The Maker of Dreams
Sounds like what happens to a loaf of bread after a couple of days on the table.
But it’s nothing like that.
It’s worse.
Imagine yourself as a child being given, as a gift,
…a plastic bust of Abraham Lincoln.
How would you receive such an offering?
Would you utter some euphoric phrase like,
“A plastic Lincoln’s head! This is even better than a bike!”
The Mold-A-Rama made possible the impossible.
It created a fevered demand for crappy, plastic toys.
The diabolical genius of Mold-A-Rama was a window that allowed you to watch the crappy toy being made.
Sort of.
Mold-O-Rama was a machine that squirted molten plastic into a mold.
For the unbelievably low price of two dollars,
you could observe a penny’s worth of plastic being injected between two pieces of metal.
After a few minutes of anticipation, the metal pieces would separate and the perfect childhood plaything would tumble out.
As an adult, had you decided to keep the bust for yourself and display it as a souvenir,
…the gaudy yellow color guaranteed that it would compliment virtually any room decor.
To actually spend money on a Mold-A-Rama figurine required the IQ of a pet rock.
I had a dozen of them.
At least.
Watching that machine work was an irresistible proposition.
Somehow, seeing the product being assembled imbues it with magical properties.
The same thing happens when I order a sandwich at Subway.
Anybody else ever own a Mold-A-Rama product?
Fess up.
2 Responses
I loved the warmth of the newly molded item and the baked plastic smell. Much more satisfying than even the squished penny.
More Satisfying Even Than Magic Markets.