GoodMouth . . .
There were THOUSANDS of websites popping up all of which promised to do this, that, or the other thing and all of them were sorta stupid. I kid you not . . . we had a client that had a website where you built virtual fish tanks and then cared for the fish. They had hundreds of thousands of dollars in seed money for this venture.
There was ONE website that I hoped, prayed (and gave way more money than I should have to help) would succeed. Kozmo.com (go ahead and click but it is still just a landing page - 15 years later). Here is what Kozmo did: Brought you ANYTHING in like an hour. Warm Krispy Kreme donuts? Yep. Cigarettes? Sure. Condoms? What size. DVDs and video games? Rent or buy? Books? Why not. It was crazy. The crew rode orange scooters and carried oversized messenger bags full of ice cream and turkey sanguhwiches. It. Was. Awesome. And it failed. Miserably. TRULY ahead of its time (Amazon, Google, Walmart, and others now offer same-day and one-hour delivery in large US cities to marginal success).
Here's the thing about Kozmo. It reminds me how every idea and thing has a "time" and a "place". Enter my latest obsession (that I made fun of via social media 96 hours ago and then signed our house up for 72 hours ago) . . . GoodMouth.
GoodMouth is a company that, well, sells toothbrushes, tooth paste, floss, mints, and cigarettes (I kid about the last part - only chewing tobacco (I kid, again)) through a portal and then automatically (based on your preferences) ships you toothbrushes (and whatever else you order) every one, two, or three months. We'll get our first $14.40 in oral goodness (naughty laugh) later this week - good Lord willing and the creek don't rise.
WHY would I sign up for a service that sells the same stuff that I can buy at anyone of 19 (that is a real number) places that are between my office and my home (so I drive by them at least 10x/week thusly)? Simple. They allow me to save a little money and not think about it. It just sorta happens. That they give brushes away to someone else is great, too (but I'm not buying my stuff to save the world).
Why - for serious - would I sign up for this . . . because it is cool and fun and nifty and I love it. That's for serious. That's for real. That's for ever.
It is the same reason I would pay Kozmo to bring me a Diet Coke and a candy bar (when I could get them in the lobby of my office building). It is the same reason I pay for Amazon Prime. It is the same reason I never owned (and never would own) a virtual fish tank.