Someone recently told me “You can’t beat free” when it comes to marketing. This made me think a bit. I often see businesses settle for lower-cost options when investing in PR and outreach efforts.

I understand that many folks hit a wall when it comes down to available budget. Let’s face it, the cost of building a business does not come cheap. However, sometimes “more-affordable” doesn’t necessarily translate to “greatest value.”

For this particular blog, I’ll use the example of online marketing. At one point or another, most companies realize they can benefit from a Web site. Many of them shop around and discover, huh, it’s kind of expensive!

Overwhelmed with price tags and techno-dork jargon like SEO, back-end programming, etc. – the quest for Internet presence quickly turns into a journey of hellacious proportions. Confused and discouraged, the business decides to explore simpler options. Enter: the friend whose nephew builds Web sites in his spare time.

We all know someone who fits this description. They find out you’re in need of a site, and pitch a family member’s IT services. The real clincher: “He does everything for around $300!”

Now that’s what I’m talking about. No over-the-top lingo to decipher, no signed agreements, no four-figure fee… In short, no-brainer – right?

Listen, if you can get a professional-looking, custom Web site with clean aesthetics, strong market message and smooth navigation for less than $1,000, more power to you. Jump at that bargain and never look back. In fact, e-mail me the contact info of the person building the site. I want to use them as a contractor!

In my experience, it just doesn’t work that way. Yes, I’m one person, so please understand that I hope I’m missing out on something. I think every business owner deserves a fair shake to promote their products and services – whether it be through online or traditional marketing methods.

But the idea of delivering a company’s greatest asset – a steady stream of consumers – for pennies on the dollar…It simply doesn’t add up. I liken it to buying a new BMW for the cost of a pinto – it can’t happen. The fact is, we pay more for performance. The same goes in marketing, whether it’s a Website or other tool.

I talk to entrepreneurs every day who let price determine their marketing decisions, not quality or effectiveness. Those same folks tend to come back a few months later looking for fixes to their once “bargain” purchases. Sometimes we can help them without completely starting over, but those occasions are few and far between. More often, they must spend additional money to correct the situation – one that could have been avoided if they questioned: “Why’s the price so low?”

It seems the answer always comes back to the same three scenarios.

The contractor charges less because they:
A.    Do this just as a hobby (the son of a friend’s friend)
B.    Lack experience  (the portfolio builder, looking to get some work under their belt)
C.    Lack capabilities (a template seller – one size fits all)

Don’t get me wrong, there are cases when these folks step it up and provide a stellar product. But, you should at least review their track record before letting the low cost sway your decision. The main thing to remember is: if money’s tight, there’s nothing wrong with waiting for marketing. That’s fine. While the need might feel urgent, investing in useless or inferior tools and services won’t help. If anything, it will just make it more stressful. Take some extra time to build up savings, do research and purchase effective marketing. No matter the case, don’t dive head first into the grave that is frugality – at least when it applies to your growing your livelihood.

Mornings at the Bon house typically go something like this: My son (Grayson) wakes up around 7 a.m.; all hell breaks loose with the cats shortly thereafter. Non-stop meowing, jumping up and clawing the walls, unattended food plates knocked to the floor. It makes for a pretty nerve-racking start to the day.

Vinnie, the youngest of the two hairball bros, isn’t so much rambunctious as he is paranoid. He walks through life mired in anxiety, his face looking like he just got mugged. This is the same guy who occasionally goes primal and relieves himself on the laundry room floor. Hell, why should he overextend himself and take that extra step into the litter box? That might cut into his “me time.”

In Vinnie’s defense, these accidents only occur when the washing machine’s been running sometime in the last 24 hours. I guess the hum of a turn cycle – or mere thought of it – frightens him. Who knows? At this point, I don’t even ask questions… Just grab the paper towels, 409 sanitizer and wipe up what’s left of my dignity.

Even so, Vinnie isn’t that bad. The real problems stem from Mario – a feline version of Gallagher, who insists on destroying stuff to get attention. Maybe he’s “acting out” because of Grayson. Maybe he’s more jackass than cat. Whatever the case, his bag of shenanigans is the gift that keeps on giving.

He’s the only lactose intolerant feline I know. Every day, he leaps up onto Grayson’s highchair and licks clean yogurt cups, bowls of cereal milk, etc. He then proceeds by vomiting, not on the hardwoods (which run throughout the entire house), but on the only surface rug we own. This happens once every 24 hours. I don’t know who’s dumber: him for repeatedly lapping up the very thing that sends him into throw-up fits or us for leaving the damn stuff out.

