Buy ten, get one free

Georgie and the Frequent Popsicle

By Rick Horowitz

Georgie the ice-cream vendor was a man ahead of his time.

We didn't realize it back then, of course -- none of us did. Back then, we weren't looking for visionaries; we were looking for chocolate pops and orange Creamsicles and pineapple ices that turned your lips bright yellow and dripped down your hand. Georgie delivered the goods.

Georgie the ice-cream vendor came back to the neighborhood every spring, the same week the circus came back to town. We never remembered just when it would be -- it surprised us every year -- but we'd see pictures of the elephants on TV, and then we'd go outside and there was Georgie and his truck and his bells. The elephants and Georgie, the same week, as if they'd worked it out. It meant spring was official.

This is how loyal we were to Georgie: We never bought our ice cream from anyone else. We didn't buy from the Good Humor man. We didn't buy from Bungalow Bar. Even when Good Humor or Bungalow Bar got to our block first some days, and we'd already roller-skated or punchballed our way to a major ice cream appetite, we still always waited for Georgie. Even when Georgie was nowhere in sight, we still always waited for Georgie.

Except every once in a while, maybe once or twice a year, when hours and hours had gone by and there was still no sign of Georgie. He was sick, we realized. He was taking the day off. So we'd give in, finally, and buy our stuff from the big-shot trucks. And no sooner had we done it than we'd hear the bells: Georgie! What to do?

We hid the big-shot ice cream behind our backs. We might not buy anything from him this time through -- "Later, Georgie, after supper..." -- but we wouldn't think of letting him see us with someone else's stuff. We knew it would break his heart.

That's loyalty. And we felt that way even before Georgie started handing out the coupons. "Free ice cream with ten purchases," the small black printing on the stiff white card would say. Buy a Dixie cup, you'd get a coupon. Buy a Popsicle, you'd get another coupon. Tie them up in a rubber band and trade them in for a free one.

Our own Georgie, inventor of the "Frequent Snacker" program? It's just possible.

Nowadays, you can't roll out of bed without tripping over another "Frequent Something-or-Other." The airlines were first (after Georgie, of course), enticing you to fly to places you'd never thought of going at times that weren't even slightly convenient so that eventually you could qualify for bonus travel to even more exotic locales, just as soon as your favorite airline came back from bankruptcy. Or do I exaggerate?

But the airlines aren't the only ones. In just the past six months, my wallet tells me, I've established close personal relationships with the following establishments:

A toy store: Buy $100 worth of stuff within a year, and the rest of the year's purchases are 10% off.

A bookstore: Ditto.

A sandwich shop: Twelve subs or salads, and the next one is free.

A bakery: "Buy 10 loaves, get one free!"

And -- my latest deal -- a dry cleaner ("Frequent Cleaner"?!: $100 of cleaning, four bucks free.

Even as I write these words, meanwhile, there's a gas station down the block offering a "Frequent Filler" program; I'm afraid to find out the details.

Suddenly, there's no end to the places that want me back. It's flattering, and maybe -- just maybe -- it'll influence my next toy/book/sandwich/bread/clean-and-press decision.

But I doubt it. We were all with Georgie before coupons, you see, and after coupons, and all the time in between. It never made a bit of difference.

There's more to loyalty than discount prices.