Manizesto

Deja Vu is a magical, mysterious and sort of creepy part of life that sneaks ex nihilo right into your very conscience, plays around for a few seconds, then vanishes. As a chacho, I had deja vu many, many times, but I had to be 10 or 11 years old before I discovered there was actually a name for it.

It was so hard to describe and I never heard anyone else talking about it. So maybe deja vu was more like a small bed-wetting or a pair of mismatched socks on my feet, or maybe even sort of like Ryan Seacrest trying to high-five a blind contestant. It happens, but it’s too personal, mysterious and too unbelievable to be talked about openly. So best keep it to myself, else I turn out to be some sort of freak (Am I right Seacrest? Mmm?)

And then, finally, you dare to talk about it, in a, like, aloof sort of way, detaching yourself from the incident so as not to prick your pride. And someone takes note. And perks up a bit. And someone else overhears and blows it all into the open. Can open. Worms everywhere.

And boom. You are not a freak! It has a name! Behold, your normalness!

A very many of your customers have never heard of deja vu, or RSS, or SEM, or marketing ratio, or any other sort of jargon you’re used to speaking. Be sure to spell it out plainly, openly, communally, and without condescension. You will be glad you did.

Some panhandlers are extremely successful. What’s interesting is how their success translates to marketers like you and I. Aside from learning to communicate a message in just a few words - something everyone should learn to do, and a reason I like Twitter - they have figured out how to get people to take an action. That’s what all marketers want, right?

But what’s more, the action they take has no substantial payoff for the “customer”, the payment goes to an entity with which the “customer” has essentially no relationship or brand, and “customers” understand there’s a high chance the money will not be used very wisely. It’s every marketer’s dream! :)

Here are 6 approaches panhandlers take that you should too:

1. Blunt Object. “I’m not gonna lie, I need a drink.”
Marketing Version: You will save 5% on your next purchase.

Why it works: This is tell-it-like-it-is marketing. No fancy talk. No gimmicks. No strings attached. The honesty is refreshing, so people respond.

2. Vague promise w/ future benefit. “God Bless You.”
Marketing Version: Grow Your Business with our product

Why it works: Who wouldn’t want a blessing from God? Who wouldn’t want their business to grow? You’d be crazy not to want that. And all it takes is one small payment? Done and done!

3. Reverse Psychology. “Betcha can’t hit me with a quarter!”
Marketing Version: “Bet You can’t eat just one.”

Why it works: It worked when we were kids, and it still works, albeit in a more subtle way, today.

4. Sob Story. “Son in hospital. Stuck on the road.”
Marketing Version: Pablo is an orphan suffering from Malaria.

Why it works: Tugging at the heart strings brings out emotions which lead to action. Bonus - you feel like you’re doing something selfless (even though you’re not).

5. Specific Need. “Need .43 cents for bus pass. Please help.”
Marketing Version: You only need 84 more miles to become a Platinum Medallion Member.

Why it works: You’re setting clear expectations of what the customer has to do and what they’re receive in return.

6. Infomercial. “Will Work for Food.”
Marketing Version: You’ll get skinnier, for only $12.95/week.

Why it works: The promise is built up, followed by the price. I will do work for you; if you’ll just give me some food. There’s a reason infomercials don’t say “It costs $20, but you get something great!” Because you’ve positioned something with a known value (money) before something whose value you now have to prove afterward. It’s much, much easier to build up the value first, then show it only costs $20.

Bonus: Humor. “Ninjas killed my family. Need money for Kung-Fu lessons.”

Why it works: It make people feel good, and emotions are 90% of why we make purchases (the other 10% being rational).

BTW, most of these are actual signs held by actual panhandlers. You can see them here.

[More panhandling tips here.]

“Dad!”

And out swept the cool calmness of delicious sleep. My mind swooshed up a corridor toward reality, then forced my eyes open. It was dark. The luscious dreams from early morning sneaked away in the very moment I tried to solidify what they were.

“Dad! I have to pee!” whispered an urgent voice from the doorway.

I squinted pointlessly, “Okay, buddy, go ahead and go.” I could tell my breath was pretty bad.

“Can you help me?”

Could I? Of course, of course. But, we had put a lot of time and hours into helping my 3-year-old do this all on his own. Many scoops of Tide with Lavender scent. Countless frantic runs to the public bathrooms. Strategic planning taking place for every trip.

Spare underwear and pants? Check. Spare socks? (per gravity). Check. Time since last large drink? More than 45 minutes, check. Last try? Just now.

Okay, let’s roll.

So we had taught him how to fish, as the saying goes. We had made sure of this. But in his frantic, pleading, half-conscience moment of need, he waited and maybe expected me to give him a fish again. No. You know how to fish, little one.

“Daddy!” now more urgent than ever. I sighed.

Not one minute later, I felt the dreary envelope of sleep slithering up and around all over again. It had not been worth it, to make him do it alone, or deal with the crying when I said to go do it alone. And it wasn’t right, either. It seemed appropriate that our “rules” about making him go to the bathroom on his own be left open to exception from time to time, like tonight.

There’s nothing that incites fury more than corporate policy and procedure when you’re about to pee your pants in the middle of a dark night alone.

“Please press 8 to…”

“I’m sorry, we need your account number to fulfill that request.”

“If you don’t have your receipt…”

Sometimes you just have to go outside the protocol and help a kid out, even if you have to get out of a cozy bed.

I’ve had a Snickers bar sitting on my desk at work for 8 days now. Shall I eat it now? No, too early for empty calories and the sluggish, sloppy gut I will have right after. How about now? It would be a nice after lunch treat. No, not now. Too soon. I can’t eat all that right now. I’ll have some gum instead. Hmmm, that Snickers is starting to look pretty good. Sort of. But it’s just so big and I’m really that not hungry just now. And I’m almost out the door to head home, eat dinner and go to the gym. Tomorrow then.

And on and on. And on.

The standoff is sort of like that WWI movie with the skinny, scared Italian guy hiding in the trenches, and he’s alone, and everyone around him is dead, and he has to stick his hands in the dead guys pockets to get their ammo and maybe some acqua or booze or whatever. Then when the shooting and gas bombs or whatever they’re called, start up again, he sort of gets antsy and can’t sit there alone because, he’s pretty much going crazy, my friends, and then he can’t take it any more and stands up to start fighting and zip zip zip, three bullets right in the guts and he’s done. All that waiting for, like, nothing. He was going to die anyway, you know?

That shiny happy packaging staring at me from the corner of my eyes every day, sort of wearing me away, flapping it’s little flappy wings to get my attention and crinkling a smile, saying how it will satisfy me-it’s putting me like the Italian. And I feel myself losing it a little.

Try not to do that to your customers, if you can.

[Photo by Ritesh Kapur.]