The Plastic, Fantastic Cover

I have just about given up on the Tupperware people. I’ve been trying to get them interested in a song I wrote, called “The Tupperware Song,” which I am sure would be a large hit. I called them about it two or three times a week for several weeks.

“You wrote a song?” they would say.

“Yes,” I would say.

“About Tupperware?” they would say.

“It’s kind of a blues song.”

“Yes,” I would say.

“We’ll have somebody get back to you,” they would say.

For quite a while there I thought I was getting the run-around, until finally a nice Tupperware executive named Dick called me up. He was very honest with me. “There’s a fairly limited market for songs about Tupperware,” he said.

“Dick,” I said. “This is a killer song.” Which was true. It gets a very positive reaction whenever I perform it. Of course, I perform it only in those social settings where people have loosened up to the point where they would react positively if you set their clothing on fire, but I still think this song would have widespread appeal.

I wrote it a while back, when friends of mine named Art and Dave had a big Tupperware party in their apartment. It was the social event of the month. Something like 50 people showed up. When the Tupperware Lady walked in, you could tell right away from her facial expression that this was not the kind of Tupperware crowd she was used to. She was used to a subdued all-female crowd, whereas this was a large coeducational crowd with some crowd members already dancing on the refrigerator. The Tupperware Lady kept saying things like: “Are you sure this is supposed to be a Tupperware party?” And: “This doesn’t look like a Tupperware party.” She wanted to go home.

But we talked her into staying, although she never really accepted the fact that Art and Dave were her Tupperware hostesses. She wanted to deal with a woman. All of her communications with Art and Dave had to go through a woman interpreter:

TUPPERWARE LADY (speaking to a woman): Where do you want me to set up? WOMAN (speaking to Art, who is standing right there): Art, where do you want her to set up? ART: How about right over here on the coffee table? WOMAN (to the Tupperware Lady): Art says how about right over here on the coffee table. TUPPERWARE LADY: Fine.

Once we got everybody settled down, sort of, the Tupperware Lady wanted us to engage in various fun Tupperware party activities such as “brain teasers” wherein if we could name all the bodily parts that had three letters, we would win a free grapefruit holder or something. We did this for a while, but it was slowing things down, so we told the Tupperware Lady we had this song we wanted to perform.

The band consisted of me and four other highly trained journalists. You know what “The Tupperware Song” sounds like if you ever heard the song “I’m a Man” by Muddy Waters, where he sings about the general theme that he is a man, and in between each line the band goes Da-DA-da-da-DUM, so you get an effect like this:

MUDDY WATERS: I’m a man.

BAND: Da-DA-da-da-DUM

MUDDY WATERS: A natural man.

BAND: Da-DA-da-da-DUM

MUDDY WATERS: A full-grown man.

And so on. This is the general approach taken in The Tupperware Song, except it is about Tupperware. It starts out this way:

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.