box tops — which were powered by baking soda that came from another deal.
But my all-time favorite has to be the one square inch of land in the Yukon that came via breakfast cereal box tops. It was somehow related to the old “Sergeant Preston” TV series of which I was a big fan.
Apparently the company bought some wasteland up in Canada, then printed up official-looking deeds. I can’t begin to imagine how much bad cereal my family ate just so I could be a property owner of my square inch of land.
So now, for Shadow’s ID tag, comes the hard part, as anyone who ever responded to box top deals as a kid will recall.
It’s the wait.
The fine print usually says, “Allow six to eight weeks for delivery.” But every kid knows it really should say, “Allow for the longest wait in your life for delivery.”
Who knows why?
Maybe they have to mail the darned things from the Yukon.
[[In-content Ad]]
It’s been a long time since I’ve succumbed to the send-in-a-box-top urge, but the Milk Bone offer was too good to pass up.
I spotted it on an empty box I was breaking down for recycling. All I needed to do, the box assured me, was cut out two proofs of purchase from packages of Milk Bones, then send them off to the company, and they’d respond by sending me a dog identification tag with Shadow’s name on it.
Pretty cool, I thought. After all, I had one proof of purchase in the box I was recycling and another on the one I’d just put under the kitchen sink.
The dog gets two Milk Bones at lunchtime as a mid-day treat, one from me and one from Connie. At the rate she goes through them, I knew I’d have that second proof of purchase soon.
So there I was last week, cutting out the second proof of purchase when that box was emptied. Then I had to fill out the form from the box, letting them know that instead of opting for the purchase of a faux cookie jar to hold Milk Bones I was taking the “free” dog tag and was including $1 for “shipping and handling.”
Trouble was, the shiny finish on the box and the balky ball-point pen I was using didn’t get along very well. By the time I was finished, it looked as if a 10-year-old — or maybe an eight-year-old — was sending in for the premium.
As a kid, I was an inveterate sender of such messages. In fact, up to about age 15, box top mail-ins probably amounted to the bulk of my dealings with the U.S. Postal Service.
I remember sending off for a model of the Spirit of St. Louis, during a cross promotion for the Jimmy Stewart movie about Charles Lindbergh.
I fondly remember the little plastic submarines — purchased with box tops — which were powered by baking soda that came from another deal.
But my all-time favorite has to be the one square inch of land in the Yukon that came via breakfast cereal box tops. It was somehow related to the old “Sergeant Preston” TV series of which I was a big fan.
Apparently the company bought some wasteland up in Canada, then printed up official-looking deeds. I can’t begin to imagine how much bad cereal my family ate just so I could be a property owner of my square inch of land.
So now, for Shadow’s ID tag, comes the hard part, as anyone who ever responded to box top deals as a kid will recall.
It’s the wait.
The fine print usually says, “Allow six to eight weeks for delivery.” But every kid knows it really should say, “Allow for the longest wait in your life for delivery.”
Who knows why?
Maybe they have to mail the darned things from the Yukon.
[[In-content Ad]]
Top Stories
9/11 NEVER FORGET Mobile Exhibit
Chartwells marketing
September 17, 2024 7:36 a.m.
Events
250 X 250 AD