Prank Call to Ginsu Knives, Part 2 A comedy article
by Clive McClure 1,300 5 10/20/2011 10:26 PM 3396 views
I had called the world headquarters of Ginsu knives, to take them up on their 50-year guarantee [read Part 1 here]. Immediately following my call, my heart stopped for a brief moment as I realized that my Ginsu ownership could be called into question. Rather than call my mother of ancient years to see if she still had her original Ginsu, I turned to the trusty Internet and its ever-longing wonders.
"I'll get right to the point: I need some Ginsu knives. The ones I need were made before the turn of the century, preferably in 1986. If you have Ginsu 1, Ginsu II or Ginsu 2000, I need them. If you have the 6 in 1 Kitchen Tool, the 6 Precision Steak Knives, or the Spiral Slicer, even better. The 50-year warranty would be awesome as well. I will pay you money for these items because I need them. Thank you. Please contact me immediately."
Unfortunately, living in Kansas provides one with fewer opportunities than places with Japanese-sounding names like "Seattle." I received no emails, no calls, and no invites to join a Facebook page about Ginsu Knives. After a week of zero replies, I resorted to the unsavory practice of garage sailing (as it's pronounced in Kansas). While I saw a multitude of dirty children's toys and a few brown-stained microwaves, the original vintage 1986 Ginsu knife was in rare supply.
As ZUG reader hydrant-monkey suggested, I turned to the last free enterprise of the free Internet: eBay. I browsed through thousands of Ginsu ads only to realize that the knives listed as "vintage" and "old ass" were Ginsu knockoffs. As a connoisseur of Ginsu cutlery, I knew better. With no place to go and no one to blame, I considered other, more nefarious means by which to receive my guaranteed replacement.
The days dragged, and my nights were filled with ninja nightmares. After three or four days of this torment, I arrived home late one evening, checked my mail, and nearly stumbled backwards over the revelation sitting in my palms. I dropped to my knees, cried a few tears, then held the Quickcut box over my head as if I were Ben Kingsley playing the gangster Gandhi.
I received a brand spanking new Ginsu version 14.1 without ever having to send them a thing. No letter, no picture, no hastily-constructed duct tape knife, nothing.
While the new Ginsu company name had become less Japanese, their customer service had become ninja-like, in the best possible way. They came in quietly, stealthily, but instead of ripping my heart from my chest, they delivered a shiny new Ginsu.
I've got to hand it to them: when they say "50-year guarantee," they mean it.
This is the happiest day of my life. If anyone needs me, I'll be running around the neighborhood in ninja gear, hurling my new Ginsu at wandering cats.
With your redneck accent, you should've said, "If'n I don' git ma knife fixed, I'm gin su you!"
hmm. that worked better in my mind. Anyway, we used to have a Ginsu 2000...that sucka was SHARP. I dropped it one day and I clearly remember it embedding in the floor, inches from my toes.
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