Your Box, Your Package

Sometimes, I think I have a very sophisticated sense of humour. I make a clever pun or I paraphrase Shakespeare and mentally pat myself on the back for my highbrow sensibilities. Then, there are other times where I am confronted with the reality that my sense of humour has changed very little since the age of thirteen. I like to giggle and the simple truth is that there is no place better to giggle than a place where you shouldn’t giggle at all.

I remember when I was a kid and our whole family would head off to church on Sundays. Three little girls dressed cutely, accompanied by their upstanding parents. We’d take our seats and, because they were no fools, my parents had arranged a seating system designed to minimize fights in public: one girl, one parent, another girl, another parent, and finally, the last of the girls. This would have worked brilliantly if my father hadn’t enjoyed torturing us and sending us into fits of giggles to my mother’s great frustration. He’d poke us, point out funny hats, stick a wet finger in one of our ears and then look deadly serious when we started laughing. These visits to church fell somewhere between torture and glee. While it was sheer joy to laugh at our own private jokes, it was also painful to hold in the giggles. The key was to laugh only enough that it wouldn’t get us all into trouble – only enough that my mother would not get annoyed with our father and put an end to that morning’s games.

I recently attended a meeting that reminded me of those long-ago mornings. The meeting was a cross-departmental one involving at least 20 of my esteemed colleagues. We’d hired an outside consultancy firm to talk to us about our product packaging. On the surface, there is very little to laugh at when discussing what your product will look like on a shelf. Yet underneath that veneer of seriousness, lay a veritable bomb of mirth, just waiting for the perfect level of immaturity to set it off. I was powerless to prevent it.

The speaker’s first sentence alerted me to the dangerous situation I was in. After introducing himself, he launched into the meat of his presentation by telling us, “If your package is large and heavy, your first job is to make sure your box can handle it.” I chuckled to myself and looked at my neighbours to see if they were similarly afflicted. Straight faces surrounded me. He continued with the following statements:

- What kind of value does your box communicate?
- How will your box be handled – can it bear that kind of activity without falling apart?
- Don’t forget to label your box and don’t forget that your competitor’s box will also be on display.
- What sets your box apart?
- What does your box convey to the end user?

I giggled into my hand. I squirmed in my chair. I wanted to shout to the room, “Am I the only one hearing double-entendre here?” I struggled to maintain outward composure despite the fact that my professional persona was quickly scrambling to hide behind a giggling ten-year old. The more I sought composure, the less I achieved it. It wasn’t the presenter’s fault. He was covering his topic seriously and thoroughly. He was giving us valuable advice that would help us sell our product. However, despite the helpfulness of the topic and the number of people in the room, I really wanted to interrupt him with the very sophisticated comment: “You said box. You said package.”

I’m pleased to say that I didn’t interrupt him nor did I chime in about what, exactly, my box could handle. Instead, I looked down at my notebook and wrote down his comments while quietly giggling to myself. I did make a note to dial in for such future meetings, though, because I’m not sure I’m up to the task. I know on some level, I have achieved the level of maturity and capability appropriate to my age and station (!), but such meetings do force one to re-examine oneself and come to certain conclusions. Mine is that I’m getting older, but I won’t hold my breath for the wiser part. I’ll need that oxygen on reserve for inappropriate fits of laughter.