P.N.ZOYTLOW

[Editor’s Note]

P.N. Zoytlow called his last Field Report (#19) “a debacle, not at all what I had in mind” and wished he had ignored the Picacho Peak Civil War Event. When pressed why this was the case, he offered no comment. Just a shrug. I took the opportunity to take him to task: why this torment over achieving his exalted goal of producing a Field Report admired and published by one or several branches of the academic world? I had heard him rage on other occasions that he no longer cared which discipline accepted his work (“I’d even be happy with a Political Scientist’s approval!” he once fumed.)

As editor’s go, I may have more hubris in the area of “knowing my man” than others. In the case of Zoytlow, each Field Report seems more nervous, more desperate. It shames me to admit that I briefly considered putting some old professor up to merely footnoting one Report somewhere. Or I myself would write a reference on the wall of a men’s lavatory e.g. “Read Zoytlow!”

That said, and having said that, at the end of the day (two neo-cliches much in vogue of late), it is time to cross our fingers and offer another

Field Report (#20 The Demonstrators).

Her name (as indicated on the name tag) was Minna. Of all the persons interviewed for this Field Report on the tireless workers who dish up samples for us in food stores, she was the one I like to remember. On seeing her name, I thought immediately of Mina Harker, the terrified wife of Young Jonathan (?) Harker in Stoker’s Dracula. Despite the difference in spelling, I wanted to ask her if there was a connection between herself and the heroine, perhaps a parent who had liked the book or the film, but I stifled such unsuitable curiosity. Today, perhaps more than on any other day whenI embarked on a Field Report (so like a carriage ride into Transylvania) the strictures and the ethics which drape themselves on the statue of the Goddess of Research were solidly with me. Or so I hoped, for this is the Muse I had worshipped with wretched abandon before.

[Editor’s Note] STOP! Hold on there! I have retained that paragraph so that the reader may see what a fevered state Zoytlow was in as he began this “do or die” project. I prevailed on him to breathe more deeply, not try so hard and to trust himself more. And so he continues…]

Minna appeared to be about 70 years of age. She was a small woman with deep creases in her cheeks, a slightly humped back, and pale blue eyes magnified by her glasses. She stood on a rubber mat behind her stainless, movable “demo station” with a microwave oven on her left and a tray of warm corn dog samples directly in front of her. To the right, two packages of the product: Pluck County Corn Dogs. Minna was dressed in white, wore plastic gloves, and an oversized hairnet which billowed over her ears and down to her collar. I approached her station just as she was beginning her patter to a dull-looking couple who had eyes only for the corn dog slices. These were, she said in a kindly voice, either a snack food or a dinner. The sausages were all beef hot dogs with a batter that was either “original flavor” or “salsa.” Five minutes, from freezer to table. Two boxes at a special price. She invited them to try the product, each morsel already speared with a toothpick. The couple did so, chewed the sample thoughtfully, thanked Minna, and then moved on to the next demo station, featuring a small piece of breaded fish with a bowl of tartar sauce nearby. And beyond this station, another offering small paper cups one-quarter filled with “Chicago Style” beans cooked in a luminescent yellow cheese sauce.

It was a good day for sampling food and I had come to learn about the labors of what I had initially called “sample ladies.” However, those who provide samples prefer to be called “demonstrators,” a term intended to convey a level of pride and professionalism. The food store in which Minna sliced corn dogs for eight hours (but subtract 30 minutes for lunch and two 15 minute breaks) was renowned for the number and range of its demonstrators. On a weekday there might be five or six demo stations; on Fridays and Saturdays up to fifteen. Such stores are considered, with some admiration, as places “a guy can put together a lunch just on samples alone.” Other stores might not have as many demo stations, but they might be offering more upscale fare such as a small piece of cheese cake, or something associated with a holiday such a small portions of corned beef and cabbage with a few square inches of soda bread for Saint Patrick’s Day. Minna’s store was not of the upscale sort, but was well-regarded for its dependable sample selections.

