HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 1998-04-22, Page 5International Scene
By Raymond Canon
THE CITIZEN, WEDNESDAY, APRIL 22, 1998. PAGE 5.
Time on my hands
Time is nature's way of keeping
everything from happening at once
Anon
A guy I know slightly, comes up to me in a
restaurant and says, "What's with the watch?"
My wristwatch, he means. It's not
expensive, but it is big. The dial is about the
size and shape of an Oreo cookie.
Why? Because that's the way I like it.
When it comes to telling the time, I prefer
to wear a wristwatch that I can actually read
without squinting, holding it at arm's length
or investing in a magnifying glass.
If I could find it — and if they still made
trousers with watch pockets — I'd probably
lug around my grandfather's big old gold
railroad watch. Now there was a timepiece!
That watch was heavy enough to serve as a
doorstop and it had a face so big and
numbers so legible you could read across a
railway station waiting room.
Which brings us to modern wristwatches.
I don't know who's in charge of wristwatch
fashion at the tail end of the 20th century, but
it's fairly obvious that telling the time is
pretty much the last thing on their minds.
Bulova, Longene, Timex, Omega — they all
turn out watches with minuscule numbers
only an eagle could read — or worse — they
give us Roman numerals. Roman numerals.
Nothing like employing a system of
numerology that's only been extinct for about
McDonald's and
South Africa
Somehow I was not surprised when I
visited the Czech city of Ostrava for the first
time to find a McDonald's staring at me. I
have run into them everywhere in Europe
and one must admit that they have taken a
firm hold on consumers there.
They have even been successful in Russia
with about 12 outlets in operation alone but,
if you listen to George Cohen the president
of the Canadian branch of the company, you
soon realize just how monumental a task it
was to get things in place.
However, once they got staff training and
suppliers in place, they were up and running.
So successful have their foreign operations
been that it was back in 1994 that income
from this source surpassed revenues from
outlets in the United States. Since that time
the gap has continuously widened.
This success could not prevent me from
wondering if there was a country where
McDonald's had been something less than
successful. I now have a report that tells me
there is such a place, South Africa in fact.
The company has not done anything as
drastic as pulling out, but it is willing to
admit that what small market share it now
has there, has been achieved only by large
amounts of blood, sweat and tears.
It started out smartly enough. Although it
registered its trademark in South Africa as
far back as 1968, it waited until apartheid
2,000 years:
"Hi, Honey! Wanna meet me for dinner
around VIII o'clock?"
"Can't, darling. I'm caught in the traffic.
Let's make it VIIIXLV instead."
Then there are all those 'extra features' you
can get on your modern-day wristwatch.
You can buy a watch that measures
barometric pressure, a watch that counts
laps, a watch that keeps track of compass
bearings, calculates water pressure, monitors
blood pressure — you can even buy watches
that store telephone numbers, addresses and
dates of birth.
This is not what I require of a wristwatch.
All I require of a wristwatch is that it keep
me apprised of the time. From time to time.
But I am, apparently, an endangered
species. I am looking right now at a full-page
magazine advertisement for something called
"The Pasha Chronograph".
I'm ... pretty sure it's a wristwatch. It has,
after all, a leather strap that appears to be
designed to fasten around a human wrist. The
dial attached to the wrist strap is festooned
with a bunch of hi-tech, ferruled knobs
around the perimeter.
No doubt the Pasha Chronograph can keep
me in touch with atmospheric conditions on
Pluto, the humidity index in Havana and my
biorhythms for the past 24 hours.
Which is good, because, as far as I can tell
from this advertisement, the Pasha Chrono-
graph is not likely to fulfill my fondest
wristwatch fantasy. The Pasha Chronograph
is not going to give me the time of day.
was out of the way before opening its first
outlet. This was only as recently as 1995 but
the expected patronage failed to materialize.
The company realized that South-African
fast-food businesses had, behind rather high
tariffs, managed to build up several strong
homegrown brands, which concentrated on
catering to South-African tastes and not
international ones.
First of all, it turned out that there was
already a company that was running a fast-
food outlet under the name of MacDonald's
and it took the American company to court.
McDonald's replied with a countersuit and, to
make the proverbial long story quite a bit
shorter, the judge in the South African
Supreme Court was not totally swayed by the
American company's argument. It did,
however, provide the Big Mac Brigade with
the realization that South Africans did not
stand in awe of them as much as, say,
Americans did.
This led to another realization. There were
five other chains that had got a good grip on
the fast-food markets before McDonald's
arrived on the scene. Not only had their
customers been isolated from the advertising
of global brands such as McDonald's but they
had come to display a rather intense loyalty
to one of the five.
Thus, when the American chain finally
entered the market in 1995, they had a real
fight on their hands from day one for market
share. The fact that they were engaged in
court battles did not help their cause any.
At the present time the golden arches are to
be seen in only 35 locations in South Africa,
Because it's dial has, you see ... no numbers.
