Prank Call to Ginsu Knives A comedy article
by Clive McClure 1,300 5 10/19/2011 10:58 PM 4651 views
Several weeks ago, I began calling 1-800 numbers from the past. YouTube provided the vintage commercials, while Mountain Dew provided the motivation. One particular item stood out, as it was such an integral part of my childhood.
It's no secret that I was a ninja child, and the Ginsu knife was my primary weapon. With no money, no transportation, and parents who swore I was autistic, purchasing real ninja swords at the age of 14 was difficult. Stealing your mother's Ginsu knife and quickly fashioning a rudimentary scabbard, however, was easy.
Like the famed commercials, I ran through the neighborhood cutting everything from tin cans to small branches. In a ninja suit made of black parachute pants and an inside-out hoodie, I was the leader of the neighborhood ninja clan known as the "Kosugis". My identity was forever hidden by the scarf I jacked from my sister, so wielding an 8-inch blade of serrated steel was simply amazing and anonymous.
Sho Kosugi, the inspiration for our name.
Each time the Ginsu commercial played, my ninja clan and I smiled, knowing we were invincible. The Kosugis were soon on the decline, however, because of Jimmy, a.k.a. Shinobi, who was caught in the act of donning ninja garb one evening. His mother told two mothers, and they told two mothers, and so on, and so on. Within minutes of the first call, my mother was slapping me in the back of the head while yelling, "In Japan, my hand can be used as a MF paddle." I barely remember her screams of delight as the repeated slaps caused dizziness and nausea.
While our ninja clan faded into the history books, the Ginsu commercial remained. It taunted my dreams like a French knight. It made my life a living hell until one day, it was gone. The commercial I had grown to hate was absent, leaving behind a dark hole of waste, like Eddie Murphy's career after The Nutty Professor.
Years later when I was a cutlery salesman (true story), the commercial briefly slipped into my mind. Now, I have YouTube, and I can replay the commercial as often as I like. It brings a warm smile to my face every time I watch it. Of course, the old 1-800 number, the one based in Rhode Island, no longer works, as they have outsourced everything to Iceland. According to the Internet, which never lies, Ginsu is now owned by Douglas Quikut.
Now, if you know Ginsu like I know Ginsu, you'll remember that they had a 50-year warranty. Well, it's been 36 years since my mother's purchase, so the guarantee/warranty should still be in effect. The real Ginsu no longer exists, but the new, improved Ginsu has a website, and I have a redneck accent.
The Phone Call
As the conversation begins, I feel a bit of sadness creep into my soul as Ginsu is now Douglas Quickcut. It doesn't sound very Japanese.
I have a pleasant conversation with a nice-sounding lady who laughs at my jokes and overly loud breathing. Following the short, awkward conversations filled with odd pauses, she asks for my address. I give her my real address and phone number, along with my brand new fake name, Ted. Ted is a good name, a strong name, one that makes people feel warm and safe at night. Until they hear the last name. [Click here to listen.]
DQ: Douglas Quickcut, how may I help you?
CM: Hi, how you doing today?
DQ: Good.
CM: Good. I've got a warranty question, or a guarantee...
DQ: Okay. Go ahead, I'll see if I can help you.
CM: This may not even be the right company, but I've got an old Ginsu knife that I bought twenty years ago, maybe thirty years ago.
DQ: Okay...
CM: And I tried to call them, because I just found the warranty.
DQ: Uh-huh.
CM: And the knife's pretty doggone dull now.
DQ: Does it look like it has a fork on the end?
CM: Pretty much, yeah. But it's dull. I'm telling you, it's like rubbing something with a Barbie doll.
DQ: [Laughs] That's pretty dull. Your name sir?
CM: My name is Ted.
DQ: And your last name, Ted?
CM: Ted Cummings.
[I give her my mailing address as well.]
DQ: And does it say GINSU on it?
CM: Yes ma'am.
DQ: Okay, if I have any issues, I will call you, my dear.
CM: Okay. So you'll just send me a letter in the mail I guess, and then we'll go from there.
DQ: Uh-huh.
CM: Great. Thank you, ma'am.
DQ: Bye!
CM: Take care.
With that in mind, now I play the waiting game. They're sending me a letter which I can use to return my knife for a replacement. Now I've only got one problem: does anyone know where I can find a Ginsu knife? If you have a lead on one, please let me know in the comments below!
Lifetime warranties mean nothing. Not sure if anyone here had a music store called The Wall in their area, but they stickered every CD with a blue tab that read "Guarantee for life". Now that the company is out of business, oh where would one turn to if their CD no longer works?
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