David Spates "Therefore I Am" Published April 15, 2003

Frozen PB&J? Don't you have 97 seconds?

I'm in the wrong business. That's all there is to it. I have the mindset of a cynic, not a profiteer -- that's the real problem.

Among my many manly domestic duties is grocery shopping. It's not a lot of fun, but it's not a terrible headache either. In fact, spending an hour or so at the grocery store offers a unique glimpse into my fellow humans. Where else can see 4-year-olds strong-arm their parents into buying double-frosted chocolate cereal flakes in one aisle and 85-year-old ladies perusing a Redbook article entitled "Which men make the best lovers?" in another?

Interpersonal struggles and haunting mental images aside, sometimes the grocery store is just the grocery store, a place to buy grub, which is what I was doing a few days ago. It was in the frozen grub aisle that I spotted Smucker's frozen peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

Pause.

I thought to myself, "Good grief, how ridiculous. Who is so lazy that they can't even make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? I'll have to remember this for later. It'll make for a good column."

Resume.

I remembered it, all right. I also did a little research. Not only are people buying frozen peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but they're buying approximately $20 million a year's worth.

See what I mean about me not having the mindset of a profiteer? I'm the guy who scoffs at what I think are stupid ideas. The people who make the money in the world, I mean the BIG money, are the ones who take these stupid ideas and run with them all the way to the bank. If I were the president of Smucker's and the head of my research and development division came to me with an idea for frozen peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, I'd probably fire the guy right on the spot.

"Frozen peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?" I'd ask incredulously. "Do you expect people to pay $4.59 for 10 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches when they can make 10 times that many for the same price?! I thought your idea for peanut butter and jelly in the same jar was ludicrous, but this tops it! Empty out your desk. I want you gone by the end of the day."

Yep, that's probably how I would have responded had I been the big honcho at Smucker's. A cool $20 million in annual sales later, the Smucker's shareholders would have been demanding my head. I'd be the one who was gone by the end of the day.

Rule No. 1 in business: Never underestimate the laziness of the American consumer. I'll bet there's a whole semester dedicated to that single point at the Harvard Business School. If you keep that in mind, you'll always have a check to cash.

OK, OK, lesson learned. But come now! Frozen peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? Who's buying these?

You know what? I'm hungry, and I haven't had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in weeks, maybe months. I'm going to make one right now and eat it while I finish this column.

Excuse me. I'll be right back.

Another pause.

I'm back, and I've got a peanut butter and jelly sandwich balanced on my knee and a glass of milk next to my computer screen. While I was in the kitchen, I timed myself as I made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. (You knew I would, didn't you?) I didn't do it in a hurry, just at my regular, leisurely peanut-butter-and-jelly-sandwich-making pace. From the moment I grabbed the first component, the bread, to the moment I put away the jelly was a grand total of one minute, 37 seconds. Apart from cereal, you won't find a meal much quicker and easier to make than that. It's a mere 97 seconds to ambrosia.

The idea behind the frozen peanut butter and jelly sandwiches is that you pull one out of the freezer, toss it in your kid's lunchbox, and by the time lunch rolls around the sandwich is thawed and ready to eat. A fine notion, but is $4.59 worth 97 seconds each morning? At that price, the sandwiches add up in a hurry. I'm all for easy, but frozen peanut butter and jelly sandwiches pushes shaped like giant ravioli doesn't make much sense. If you do the math, that works out to about $17 an hour in labor costs.

Then there's the other math -- $20 million worth sold a year. It's tough to argue with that one.

Maybe I could go into business for myself. Can you freeze potato chips? Perhaps I could package bags of water and pass them off as "pre-thawed ice."

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David Spates is a Knoxville resident and Crossville Chronicle contributor whose column is published each Tuesday. He can be reached at davespates@chartertn.net.