A word about methodology here. With the usual 75 minutes of research time, I thought it best to interview anywhere from 12-15 demonstrators spread over a number of stores and in different regions of the United States. Thus, the interviews would have to be fast and to the point. Standardized questions. Five different stores in three states were visited, but the names and locations of these will be obscured because some anonymity must be insisted upon here; however, I have used the actual names of the demonstrators. Overall, I found nearly all the subjects easy to engage provided they were not distracted by their tasks or by a customer. I have seldom been more confident of myself as a social scientist and, quite frankly, following my time with Minna, looked forward to the broad dissemination of this research.

Of the fifteen, Minna was the oldest and had been on the job for 23 years. No, she was not tired of it because she swore to me that she loved meeting people and teaching them about products they might otherwise miss. It did not matter what the product was, even if it was something that she personally did not care for. Working with a microwave oven or an electric frying pan added to the challenge of being prepared for a large number of people to pass by her station at once. It did not bother her if she ran out and had to tell people to come back in a few minutes. “Why, if you want to try something good, you have to be patient.” Some products (chicken or other meat products) were frequently probed with a thermometer and no sample would be let go without a careful scrutiny with this instrument. Minna was a professional and her answers, friendly and to the point, suggested a devotion to duty and a focused seriousness that one might not have associated with the distribution of greasy corn dog morsels, a food item originally associated with county fairs and sometimes disparaged by the health-conscious.

Gwen (pumpkin bread) was half Minna’s age and had demonstrated for seven years. She wore a large button with a photo of her son, about ten years old. Like her older colleague, Gwen had a welcoming demeanor and seemed to enjoy my questions. Yes, this was fulfilling work. How many customers would become pumpkin-bread converts that day? She hoped she would hear from management that they had a good run on the one pound loaves. And if she did not? I asked how she could blame herself when it was the product in the mouths of others that had to do the selling. This opinion was the wrong approach with Gwen and she lost her smile. Obviously she thought of herself as the one critical element in the sale of pumpkin bread. Quickly I asked a barrage of distracting questions: her favorite product to demonstrate? Cottage cheese on Ritz crackers with some reddish seasoning salt on top. Why? because it looked nice, sort of cheerful and she tried to make every one of them look identical to the last and placed in careful symmetry on the serving dish. Then there was the added stack of cocktail napkins on each side. In fact, everything at the demo station was in perfect symmetry. “You know,” she said, “it’s really so interesting when a customer takes one and I have to rearrange everything again. Then three more come and it really gets challenging, especially if I have to make up new ones, or the cottage cheese gets low, or the seasoning runs out. It’s very interesting to keep a balance, to keep it under control, you know what I mean? I love that.”

At the next demo station stood Lupe (sausage pizza) rolling the cutter over the pie. She had noticed me talking to Minna and Gwen and already expected more than the usual interest in her product. She warned me that the pizza was hot and could cause a burn (another feature common to demonstrators: avoiding lawsuits). After learning that Lupe had been on the job only eight months, I expected little new information from her, but here I was wrong. “Know what’s good about this job?” she asked and continued in the same breath, “it’s the discount when I shop here.” With three children and single parenthood, Lupe needed a break wherever she could get it. The worst thing about the job was customers who asked her where to find an item somewhere else in the vast store, a complaint I heard from others as well. “I mean, do I know where the vinegar is at? Or how ‘bout the birthday cards? I’m a demonstrator, not a one-woman information desk,” she stage-whispered to me although there was no else present. And glancing at where Minna was doling out corn dogs, she sighed. “Poor old lady. She really hates it here. She just about dies at the end of the day. Husband left her fifteen years ago and she can’t make it without this job.”

