Economics

11 Ways To Avoid Paying Your Bills — A Reminiscence

In a previous corporate life, I worked for one of America’s most well known and longstanding brands in the financial sector.

We once used the following pamphlet as an advertising specialty for the company’s pre-eminent and trusted commercial collection division. This one-pager was a distillation of the numerous, incredibly brazen dodges companies would use to avoid paying a bill.

I lack the original direct mail piece, and would love to have it, and to credit the creator. It’s brilliant.

Instead, I am sharing my memory of it with you, for a chuckle:

11 Ways To Avoid Paying Your Bills

1. Always wait for the third past due notice, and then write and ask why you never received an invoice.
2. Next, ask for an itemized account. When it arrives, write back and say that’s not what you wanted at all.
3. Don’t ignore sales taxes. These give you unlimited scope for delay. For instance, if they charge sales tax, advise them your purchase order said you were tax exempt. Never mind that there was no purchase order. And if they don’t charge tax, why not?
4. Always ask for the invoice to be broken into two installments for accounting purposes. Then get somebody else in accounting to start the process all over by asking why there are two bills? And then only pay one.
5. Send a check with figures not matching words. When they call, ask them to return the check. Send a new one, but don’t sign it.
6. Mail back a copy of the invoice, and staple the torn corner of a check to it. They will turn their department upside down looking for your check. When they call back, tell them you will check with your bank.
7. Tell them you will need two signatures, and the co-signer is on a world cruise with someone in their company for two months. Discretion suggests keeping this quiet.
8. Send a check for the exact amount, but made out to a fictitious company. When they call you back, tell them you will check with the other company.
9. Ask for a breakdown of labor and materials. When you get it, insist that the numbers are reversed.
10. Tell them that all of their invoices have been seized by the Department of Commerce, as part of a nation-wide investigation.
11. Finally, insist that you already sent them a check, and fax a copy of a previous cancelled check. When they track that down, they will ask for new check. Mail them the fax.

There you have it! As I said at the outset, this is from my written notes, copied from the original, author unknown. If you can track that person down, please let me know, and I will credit them.

And of course, this is my reminiscence of a tongue-in-cheek direct mail piece, by no means a recommendation or endorsement.

Mean time, pay your bills.

Agriculture, Environment, Science, Wildlife

Something’s Rotten in Seattle

Spreading good everywhere.

My dad and I are driving down backroad south of Delhi on a warm spring morning. In the air is the unmistakeable bouquet of fresh manure, wafting up from a newly treated acre just upwind. “Smell that?” asked my Dad as he leaned his head out the window, “That’s the scent of profits!”

Gogo and Wembly consult Marjory on composting, Fraggle Rock.

Compost is one of nature’s small gifts to those of us who wish to take it. Bagging up potato peels. Separating lemon rinds from swizzle sticks. Throwing eggshells and coffee grounds into a bucket under the sink.

And any kid has to wonder, “when are they going to ask me to take that outside?”

The Korsts, a Dallas, Oregon couple composted their entire consumable garbage for a year after removing all recyclables. Turns out their actual “garbage” filled a shoebox. For a year! Meanwhile the compost heap quietly bubbled and burped in their back yard. No newscast has yet reported that they have gone missing while detectives are following up some promising leads next to the tomato rows. But we wait to see.

Today, composting is de rigeur. Ask the virtuous and self-denying citizens of Seattle who just this week accepted a composting by-law. Simply stated, compost-eligible items may not exceed 10% of their weekly garbage pick-up. In other words, “if it rots, keep it.”

Seattle City Council hash it out.

The city council opened up this can of worms in July with city ordinance 124313. It requires the frugal and resourceful residents to reduce recyclable contents in landfill garbage to less than 10%.

Two months later, still not satisfied with the purity of their garbage, city council expanded the 10% cap to compostable matter. From now on, that leftover duck a l’orange goes under the Spiraea bush in the back yard.

