Some folks use waxed paper
Some folks use the Reynolds Wrap
Some folks use the Plastic Baggie
To try to cover up the gap
You can use most anything
To keep your goodies from the air
But nothing works as well
As that good old Tupperware
(CHORUS)
’Cause it’s here Whooaaa
Take a look at what we got
If you don’t try some and buy some
Don’t blame me when your turnips rot.
It has two more verses covering other important Tupperware themes. Verse Two stresses the importance of “burping” the air out of your container to make sure your lid seals securely, and Verse Three points out that you can make money by holding a Tupperware party in your home.
As you might imagine, the crowd was completely blown away by this song. The Tupperware Lady herself was near tears. But the important thing was, people bought a lot of Tupperware that night. People bought Tupperware they would never in a million years need. Single men who lived in apartments and never cooked anything, ever, that could not be heated in a toaster, were ordering Tupperware cake transporters. It was obvious to me right then and there that “The Tupperware Song” was a powerful marketing tool.
I explained all this to Dick, of the Tupperware company, and he said I could send him a cassette tape of the song. Which I did, but I haven’t heard a thing. Not that I’m worried. I’m sure there are plenty of other large wealthy corporations out there that would be interested in a blues song about Tupperware. In fact, I’m getting offers in the mail almost every day. Most of them are for supplementary hospitalization insurance, but that’s obviously just a negotiating ploy.
Bang The Tupperware Slowly
When I die, I want my obituary to read as follows:
“Dave Barry is dead. Mr. Barry and his band, the Urban Professionals, once performed ‘The Tupperware Song’ before 1,000 Tupperware distributors.”
This is the truth. We really did perform before 1,000 Tupperware distributors, and they gave us a standing ovation, although in the interest of accuracy, I should tell you that just before we performed, they also gave a standing ovation to a set of ovenware. But I don’t care. This was without question the highlight of my entire life.
The way it came about was, the Tupperware people finally saw the musical light and decided to invite me to perform my original composition, “The Tupperware Song,” before a large sales conference at Tupperware headquarters, located in Orlando, Florida, right next to Gatorland, an attraction where (this is true) alligators jump into the air and eat dead chickens hung from wires. Naturally I accepted the invitation. A break like this comes along once in your career.
I formed a new band, the Urban Professionals, especially for this performance. I chose the members very carefully, based on their ability to correctly answer the following question: “Do you want to go to Orlando at your own expense and perform before Tupperware distributors?” (The correct answer, was: “Yes.”) Using this strict screening procedure, I obtained three band members, all trained members of the Miami Herald staff. I’m the lead guitar player and singer and also (I’m not bragging here; these are simply facts) the only person in the band who knows when the song has started or ended. The other members of the band just sort of stand around looking nervous until I’ve been going for a while, and then, after it penetrates their primitive musical consciousnesses that the song has begun, they become startled and lurch into action. Likewise it takes them up to 30 seconds to come to a complete stop after the song is technically over.
The only other normal instrument in the band is a harmonica, played by Gene. Gene has been attempting to play the harmonica for a number of years, and has developed a repertoire of several songs, all of which sound exactly like “Oh, Susannah!” “Here’s another one!” he’ll say, and then he plays “Oh, Susannah!” He plays it very rapidly, totally without pauses, as if he’s anxious to get back to journalism, so if you tried to sing along, you’d have to go: “Icomefromalabamawithmybanjoonmyknee,” etc., and pretty soon you’d run out of oxygen and keel over onto your face, which Gene wouldn’t notice because he’d be too busy trying to finish the song on schedule.
The other two instruments in the band are actually Tupperware products, played rhythmically by Tom and Lou, who also dance. How good are they? Let me put it this way: If you can watch them perform and not wet your pants then you are legally blind. For one thing, they are both afflicted with severe rhythm impairment, the worst cases I have ever seen, worse even than Republican convention delegates. You ask Lou and Tom to clap along to a song and not only will they never once hit the beat, but they will also never, no matter how eternally long the song goes on, both clap at the same time. On top of which you have the fact that they do not have your classic dancer’s build, especially Lou, who is, and I say this with all due respect the same overall shape as a Krispy Kreme jelly doughnut.
When we got to the Tupperware convention center we became a tad nervous, because (a),it turns out that Tupperware is a large business venture that many people take very seriously and (b) we had never even practiced as a total band. The bulk of our musical preparation to that point had consisted of deciding that our band outfits should include sun glasses.
Fortunately, the Tupperware distributors turned out to be extremely peppy people, prone to applauding wildly at the slightest provocation. They especially loved Lou and Tom lunging around waving their Tupperware products in what they presumably thought was unison, looking like the Temptations might look if they were suddenly struck onstage with severe disorders of the central nervous system.
After we got off the stage, Lou announced that it was the most exciting thing he had ever done. Gene kept saying: “A professional musician. I’m a professional musician.” A Tupperware person came up and asked if we’d be willing to perform again, and of course we said yes, although I am becoming concerned. Tom has announced, several times, that he thinks next time the dancers should get a singing part. I can see already that unless we hold our egos in check, keeping this thing in perspective, we could start having the kind of internal conflicts that broke up the Beatles, another very good band.
Bite The Wax Tadpole!
Now we’re going to look at some important new developments in the U.S. advertising industry, which continues to be a hotbed of innovation as well as a source of pride to all Americans regardless of intelligence. This country may no longer be capable of manufacturing anything more technologically sophisticated than breakfast cereal, but by God when it comes to advertising, we are still—and I mean this sincerely—Number One.
Our first bit of advertising news will come as a happy surprise to those of you who lie awake nights asking yourselves: “Whatever happened to Mikey, the lovable chubby-cheeked child who hated everything until he tasted Life brand breakfast cereal in the heartwarming television commercial that we all saw 63,000 times back in the seventies?”
The good news is: Mikey is coming back, as part of a major advertising campaign! The Quaker Oats Co. sent me two large press kits on this, both quoting a Quaker Oats executive as saying: “We’ve received thousands of letters over the years asking what’s become of him. ... We thought it would be fun to satisfy America’s curiosity by conducting a nationwide search to reveal his present-day identity.”