That's right! The geniuses who market the
Pasha Chronograph have taken modern
wristwatch design, beyond the final frontier.
No more tiresome numerals — digital or
analog. The Pasha Chronograph people have
given us a watch so modern it doesn't tell you
what time it is.
Hey! Post-Modern or what?
The Pasha Chronograph doesn't even have
a dial. Instead it sports what amounts to a
fancy glass porthole that gives you a worm's-
eye view of the inner workingi of the watch
as they grind away, doing...well, not much of
anythin really, except grinding away.
And just to cement the revolutionary
experience, the no-numbers Pasha
Chronograph also boasts no hands.
That's right! You might as well be wearing
a hard-boiled egg on your wrist for all the
time-telling the Pasha Chronograph is going
to give you! It's a weird world.
I once knew a guy who was so worried
about being late that he wore two watches —
one on each wrist. The thing is, that guy was
never sure which watch to trust.
Whereas a person wearing one watch
always knows what time it is.
Unless he's wearing a Pasha Chronograph,
I guess. I can hardly wait for the next big
timepiece fashion breakthrough: no watch at
all — just a seamless expansion bracelet made
of reinforced, platinum-plated titanium
alloy.
At least you won't have to worry about
getting it wet in the shower.
much lower than the hundreds which the
other five chains have. Its strong points have
been its fast service, and its appeal to
children who like the free toys and the play
area.
On the other hand McDonald's had
presented the same fare as in its other
restaurants around the world and this has
raised more than a few eyebrows in a country
where chicken outsells beef by a ratio of two
to one. This is because blacks make up the
majority of the country's population and they
tend to favour chicken over beef, mainly
because it is cheaper to buy and more readily
available. Beef is associated with the small
white population.
However, even there a difference is to be
found. Some whites look upon Big Macs as
rather puny when they can buy at one of the
competitors a "Big Steer" which contains a
whopping amount of beef.
One commentator says, "McDonald's
comes here with a small, thin burger and
people laugh."
McDonald's has had to make changes
elsewhere, notably in India, to cater to local
tastes. However, it has chosen to stand pat in
South Africa for the time being.
It is, nevertheless, fast coming to the
conclusion that what is immensely popular in
one country can fall flat in another.
Success is getting up just one more time
than you fall down.
The
Short
of it
By Bonnie Gropp
Oh, how they danced
I suppose you could say it's dying art.
Some may think it's strictly an entertaining
pastime. But whatever your view you have
to admit that dancing certainly isn't what it
used to be.
When I first heard the story of what
brought my parents together I was struck by
a sense of wistful romanticism. It began at
my mom's sister's shower. She was marrying
my dad's cousin, so of course Mom and Dad
were both in attendance.
Now, Dad has always been a smoothy on
the dance floor and his strutting caught
Mother's eye. From that night on, dancing
was the magic in their relationship. After a
busy work week, they anticipated their
Saturday night dancing. And when the band
went home parents and company, not
wanting it to end, moved the music to our
house.
For their generation dancing was gm social
entertainment. In their teens and 20s they
rumbled along in quaint mobiles or glided
through winter snow in sleighs to fun and
frolics, ballrooms and receptions. Guys who
could trip the light fantastic were always
attracting attention and every unattached girl
waited in the hopes that they would get the
chance to spin around the floor with him.
My older sister and brother (much older!)
reached their teens in the late 50s and early
60s. Though they both knew how to look
presentable when on a dance floor, the
introduction of rock and roll put a more
eccentric spin on their dancing. Yet, when
Bob would deem me worthy to jive with him
it was a highlight unlike any other.
What happened from this point on? While
in my early teens, dancing, though maybe
more of an outlet than an art form, was still
popular. Doing the frug, the swim, the jerk
or the monkey my friends and I seldom
missed a dance.
However, while girls of that generation
seemed to keep up with the latest trends and
enjoyed them, the guys slowly began to
spend less and less time on the dance floor.
By the late 60s going to a dance meant
sitting on the floor in front of the stage
watching the band. What a blast!
Ultimately, very few of the men of my
generation actually know how to dance,
especially that dazzling, head-turning
gracefulness that is poetry in motion. .
And it's going to get worse. Today many
young people feel the music by moshing. If
you don't know, this involves standing in the
centre of the floor and banging against each
other with as much force as possible.
Seeing him now indulge in this painful
exercise, I can't help looking at my youngest
son with nostalgia. When he was a wee guy,
he used to stand on my feet and we'd sail
around the kitchen to Getshwin. Eventually
he was able to dance on his own two feet,
but I think that's forgotten. At least, he's way
to cool to show me otherwise.
Too bad. I was kind of counting on him,
since Dad doesn't dance that much anymore.
I know there's nothing wrong with just
getting onto the dance floor and letting go,
doing what comes naturally whether it looks
good or not. But, I must admit, I sure miss
getting the chance to let one of those old
smoothies whisk me around the floor with
such confidence and poise, they make even
me look like I know what I'm doing.
Arthur Black