Would you have a bag manufacturer make a tent for you?

Winning a customer’s trust is what makes it happen for us. Clearly, the folks who run the Bahrain Exhibition Center were happy with the bags we’ve been doing for them so when they had a need for a colossal “tent” for a major event, they chose to discuss it with us. From fabric selection to fireproofing to fabrication, we enjoyed the challenge of dealing something totally new for us. Finding ways to communicate all the zillions of variables with our customers was also an exercise that gave us learning and joy. We had a few anxious moments, but Sanjiv manages to make the most challenging manufacturing issues look simple and do-able. But the real joy came when they told us they were thrilled with the result and sent us a link to their event website www.asiaitsummit2005.com. Thank you Cheryl and Klaus from all of us at Norquest. Thank you for your confidence in our abilities. Got a challenge for us, anyone? We will enjoy working with you.

Why would people to PAY YOU to carry YOUR advertisement?

This isn’t some ad man’s wild pipe dream. In a world of skyrocketing media costs, here’s an amazing true story. I read this at http://www.poconorecord.com/lifestyl/alh97889.htm Columnist Martin Sloane contributed a story encouraging people to switch to reusable cloth bags, and here is reader Louise Fail wrote in: Dear Martin: At our local 99-cent store they sell a lovely, large reusable tote bag. Of course it carries some advertising, but I really do not mind! I bought four of them. One is for trips to the library. The other three reside in my car so I have them when I go to the grocery stores. I feel I am doing my share to preserve the environment and conserve the oil that is used to make plastic bags. Louise Fail Folks don’t much care to hear alarmist talk about environmental degradation, but the story is inexorably going home. They don’t like being passive victims of this sweeping phenomenon either. Most want to do something positive. You could cash in on this huge groundswell of feeling to get your message across in a manner that your stakeholders are actually willing to invest in. The big boys haven’t caught on to this yet. This remains an opportunity for the nimble and the imaginative. Dramatic isn’t it? Louise paid 99 cents to become a walking billboard for the brand whose name is on that bag. She doesn’t mind that it carries advertising. Ever heard of such a thing? All you smart marketing folks out there might want to leverage this insight. We can ship you smart, great looking cotton totes at less than a dollar a bag, with your ad message on them. Sell them at cost or even a little below cost to make them look even more attractive. Make them available at as many outlets as you can. You’ll be amazed to see how many people support your environmentally friendly action. Sounds good? See http://www.badlani.com/bags and select from a line of attractive bags you can use to co-opt your customers into becoming walking billboards for your message. At no cost to you!

Plastic bags should carry a mandatory warning

Most North Americans urinate plastics. Sperm counts are at a historic per capita low. Cancer is an epidemic. Shouldn’t plastic bags be made to carry this mandatory warning? There are no safe plastics; all plastics migrate toxins into whatever they contact at all times. Tax the bags, say Californians Against Waste. And I completely agree. It works. Ireland taxed 'em just 12 cents and usage fell 90% in one year. How's that for effective? There is a proposal to tax grocery shoppers of San Francisco 17 cents per bag. Why 17 cents? Because that’s the cost citizens of San Francisco are already paying in general taxes for some of the costs of plastic-bag trash, such as cleaning up the litter and unclogging the waste system. Northern Californians Against Plastic presented figures to show that if each of the 347,000+ households in San Francisco were to purchase a couple of cotton or canvas bags, over the approximate 10-year life of those bags the total amount saved -- compared to everyone using eight bags each week at 17 cents each -- by consumers would collectively be over $300 million. And, the bag fee would mean revenue to fund programs for the poor such as free reusable natural-fiber bags. The Chronicle and the Commission on Environment (the San Francisco body putting the bag fee proposal to the Supervisors for an ordinance) have this new information. You know what? Reusable cloth bags are the only sustainable answer. And they aren't as expensive as you thought. We, at Norquest can make lovely cloth bags available to shoppers at just 99 cents a bag (that’s just the tax they’d pay on 4 bags!). Just look at the reusable cloth bags we have on offer at www.badlani.com/bags/ - see how nice they look and then see how little they cost.

Sad saga of a plastic bag. A good read.