The motive behind this cleansing is to reduce landfill waste. It turns out that Seattle was shipping 300,000 tons of garbage to a site in eastern Oregon annually. Remember the Korsts?

Bags to go: we love ’em but we hate ’em.

Today consumers are whipsawed by legislation over garbage. Just east of us, Torontonians are thrilled that the 5-cent tax on grocery bags has been repealed by city council.

In this instance, the “single-use” plastic bag definition ran into a legal shredder. Lawyers argued that once home, using the flimsy bag to hold garbage was a multiple use, and therefore acceptable.

The sweet smell of success!

You may remember Toronto has had its share of political low days. One of its good days is the 2010 cessation of trucking over a million tons of garbage to a Michigan landfill site every year.

And farther east, in Ottawa, the citizenry of Canada’s capital were presented with a training video for folding their newspapers. Why? To line their wet garbage bin. There’s government at work for ya.

Which brings me to my main interest: the business of composting. In my world, if it’s vegetable, it’s compostable and… it’s profitable.

Modest contributions: raw materials.

To that end, I happily walk broccoli stems, corn husks and wilted flowers out to a pile in the side yard that is the resting place for last year’s Jack ‘o’ Lantern, the weekly grass clippings, and all of the neighborhood’s fallen leaves.

Within this melange of produce there hustles a busy community of worms, sow bugs and centipedes. They are quietly chomping, digesting and extruding high grade fertilizer. Behind them, a trail of microbes are further breaking the matter down to its fundamental parts.

A hard, loyal worker. His rings indicate seniority.

While they seemingly toil without cease, I have learned that the earthworm follows regular hours. A New York State College environmental paper reveals that it takes 8 hours for a worm to digest a meal, head-to-toe as it were. And the output? Anywhere from 2%-44% of its weight.

The scientists who made this finding also report that the optimum population density for earthworms is about 8 one-ouncers per cubic meter. I know that my compost heap does much better than that. Judging by the cafeteria lineups, I have a high density worm farm in operation. Don’t tell PETA.

Rich, dark goodure.

The compost pile delivers the richest, loamy soil every spring and fall. In the spring, I transport bushels of the black mulch to our garden. There, it caps the ground, surrounds the new flowers, stifles the weeds and holds the water.

Compost delivers!

In the summer, I used another 20 bushels of compost to plant 11 rose bushes. They are bursting in bloom continuously.

In the fall, I’ll dump another load of compost to cover over the roses and the mums, keeping them insulated until next spring.

Total cost: zero.

My hat is off to the noble and frugal citizenry of Seattle. But my thanks is to Dad making his point on that early spring morning.

Thanks for reading! You can “like” this on Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn and Tumblr. Be social and share!

direct mail, Marketing, Media, Sports

How the USGA Got My Attention, Fast.

My walk to the mailbox this morning was rewarded by an irresistible offer from the U.S. Golfing Association. A FREE hat!

How can you say no?

Their generosity gives me hope, too. This may be the re-emergence of the direct mail gift premium.

Once there was a time when any subscription offer came with a free gift. A calculator. A tote bag. We even received a world globe from Macleans Magazine.

A worldly gift with every subscription.

The USGA wants me. They actually want me!

This kit begged to be opened. Not because there was a hat, but because the USGA had enclosed a card. For me. An official USGA card for a horrible axe-wielding duffer who scores a rambunctious 108 on a good day.

My handicap is so far off the chart I get a special space to park the golf cart.

I am keeping this close by until my real card arrives, with my hat.

Nevertheless, I am moved by the card. I want it. Opening the kit, I am further thrilled to see that I can join the USGA and get a FREE USGA Open 2015 hat.

A great slogan. But they don’t know me well.

At this moment, we have approximately 30 hats on the coat rack, all emblazoned with someone else’s logo. I don’t need another hat. But truly, I want this USGA hat.

A compact offer, with color, balance, and readable content.

It’s like they recognize me. And how I have toiled to write “single-bogey” on a par 3.

Economics: Does This Kit Pay For Itself?

