Not Exactly Open and Shut

As New York begins the glacially phased process of reopening amid waning COVID-19 figures, I spent the last weekend more confused than ever about the process.

Case in point, several weeks ago, I waited 30 minutes in line to purchase exactly three items at my local Home Depot, which I gather was classified as an “essential business.” True, the hours were modified and facial masks a requirement, but it was nevertheless open.

But fast forward to this past weekend.

Due to the pandemic, coupled with an unusually rainy and cold May, the bride and I were several weeks behind the annual planting of our vegetable garden and walkway. So, on a beautiful Saturday, tailor made for gardening, we took our SUV, lined the back with old bedsheets and trekked down to one of the county’s larger nurseries.

As expected, it was a standing room only crowd – literally – as green thumbers from all over were hauling wagons and carts full of flowers, herbs, potting soil, and plant species seen only in Gardner’s World magazine. I spoke briefly to one of the employees who told me this was only the third day they were open, and it’s been a madhouse ever since.

So, let me understand this, an enclosed structure like Home Depot was considered essential, but a 10-acre open land expanse selling many of the same items with plenty of social distancing was not?

Someone will have to explain that one to me.

On Sunday, a later than usual discharge of tree pollen turned my car into a motorized lemon – color wise if not mechanically, (let alone what it did to my sinuses), so a thorough wash was in order. So, I drove to the local car wash, aptly named “Splash,” and waited for the attendant to come out and ask why type of service I wanted. No one came. The business was open, but it looked more like a haunted house in terms of people. Finally, someone came on the speaker system and told me I could only get an exterior wash. Apparently, no one under the reopening law could vacuum or polish the interior.

Okay, better than nothing. But on the drive home I passed a competitor car wash and simonizing venue, which had employees furiously cleaning the interiors of a snaking auto line.

Again, confusion reigned.

I can hardly wait to see what June brings.

Maybe by then, I’ll have figured things out. But at least our garden will be in full bloom.

Big Yellow Taxi

The other day I ran across an article in my local paper about how different venues such as restaurants and retail stores will look and operate post-COVID-19.

Somehow, I cannot imagine sitting in a dining room, separated from the next table by a glass partition and being read the daily specials by a masked server. In any other era, the chances are if you witnessed someone entering a store or a bank wearing a face covering, it would be what the police call a “211” – a robbery in progress.

But what about a post-pandemic accounting firm?

Well for sure, there will inevitably be some client attrition. How much will be determined on a case by case basis.

In addition, firms that were reluctant to allow staff work remotely now realize that you can operate virtually and yet efficiently. That epiphany in turn may usher in a reduction in needed office space and thus, reduced overhead.

But what about the book of business? For those of you who have ever played football and received a hit that nearly landed you in Jupiter, you know that it takes a moment to realize if you are really hurt or just temporarily seeing the Milky Way. That’s sort of similar to a firm attempting to gauge the coronavirus impact to their bottom line.

Burnt to a Crisp

When I was a high school senior, my dad somehow finagled a tennis colleague of his to part with his 8-year old Oldsmobile 98 for $400. That was my first-ever car, and a favorite among my friends, because those of you old enough to remember that model, it was large enough to seat at least seven and still have room to squeeze in a modern-day Mini Cooper.

It was the unofficial neighborhood limousine and designated hauler of beer chests.

But as they say, that was then this is now. Especially when you index prices for inflation which I will address in a minute.

It has not been a cost-savings month at Chez Carlino. First, our washing machine silently told us that it was at the end of its life cycle. Of course, it had to implode just prior to the spin cycle, so I had the pleasure of hand wringing out an obese load of jeans and towels.

Fortunately, the dryer still worked – thank God for small favors.

Then the dishwasher began showing signs of system failure, delivering murky-colored glassware, accompanied by plates and cups streaked with remnants from a previous night’s meal.

As we approached Memorial Day weekend, I proactively decided to clean and ready the backyard grill in anticipation of a three-day smorgasbord of burgers, ribs, and strip steaks.

Not to be.

A Wallet “Workout”

I’m a gym rat, pure and simple.

Since the mid-1970's I’ve belonged to one health club or another and once even had a brief stint selling memberships for the now-defunct European Health Spa chain of gyms.

Except for a landscaper, my membership to a local gym is the only luxury I afford myself. It’s expensive to be sure, but it’s less than a mile from my home which means I can access it multiple times in a day. It features all the equipment I need plus rows of modern torture devices that I don’t. If asked, the floor trainers will gladly give you a much-needed stretch following a workout.

The maintenance staff keeps the place immaculate and one member even joked that the locker rooms are sanitized more often than a hospital operating room.

And trust me, that’s only a slight exaggeration.

But like health clubs and most other businesses across the country, the place has been padlocked since March. So, I’ve been trying to keep in reasonable condition on my own.

But there’s light at the end of the tunnel – sort of.

The club’s corporate office this week announced a preliminary opening schedule, but it was accompanied by a roster of conditions. Some I expected such as allowing a certain number of people to work out at one time, face masks when entering and leaving and even a mandatory reservation system.

But here’s the rub.

Members will only be allowed to use the club a maximum of three times per week. Since they keep a record each time you check in, I discovered I used the facility 341 times in 2019.

Now that would be 12 times a month under the post COVID-19 guidelines instead of last year’s average of 28. But the kicker is that my membership fees will not be reduced. In other words, going forward each workout will cost me an average of $14 instead of $5.50.

