Last night I had dream from which I woke up screaming. In this nightmare I was surrounded by empty Pez dispensers, each with the head of someone I have in my past wronged, their skulls flipping back in horrifying unison demanding to be re-stocked with Pez pellets. Like a demonic plague of Pez zombies they kept coming and with each cartridge filled another empty one appeared, screaming, demanding.
This horror story follows a week in which, making my irregular trip to the shops to buy office treats for myself and my fellow workmates (because unflinching generosity is a key element of who I am), I picked up for someone a Pez dispenser and one magazine of replacement pellets. At the time of presentation I was looked at askance – not because Pez possess their own inherent comedic value (which they do) (unless you’re suffering Pez zombie nightmares) but because it was deemed a ridiculous choice of treat.
Well, a mere week later the recipient, whose dispenser is now empty, is harassing me hourly for replacement pellets. Is she serious? Of course she is. And do you know why? Because Pez is the perfect product. Forget heroin. Don’t worry about ciggies. At Pez they have created not only a deliciously refreshing sweet, but they have provided it in a mechanism that is fun when full and, when empty, stands as a totem to the fact that the pellets need replacing. So alluring is the sight of the flipped head (Tweety Bird, Mickey Mouse, Donatella Versace, etc) that to have an empty one in your possession is simply unbearable.
Well, you don’t stand at the summit of the brutal lolly world for 40 years by not offering something the people want. Meanwhile, my role as a pellet pusher has just begun.