I decided to switch stores and and stopped at a well-known source of specialty foods, wines, cheese, and affordable gourmet items. It was smaller than the average food supermarket and sought to attract a more educated “demographic,” though not necessarily an affluent one. The approach to demonstrating here was unique and successful. Instead of small demo stations, a back corner of the store was given over to a small kitchen where more complex samples were prepared. These sometimes reflected seasonal choice so at Christmas a small paper cup of egg nog and two cookies might be presented on a small plate. St. Patrick’s in March meant a piece of corned beef, a slice of fingerling potato, and a piece of Irish soda bread. Thanksgiving meant a piece of turkey breast with cranberry sauce and a small dinner roll. All of this was prepared by one employee who was dressed in a tropical shirt and no head cover other than a ball cap. [Are hair nets mandatory, or are they just a ploy to make a store look more health conscious? And what about those notices posted in the restrooms stating that employees MUST wash their hands before returning to their duties.] Gregarious and well-spoken, these cook/demonstrators know they are a prime focus in the store. Get to the store early enough and you get a token breakfast of mango juice, granola and skim milk as well as cheery good wishes to “Have a nice day!”

But that was high end. Low end would be those stores that have done away with demonstrators but have not given up the idea of offering something. Here, the human presence (and its payroll burden) is absent and samples appear on trays placed strategically in the aisles. They are covered with dome-shaped plastic “sneeze (or spit) guards” with a small opening (“the cutout”) allowing removal of the sample. Typically, small paper cups with nuts, snack items, banana bread, or pieces of fruit are available. The advantage to this sample i.e “demonstration” station to the shopping public is that, unless there is awareness of the TV camera observing them from the ceiling the customer feels no awkwardness and far less opprobrium in taking two or more samples at once. A store famous for an unsupervised tray of 34 mm. doughnut balls must tolerate those customers walking off with their coat pockets full.

At a well-known food market in Colorado a demonstrator whose badge said “Frieda W. 12 yrs of service” on it stood and ladled marinara sauce over 20 mm. meatballs. A paper cup held them both and a small plastic spoon was supplied. Frieda had attracted a small group of hopeful customers, drawn by the scent of something warm and tasty. “This,” she said, “is Carnavale Marinara Sauce, based on a family recipe. It’s the only way to eat spaghetti. All natural ingredients and I wish I could say the same about the meat ball. Don’t know what’s in that, but we have to demonstrate the sauce with something. Who knows what they put into meat these days….but you’ll love the sauce, trust me. It’s your business if you eat the meatball.” A woman asked why she didn’t just use breadsticks or elbow macaroni instead of the noxious meatballs, but Frieda W. ignored the question.

I looked at the meatball, about 13 mm. in diameter, and waited until the consumers (“clents” in professional demonstrator lingo) had moved on before asking Frieda W. why she had disparaged the little meatball, noting that I never heard a demonstrator bad-mouth a product before. “Because I wouldn’t feed this crap to stray dog.” But that was only the beginning. “Hell, why should I care? If you saw what I have to put up with! Take these meatballs. Management knows how many are in a bag so they think they can check how many we give out. If you don’t make the goal for the day, they put you on pineapple next day. But the people! Give me a break! Where do they get these people? Kids dropping food all over–these are the kids whose parents send them for another portion because, after hitting me up for three, they finally have some shame. And no one says thank you. And all the slobs that pretend they are interested with a phony “my, my, what’s this? it looks so good!” and all the time they could care less about what it is they’re gonna stuff in their pie-hole as long as its free.” She shrugged. “And don’t think you’re special just because you asked me a question. You can tell the manager for all I care. I’ve only pushed one sack of these poison meatballs today, so it’s off to pineapple tomorrow.”

[Editor’s Note: And with that, Zoytlow lost his will to continue. Three additional demonstrator interviews had been planned, but as he explained it “something in my gut told me Frieda W. was right and who would believe anything I offered as a conclusion. I wanted certainty and I got doubt. I can’t submit this for publication to any social science journal, that’s clear.” As this Field Report shows, he lacked the interest to even enquire as to the significance of pineapple in the world of demonstrators.]