The first thing you need to do is control yourselves: no giggles, no chortles and certainly no guffaws. The presentation of the highly prestigious “They’re Kidding, Aren’t They?” Award for Public Irony–the Drippies–is a serious occasion. It’s a moment for reflection and contemplation, even for . . .
Oh, the hell with it . . . let’s dish.
It’s Philip Morris, boys and girls, Numero Uno in the U.S. tobacco biz and first in the hearts (also the lungs) of smokers coast to hacking coast. Philip Morris wins this year’s Drippies by a landslide, by acclamation. All it took was a little recall.
Actually, all it took was a big recall–8 billion cigarettes or so, in 36 of the company’s 238 package styles. There were Marlboros on the list, and Merits, not to mention Benson & Hedges and Virginia Slims and more, lots more.
And the problem? Faulty filters. According to Philip Morris, the company that supplies Philip Morris with filters recently sprayed some of them with a stiffening agent that was contaminated. The contaminants reacted with the filters to create a chemical that’s more commonly used in commercial pesticides.
Pesticide, it turns out, ranks a few puffs below menthol when it comes to taste. Then there’s the odor, which is nothing to write home about either. Then there’s the possibility, the company said, of “temporary discomfort, including eye, nose and throat irritation, dizziness, coughing and wheezing.”
As opposed, you’re thinking, to “permanent discomfort,” including emphysema, lung cancer, heart disease . . .
Behave yourself.
Now, Philip Morris said it had no evidence that any of the contaminated cigarettes had actually made it to market, but “in the interest of absolute caution,” it was recalling all the brand styles that were involved and was inviting consumers to return their cigarettes to their neighborhood vendors for a full refund. Cigarettes bought before May 16, a company spokesman said, are “fine”–which is to say, they’re every bit as good as they ever were.
And stores that have replaced their conceivably contaminated cigs with pre-May 16 cigs and fresh new product will get a certificate and a big blue “quality label” from the home office its own self. I ask you, what could be more reassuring than that?
Of course, “in the interest of absolute caution,” Philip Morris didn’t quite get around to spreading the word about cigarettes that taste like pesticide until late Friday afternoon–right before Memorial Day weekend– when the only smoke on most people’s minds was highway exhaust and barbecue. So the announcement didn’t get all the attention it might have gotten, all the attention it so richly deserved. An oversight, I’m sure. And a pity–it’s a rare day you run across irony quite this exquisite. I mean, it’s nice to know that Philip Morris is so user-friendly all of a sudden. But recalling cigarettes because they taste funny? Because they might irritate your eyes and nose and throat? Because they might cause some “short-term and reversible” effects?
It’s like . . . it’s like . . .
It’s like selling bottles of arsenic and worrying that people will get paper cuts from the label.
It’s like selling cars with no brakes and recalling them because the horn is too loud.
That ain’t the prob, Bob.