Last week, Sarah finally snapped and declared her hatred for the whiskered hurler. While cracking open a new bottle of the 409, she blurted out, “I’m so sick of this. I swear I’m going to open the door and let him run out.”

She was very mad. I could tell because she kept repeating the same thing to an empty room. Correction. Mario was there watching her clean up his snack gone horribly awry. It was almost like he was mocking her, saying, “Yeah, I ate it, and I’m going to do it again tomorrow. You just smile, and be ready with the paper towels, sweetheart.”

Later that day, he snuck into Grayson’s room during nap time. Positioned under the crib, he waited until Sarah finally got Grayson to doze off. Minutes after she laid him down and left, Mario starts bellowing this ungodly moan. We didn’t know what it was until we realized it was resonating from the baby monitor.

“That little EXPLITIVE is going to wake up Grayson,” Sarah said before dashing off to get him out of there. When she opened the door, Mario darted under the crib once again. The next two minutes made for a battle of the ages. She’d reach for Mario with one arm, and he’d refuse to leave. After some meows and an onslaught of mumbled curse words, a broom handle shoved violently toward the cat’s body finally convinced him to move elsewhere.

The whole feud came to a head that evening. Sarah had fallen asleep on the couch. I gave her the old “Let’s go to bed” try. When I’m tired, I say it once. If there’s no takers, so be it. I headed into our room and collapsed onto the mattress, Mario jumping up and curling beside me. “This is nice,” I thought. “There’s nothing wrong with this cat – she’s the instigator.” An hour later, a boisterous rant rattled me from my sleep.

“Are you kidding me? Are you kidding me?” Sarah stood yelling and pointing. “Look what he did. Are you kidding me?”

I propped myself up to see Sar staring down at a nice little pool of Mario upchuck on her pillow. I must admit, he was considerate about the whole thing, making very little noise when it actually occurred. I slept right through it.

Still, my wife was not so impressed. In fact, she was out for blood. We ultimately swapped places in bed, and I took one for the team.

The next few days following that whole debacle, Mario was smart enough to stay out of her way. As far as I can tell, relations between the two are on the mend. Nonetheless, I can’t help but worry we’re only a Yoplait cup away from all-out war.

Ever since my son’s birth nearly two years ago, I’ve noticed a gradual shift in the pace of life. Obviously, I expected this with a newborn taking over the reins. But, the changes still surprise me now and then. Actually, they outright slap me in the face.

I guess I’ve just started to appreciate the little things – my boy being one of them. Somewhere along the line, I morphed into a father. Honestly, I never thought I had it in me. But, my inner dad clawed its way through layers of bar-hopping, sports-playing, drum-slamming tissue.

I most feel the paternal takeover on the weekends. Sarah and I used to bounce from house to house, club to club – socializing. Now, we usually spend Friday nights trying to make sense of slurred gibberish. This isn’t too much different from back in the day. However this time around, the verbal slop comes from a toddler sitting buck on a potty chair, not a drunken friend.

A couple of years ago, I loved shooting some pool at Blue Post with a beer in hand. But lately, I just can’t match the thrill of “Bath Time.”  Those two words – which didn’t mean much until Grayson arrived – set off a series of events more entertaining than any evening I’ve experienced downtown.

Talk about chaos. Tell a 21-month-old he gets to sit in water for 20 minutes, and all hell breaks loose. It seems when the diaper comes off, he becomes his alter ego: the Desitin Bullet.

Everything starts with a naked streak around the house. Mumbling like an addled old man, he stumbles into the living room usually freaking out a cat or two. High-pitch shrieks, frantic flailing of arms…it’s all a part of the primitive ritual.

Eventually, we wrangle the little spaz into the tub. I kind of think I would have made a good dog catcher, but that’s another blog. From there on out, it’s all about the squirt toys, splashing, etc.

Elbows deep in bubble froth, I tend to wonder, “Why is this so much fun?” After all, there’s work in cleaning a kid who tries to pick up banana slices with his toes. I can’t explain my appreciation of these moments, other than I’ve swapped wild oats for Nilla Wafers.

During the BG era (Before Grayson), Sarah and I would stay up until 2 a.m. on a slow night. Today, we cherish our matching couch indentions. If I make it past the 11 p.m. news, it’s because of heartburn. I’ll admit, I enjoy sharing a beer with friends at my house. However, not before singing a few rounds of Row, Row, Row Your Boat for little man at bedtime.