I've just copied this story from globeandmail.com. I think it makes a great read! Imagine this happening all over as it is bound to if we don't find a way to stop people from using plastic bags. Reusable bags are so much more logical and so affordable at you can see at www.badlani.com A sad saga of a plastic bag We're told to be careful what we wish for and I believe this to be sage advice. By ELAINE OPHUS Tuesday, April 5, 2005 Page A20 While driving to work recently, I was struck by the sight of a plastic grocery bag being blown down the street by the wind, rolling along in a swirl of dust like some kind of modern-day urban tumbleweed. Suddenly I was back in Edmonton, and it was winter, 1994. Of the 18 winters I spent in Alberta, this was the coldest, the longest, the dreariest. Even the platitudes that usually brought comfort weren't working. ("It's a dry cold." "It's a sunny cold." Ha.) As December dragged into January, then February, the prospect of spring seemed to be receding rather than approaching. Our house backed onto a busy four-lane thoroughfare. The level of the backyard was somewhat higher than the avenue itself, and a tall privacy fence screened the yard from the traffic noise. Outside the fence was a sparse row of trees growing on a flat, grassy berm, which then sloped sharply to the street. These trees were so slender as to be spindly, and so tall that only their topmost branches were visible from the backyard. The view from the top floor took in the yard, the street and the upper half of the spindly trees. One morning, around what seemed like the 53rd of February, I glanced out the bedroom window while getting ready for work. Something fluttered in the breeze near the top of one of the trees on the berm. It took me a minute to realize it was a plastic grocery bag, complete with red Safeway logo, clinging to a leafless branch by one handle. The way it was flapping about I was sure it would disentangle itself and blow away. Off to work I went, without giving it another thought. The next morning I looked out the window again. Now the bag had secured itself by both handles to the branch (only a twig, really) which became a flagpole (bag pole?) as the bag billowed and fluttered with every passing breeze. As the days passed, it showed no signs of loosening its grip on the tree, although the wind was at times quite strong. By the time March departed in its usual lion-like fashion, I was sick of snow-covered ground. Tired of landscape with no colours except brown and grey and white. (Well, there was the red 'S' on the bag, which I did my best to pretend was a yin. Or maybe a yang.) Most of all, I was tired of the sight of the bag, which in my mind had grown somehow to become a smirking, gloating, animate object. No, worse: it loomed like a symbol of the triumph of rampant consumerism over nature. It taunted me, it stuck out its imaginary red tongue at me. If the window hadn't frozen shut I might even have leaned out and shrieked at it. Now, at this point you might be inclined to dismiss me as a flake, a bleeding-heart liberal tree-hugger. So be it. But my theory is that I was suffering from an accumulation of winter misery. By this point in my life I had just had too many minus-30 degree days; too many hours spent bundling the kids into snowsuits only to have them play outside for mere minutes; had once too often lost my bedding plants to an early June frost. I couldn't bear the thought that soon the tentative, emerging leaves would be smothered by this plastic nuisance. On impulse, I walked down the street and around the fence and climbed up the berm, thinking that perhaps I could pull the flexible sapling branch down far enough to release the bag. Quickly I realized the futility of this: the tree was at least 20 feet tall, and much too flimsy to climb. I returned home, discouraged but not ready to give up yet. The next morning I phoned city hall. I was transferred three times, but each person I spoke to listened politely to my tale of woe, and I was eventually connected to the public works maintenance department. Making a conscious effort not to come across as some kind of kook, I explained why I was calling. The voice on the other end assured me that the next time they had a truck in that area they would look after it. I assumed they were just humoring me, but even having made the effort lifted my winter-weary spirits a little. When I got home that evening and went upstairs, I glanced out the window before closing the curtains. My jaw dropped; I did a double take. The bag was gone! Vamoosed! Took a powder! I was dumbfounded. There was no way it could suddenly have blown away. Not after nearly two months of being so securely fastened to the tree, through wind and blizzard and dark of night. We're told to be careful what we wish for and I believe this to be sage advice. You might think that trouncing my little synthetic friend would be deeply satisfying, but you would be wrong; by the next morning my euphoria had worn off. Humph, I thought to myself. No wonder our taxes are so bloody high, if they can afford to send out a truck every time some stupid piece of plastic gets caught in a tree. I think I'll phone city hall and complain about this extravagant misuse of expensive resources. I hope they at least recycled the bag. Elaine Ophus lives in Kelowna, B.C.