Now there are certain things I’ll let pass and others I’ll stubbornly dig in and fight. This falls into the latter category. It’s like paying a mortgage on your home but only being allowed to live there a few days a week. Ditto for limited trips in a car on a financing plan.

“But we still have all our overhead and expenses to pay,” was the response. Not to sound uncaring in a dismal time in our country’s history, but that’s not my problem. Each year when my membership dues increased, I quietly acquiesced. And now they want to charge full price for substantially reduced usage.

Uh uh.

Not this time. I need the workouts, not my wallet. It works up a sweat enough on its own.

A 21st Century Definition of Insanity

On Mother’s Day I was driving along Main Street in my town when I ran into an acquaintance from my health club, whom I hadn’t seen in several months. He too was climbing the proverbial walls regarding lack of exercise since our facility officially closed on March 17. After all, long walks and push-ups can only go so far.

But his COVID-19 malaise went far deeper than simply being deprived of performing squats and bench presses. His job until now was to secure available parcels of land and erect restaurants. As you might imagine, that hasn’t been a burgeoning industry of late. In fact, he’s admitted to me that he’s unsure if he will have any company at all once the quarantine is lifted. But he did say that neighboring Connecticut (where he is involved in a lot of projects as well) would be slowly opening back up beginning next week beginning with “essential businesses.”

Now what is and is not an “essential business” has been a subject of intense debate over the past two months and that alone can serve as fodder for a future column. But as I understand it, the Nutmeg State will allow hair salons and some restaurants to reopen with certain conditions. Remind me again what Einstein said about the definition of insanity.

Postal Banking: The New Coke of Idea Comebacks

In the early 1980's the Coca-Cola Co. conducted a massive consumer research campaign among its customers to help them gain a handle on taste preferences and why their product was declining in popularity. The result was that customers indicated that “taste” was a determining factor in their soft-drink choices, so the Atlanta conglomerate decided to alter their 100-plus year-old formula by adding more sugar.

So, in April 1985, the company debuted its sugary New Coke. The resulting backlash was one of the greatest marketing failures in the annals of American business. Consumers roundly rejected the product and Coke lost millions on the gambit not to mention being saddled with some $30 million in unwanted New Coke concentrate sitting idly in its distribution warehouses.

Sadly, not all mistakes retire permanently to the graveyard.

Take one idea that hung around for nearly 50 years in the 20^th century before being discontinued but is now gaining some impetus for a possible return – postal banking. From 1911 to 1967 the U.S. featured postal banking – the practice of offering retail banking services at USPS locations. However, a precipitous drop in deposits led to the practice being discontinued permanently, or so we thought.

But the idea is now being resurrected as part of the Democratic platform in the 2020 Presidential election.

Under various proposals, the USPS would offer low-cost small amount loans as well as bill-paying services and checking and savings accounts annexed by debit cards. These loans may or may not be in partnerships with local banks or credit unions. Currently, the Post Office still can dispense money orders, but customers are forced to go to banks or other financial institutions for other products.

According to reports, the idea restarted roughly six years ago when the USPS Office of Inspector General remarked that the Post Office could make profitable loans at a much lower interest rate than traditional payday lenders which typically cater to the middle and lower class many of whom have limited access to traditional banks and are frequently gouged by high interest rates and fees.  

Here's my problem with it and in full disclosure my skepticism is backed by years of bad experience.

In the 20-plus years my family has lived in our house, we have been treated to the worst mail delivery service in our region. On a typical day, I receive 3-4 pieces of wrongly addressed letters and sometimes we don’t get a delivery until 7 pm at night or occasionally, not at all. In other words, our local post office is often unable to handle daily what they’re supposed to be an expert in. But that’s a microcosm of what’s happening nationally.

On an annual basis, the USPS records billions in losses. In 2019 for example it posted a loss of $8.8 billion, the 13^th consecutive year it has wallowed in red ink. Couple that with the fact that the organization has little or no experience in the financial services sector and you are coming dangerously close to a repeat of a New Coke-like debacle.

With all the recovery we will need from COVID-19, we certainly don’t need another disaster in waiting. Postal banking should remain alongside New Coke.

Dead and buried - without any added sugar.  

Memorable Entertainment Quarantine

Okay, after more than a month of social distancing and frequent drives past my padlocked gym, hoping it will be by some miracle be open, I’m officially bored.

There are just so many different trails and paths I can run and or walk on, and “repetitive” does not even begin to describe performing endless calisthenics at home.

I even had a dream last night that I snuck away and flew out to Las Vegas. While a nice somnambular escape, in full disclosure, it was not nearly as entertaining as the ones I regularly had as a teenager marooned with Raquel Welch on a tropical beach, but this is a family column.

So, between working remotely and treating myself to multiple glasses of wine in the early evening, I have taken to watch reruns of classic TV shows from the 60's which appear on a New Jersey-based station aptly titled ME TV – an acronym for Memorable Entertainment Television.

Each night I can turn the clock back four decades or so and bring back childhood memories with shows such as “The Fugitive,” “The Invaders” “Mannix” “Cannon” “The Man From U.N.C.L.E.” and “Adam 12.” Those archived broadcasts provided a future showcase for now established stars like Gene Hackman, Leslie Nielsen, Carroll O’Connor, Telly Savalas, Bruce Dern, Alan Alda, Ed Asner, Sally Kellerman, and Suzanne Pleshette to name just a few.