So when I got excited the other day because Sarah bought me a tube of Aqua Fresh from Wal-Mart, I didn’t question my lameness, but rather embraced it. Yes, I hum Raffi (hippy gone kiddy megastar), have since renewed my love of raisins, get downright wired for Sunday dinners and speak cartoonese at least three times a day. I know, my life reads like a creepy singles ad on Craigslist. Still, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. (Oh yeah, I now also use clichés a lot.)

There’s something comforting about this new direction. Don’t get me wrong. I haven’t completely abandoned my nightlife ways. I can still see 25-year-old Steve ordering rounds at a local pub – he’s just a bit farther back in the rearview mirror. At the wheel now, a new 2-year-old party animal steers the way: One with an affinity for cookies, games of chase and chillin’ with his old man.

The other day, Sarah (my wife) called a medical business to retrieve some information about her past records. Knowing she’d be put on hold for a minimum of forever, she cranked the volume up on the speaker phone and placed it down on the counter.

See, this allows her to walk around the house with ease. All the while, static-pierced Barry Manilow tunes blast from the receiver and fill the air. It really makes for an enchanting time. Forget that I’m in a nearby room trying to work: Everyone must enjoy Sarah’s gift of music to the world – a keyboard instrumental of Looks Like We Made It, the extended version.

About a minute into the song – and a little unconscious humming on my part – the other end of the line starts to ring. “Hmmm, they’re closing the curtains on Barry earlier than usual.”

Sarah darts to the phone, kind of startled they answered so quickly. “Hello,” she says, then waits a moment. A very serious woman – maybe Manilow’s assistant or possibly a backup singer – replies:

“Your call is very important to us. Please wait and someone will be with you shortly.”

Click: Back to the hell that is Copacabana (the song, not the actual place in Rio de Janeiro). Sarah huffs, then proceeds by drowning her agitation in a can of Coke Zero. She’s hitting the hard stuff, and it’s only 2 p.m. Things must be bad.

For the next ten minutes, I listen to a symphony of background noises – guttural grunts from my annoyed wife, Calypso versions of Barry M., my child shouting fruit-drink induced gibberish at the cat…

“How did we get to this point?,” I think to myself.

All the while, the same message, “Your call is very important to us…” surfaces from time to time.

After about 15 minutes of this, I start to think about more pressing thoughts. Like, “Is Sarah’s call really so ‘important’ to the folks at this medical business?” I know that’s what Manilow’s lady friend keeps saying, but come on. When I receive an “important call,” I pretty much talk to the person right away. In fact, I have to speak at that very moment. What can I say, the suspense of not knowing makes me hit the Coke too – Coke Zero that is.

I look at it this way: When a friend calls, no one ever picks up the phone and says, “I really want to talk – just hang on for 20 minutes.” No, you do the decent thing. You screen the phone using caller ID. If the name takes priority over the television program at hand, then you chat. If it’s someone not so important, well, you don’t answer. Instead, just call them back when you’re damn well good and ready. That’s the polite way.  No need to leave them hanging on the line, while spouting falsehoods like, “Seriously, your calls important to us…”

I do have a point here. These days, bad marketing shows up in the strangest places. Of course, there’s plenty of it in television commercials and newspaper ads. But we see other subtle forms pop up in less obvious venues ( i.e. pre-recorded answering systems). Yes, believe it or not, your interactions with the customer – even while they’re on hold – are part of your overall marketing message. After all, it’s these moments when a customer decides if they want to spend any more time (money) dealing with your company. So, we should pick our words carefully during these long phone pauses. Don’t play a message every two minutes that insists the customer’s call is important, only to make them wait another hour. It’s just too transparent.

Businesses have schmoozed consumers for decades with slick talk, pretty images and reassurance that “You’re Number 1!” It’s kind of like those t-shirts that read “World’s Greatest Dad.” Sorry, there are just too many of them running around. Statistically, one of them has got to be a real bastard.

No, today’s consumer sees right through pseudo customer appreciation. You know – the company says one thing and does something totally different. Instead, honesty gains much more respect from buyers, increasing the chances they’ll do repeat business.

So let’s tell it like it is on those phone answering systems: “Why the hell are you still waiting on the line? We’re too busy to talk to you right now. Call back when it’s more convenient for us!”

Disclaimer: Bon’s Eye Marketing does not have a phone answering system (we can’t afford one.)