All this stuff comes with the hat. How can you decline?

As thrilled as I am, and I am sure countless thousands of other golfers are thrilled at a Free hat offer, will the USGA lose its shirt with this offer?

No way, and here’s why:

All in, the postage and production for this piece was probably 40-cents. Let’s say they mailed 100,000 pieces. That’s $40,000 out of pocket. Now imagine that 2% of the readers sign up. They each pay $10 to join USGA. That’s 2,000 new members, for $20,000.

But the hat probably cost USGA $10, so the USGA ends up with 2,000 new members, each with a new hat. And a $40,000 bill.

Imagine now that the USGA direct marketing manager goes into the president, and says, “Chief, I just got 2,000 new members. They cost us $20 each!”

He replies, “Awesome– because at least 1,000 of these members will renew next year for $25 each. And 50 of these members will come to the Open and drop about $250 a day sipping coolers in the Club at Chambers Bay between strolls along the course to see the pros. We pretty much break even.”

Second Thoughts About The Hat

This microscopic email form has just enough room for “@”.

I have mailed my reply, and am quietly excited about my new hat. And the free golf rules I get, and all the other stuff. But really, it’s the hat.

The thrill of mail order is waiting for the merchandise.

And then I start to think, what happens when I wear this hat? First off, it’s yellow– school bus yellow. So I will be easily identifiable on any golf course, or in any bar, as the duffer who went for the $10 hat.

Some earnest, scratch golfer will ask, “Are you going to the Open in Chambers Bay?”

“No, not really.”

“So why the hat?”

Or some hopeless hacker like myself will see the hat and ask, “Can you help me with my swing?”

“No. I’ll make your helicopter swing look like Blackhawk Down.”

So the hat is on its way, but I am not exactly sure I can wear it.

And that just might be “For the good of the game”.

Thanks for reading. If you are a direct marketer, perhaps you should test out some gift premiums. And make sure you put me on your list.

direct mail, Marketing, Media

Triple-A’s Got You Covered!

An 11×13 kraft envelope. Pricey, but outstanding in the mailbox.

The AAA insurance offer I just received is a classic example of a winning direct mail design, with an important twist: it’s a fulfillment package. By that, I mean that it fulfills my request for a policy.

Only thing is, I didn’t request it.

If you’ve ever been concerned about getting insurance, procrastination is the obstacle. AAA’s direct mail effort overcomes that challenge. Why it works so well is that it presumes I want coverage. Like Radar knowing Col. Blake needs a pen before he asks for it.

I don’t need coverage. But there are a reliable percentage of people out there who really do want insurance, and this optimistic kit sets the table very nicely. Here’s how:

1. Trust: being a AAA member, I trust and use the company for roadside assistance, and a pretty much guaranteed 10% off any hotel bill.

2. The Envelope: unusual, but not weird. It’s big. AAA is paying USPS a significant postage premium for this over-sized envelope, but as in life, size counts. It’s kraft brown paper, portrait orientation, and has a “business forms” look about it with side zipper for opening.

This label sets the agenda: there’s stuff inside, and it’s “yours”.

3. The oversized label announces “HERE IS YOUR NEW POLICY KIT”. Yikes. What’s this?

4. The manifest: the label details five items inside, including a “Summary of Coverage” which one would infer is already in effect. Amongst other things, there is a “Thank You Gift”, again reinforcing the fait accompli.

5. DO NOT BEND: marketers can only say this if there is a legitimately unfoldable item within… like a sterling silver name plate… no, sorry, not really, but it does raise our hopes.

“OFFICIAL ELIGIBILITY” is good enough. The zip strip advises to fold and tear off…as if we needed help.

6. An OFFICIAL ELIGIBILITY LETTER: sounds a little pretentious. I would have dropped “LETTER”. But the title is followed by some computer-generated data dropped into pre-printed boxes.

Evolutionary Throwback: Upper Case Dot Matrix… for the 80’s crowd.

