Imagine such a morning: You awaken, not to your alarm clock, but to the persistent honks of a car horn, noisily signaling the arrival of a neighbor’s ride. Not long thereafter, at your neighborhood coffeeshop, a nearby patron engages in a long session on Skype, punctuated by giggles and lengthy stories, of which you are only hearing one side, though delivered at an unselfconsicous volume. Already in an altered state on your way to work, a short light onto a major thoroughfare is missed, the driver in front of you clearly focusing on something with his or her head down, spending valuable stoplight time sending a detailed text, rather than easing through a no-right-on-red turn.
Perhaps this is channelling a bit of the recently deceased Andy Rooney, but this very situation could occur. Maybe our wits are tested by the spacial rudeness of our contemporaries over days, rather than hours, but we all know the general concern here: that we’re witnessing our culture devolving into a generation of cads. Plugged in too much, not self-aware enough, and possessing the gift of asking forgiveness no more eloquently than a mumbled “mah bad.”
How do we fight the battle? What little gesture can make? How could any one of us fire a small, symbolic round into the abyss?
How about sending a "Thank You" card?
They still exist. Honestly, they do. Even in our increasingly techno-savvy world, the "Thank You" card is still found on the shelves of your local supermarket and big-box retailer. The gesture, of course, is gracious when passing along your thoughts through these mass-marketed cards and that’s the important thing, true. But when you’re staring at a massive rack of pastels, you get the sense that these cards are rather... milquetoast. They’re the paper equivalents of Yanni or Kenny G. If you’re looking for something a bit more rock’n’roll, you’re just gonna have to dig.
On Cherokee Street, the Firecracker Press enjoys a reputation as a media-loved enterprise that maintains an aura of indie cool. To the latter point: Yesterday, workers were creating two calendars for 2012, along with a pair of separate poetry chapbooks, and a series of woodcut dog illustrations, based on photos brought in by pet lovers. With hip rock, wave, and downtempo playing in the shop and the light outside dropping thanks to Daylight Savings Time, Firecracker felt like the coolest spot in town. Not to say that they’re only there as a rest stop for the artistically deprived; they also want to sell you stuff.
Asked about his shop’s supply of "Thank You" cards, proprietor Eric Woods initially thought that they’d run out of their initial offering. But after digging through the retail shop’s storefront, he found a packet: four cards, three in English, one in Spanish, featuring lovely artwork, room for your own messages inside, and a price tag of $15 for this small, hand-made, four-piece gem.
“People were always coming in and asking for them,” he says. “‘Do you have Thank You’s?’ Well, a lot of our cards are blank. You can write your own "Thank You," or any message, in any of them. Well, for some folks, that works. Others want it to say exactly what they want it to say.”
Reflecting the spirit of the bilingual Cherokee, Woods and company created the dual-language cards and found that they sold relatively well.
“We did one that said 'Happy Birthday' for the same reason,” Woods says. “Then you can have someone coming in asking for 'Congrats on Your New Baby.' People will want really specific things.”
Saying this with a sort of resigned exasperation towards their fickle whims of the marketplace, Woods, a true artist as well as a businessman, looks over his shoulder, and a card packet catches his eye. He clutches a sealed, four-pack of cards, decorated with the images of cows and steers, then places it on an ancient work table for inspection. The words "Ground Beef" appear on them, but to Woods, “these could be used as a 'Thank You,' too,” saying, “you’d just write that yourself, inside.” He delivers this opinion with a certain cadence to his voice, as if saying it to yet another not-quite-comprehending customer. “With these, you could even congratulate someone on the arrival of a new child.” And with that, the ground beef cards go back on the rack, waiting for their ultimate fate.
Woods, who works with machines decades older than himself, is no stranger to the appeals of the old-school. If anyone does, he champions the merits of bygone days through the use of time-tested printing methods. But he also knows that "Thank You" cards aren’t exactly guaranteed a ride on the comeback trail.
“I think people who send 'Thank You’s' are interested in paper and are interested in etiquette,” he figures. “They have such a personal touch compared to an e-mail or a text. You put a stamp on it, then it goes into an envelope and you take it to the Post Office.” Pause. “Who does that anymore?”