Note the font. Institutional in appearance, it would warm the cockles of any actuary’s heart just to hear the buzz of an 80’s-era dot matrix printer ripping across the page as a cogged wheel advances the continuous form.

7. The terse opener: “This is to notify you”

8. The heads up: “What This Means To You:”

Commanding, but not demanding copy… and risk is eliminated in three bullets.

9. Three “No Risk” bullets: there are two kinds of risk in direct mail. The obvious one is, “getting ripped off”.

The not-so-obvious risk is the personal hassle that follows saying “yes”. This letter advises there will be no medical exam, no sending samples, and best of all, no sales person. So we can put the latex gloves away.

10. Your Next Steps: from here on, the letter simply instructs the reader how to apply. There are 5 steps, the last being a deadline date which will be reinforced throughout the kit.

Penmanship fitting for a President!.

11. Very important: the letter is signed by a titled officer of AAA Life Insurance. Unfortunately, I think the writer, Harold W Huffstetter, Jr. suspects that I am a nefarious check forger. If that is his actual signature, I cringe at the zeal and rabid discipline of his 4th grade teacher who taught him penmanship.

12. A personalized COVERAGE SELECTION CHART. (Not shown) There are oodles of legal hurdles that surround direct mail insurance marketing– the prospective insured can’t complain for lack of information. A close look offers a financial pat on the back for non-smokers, though.

Incidentally, dirt cheap prices start at 18 years of age. Do Millennials buy insurance? I doubt it, but it entices the Baby Boomer to look on.

Application is highlighted and well-spaced.

13. A color-highlighted application form. Again, this form probably underwent a martyr’s gauntlet of legal reviews. I like it because it adds color to an other-wise bland package. And there’s appropriate spacing for names and addresses.

This QR code (smudged for confidentiality) pulls up my information.

14. But note the QR code in the upper right corner. Could it be that I scan that and immediately apply online? Nope, and a good thing too. A distracting jump to a website at this point could kill the sale.

In fact, the QR code is for the data-entry folks at AAA. When scanned, it identifies me, and all the tracking detail attached to my record.

Questions are answered. Note the display of contents.

15. The SUMMARY OF COVERAGE is explicit. What is attractive on this piece is the table of contents on the front cover. This is a benefit piece, and again, is described in plain, low energy language.

Labels. We will never have enough labels, really!

16. My Thank You Gift. This is what everyone looks for in the kit. The unfoldable item. Here, the gift is a set of address labels.

You know, there is a future for address labels that extends beyond mailing your next bill payment.

Address labels find themselves on everything portable: cell phones, laptops, tablets, phone batteries, cameras, dog collars, staplers, strollers and DVDs. If it moves and it’s yours, it could use a label. Warren Buffet may label every freight car of BNSF Rail some day.

The reply envelope has two perfs. One for tearing, one for folding. Don’t mix them up!

17. Lastly, a blue reply envelope with motherly reminders to sign and date your application and…AND… to affix your PERSONAL PROCESSING LABEL!

While you may think this is hokey, I bet you a dollar that AAA’s mail box is stuffed with reply envelopes that carry the label, regardless of its seeming irrelevance. Why? First, we don’t want to jinx our life karma. And second, we like to play with sticky things. Honest.

One thing with the reply envelope– I wonder how many get destroyed by confused customers who tear off the wrong perforation. A little scissors icon would help.

When reduced to ink on paper, insurance marketing is pretty staid, but consumer friendly. What it lacks in emotional appeal it makes up in trustworthiness, as this kit demonstrates. Most important, it didn’t try to sell; it assumed already that I was prepared to apply.

And that’s why it works.

Thanks for taking the time to get to here. Please pass this along to your direct mail friends. Thanks!

Phil Brown

"Like triple cream– rich, pungent, a little barnyardy, and spreads easily. A good cheese."

Monthly Archives: September 2014

11 Ways To Avoid Paying Your Bills — A Reminiscence

Something’s Rotten in Seattle

How the USGA Got My Attention, Fast.

Triple-A’s Got You Covered!

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