Published by Bárbara Ayuso
Pez Outlaw Diary.Steve Glew wanted to be a legend, but he only has one blog. Like most, it updates little. The log is just one more fish
Of the school of Internet, with a disjointed and uncomfortable design. Pure rudiment. Maybe it's all that could be expected from the blog of a guy from Michigan who barely makes it to the end of the month and writes interspersing lowercase and capital letters without any concert. But this redneck, as he himself defines himself, continues to shed his existence by chapters in that virtuality
Ignota, sustained by a certain stimulus: his life will end up being a movie. It's just a matter of time. It's not vain hope. Steve Glew is so convinced that for a decade he lived for posterity, which has put it on sale. Press
The F5 hoping that one day, any Hollywood director or producer will stop with the Amazon page where he offers all he has left: "Diario del Pez Outlaw: Book and Film Rights". An authentic bargain and also a real bargain: two hundred and fifty thousand dollars for the policy of a history of spies, action, villains and heroes, war of the Balkans, contraband, millions of dollars and PEZ candy.Steve does not fantasize who he will play on the screen, but he has carefully selected what should be the first sequences of overproduction; Which would offer a juicy glimpse of how an ex-addict came to win four and a half million dollars in just ten years, shaking one of the most powerful companies in North America.
January 1994. Border between Austria and Hungary. Between the thick snow that covers the checkpoint, one of the guards gives the stop to a small vehicle, driven by a man of about forty years of leafy beard and dark glasses. In the passenger's seat his son sleeps, in his twenties. The driver climbs trembling, dressed in a long raincoat, a blue velvet tracksuit and running shoes. They are two Americans, the Glew, who according to their passport have crossed a newly divided Yugoslavia after landing in Slovenia without luggage. What the document does not say is that the couple had thousands of dollars stuck under their clothes. The guard peers a military sack in the back seat, and points it with his semiautomatic rifle: "Hold him! Quick!
The guard is not in the mood. With their feet in an Eastern Europe recently devastated after the collapse of the Soviet bloc, they are not the first to cross the border loaded with grenades or machine guns. The rest of the military come to surround the vehicle, while the driver says in a trembling voice that his son needs an aspirin. The merchandise they carry in the military bag spills out when they pull it out of the back seat. They are not weapons. Hundreds of PEZ candy dispensers have been scattered over the snow, carpeted in children's colored plastic that become unexpectedly sordid on that stage. The guard picks up one of a smiling Santa Claus and scans him trying to figure out what's going on.
Although fascinated by this bizarre scene, Steve prefers the film to start with another piece of his story, after a black screen with mysterious white letters: "Kolinska." The word that caused it to end on that border between Hungary and Austria; And everything that happened later. A magic word, that of the "fairy tale that changed my life forever," he says.
It was 1993 and Steve was setting up his booth at a toy convention in Michigan, where he laid out rows and rows of PEZ candy containers unheard of in the United States. Steve-jasper barbed, narrow jaw, waistband trimming his prominent waist-had been addicted to this addiction for two years Compulsive disorder diagnosed as a syndrome of repetitive acquisition, which had replaced the former (collecting toys from cereal boxes), which in turn had also replaced the former (drugs and alcohol). When the need tightened even more and in his family farm without light and heating began to shorten also the food, sold everything and focused in those molds of Candies with heads of famous people. Collectors traveled miles and miles to get odd editions, for which they paid increasingly large numbers. So Steve started making inroads into Canada to collect those pieces of plastic that were already part of popular culture, and then sold them and mailed eccentrics from around the country. Profits were more than 500%. He could have stayed like this in an embryonic black market, but at that Michigan convention his way crossed a woman carrying the Holy Grail: an unusual and unique candy container called Silver Glow PEZ."Where did you get that?" Steve asked, hypnotized. "All you need to know is" Kolinska, "she replied.
It turned out that its yellow tile path did not end in the enigmatic Kolinska (a packaging plant in Slovenia) but a few kilometers and a lot of altercations beyond. His particular Oz was in Ormož, near the border with Croatia, immersed in a bloody war. So far Steve and his son Joshua moved, taking the first plane of his life that would take them out of the country for the first time. In that factory, an old building of the KGB, they made with the first shipment of dispensers PEZ, of extravagant forms and colors. Thanks to a factory worker nicknamed Elvis, father and son achieved models rejected by the company, leaving the magín of the Slovenian, which defied every limit. Steve remembers especially the pang of emotion when contemplating that black Santa Claus that later would be quoted in the North American market above the thousand dollars. Before, they should have crossed that border of the Austro-Hungarian border, stringing blackmail, episodes with prostitutes, trips to and from Budapest and lies in bulk.It was the first of many incursions in Eastern Europe of father and son. After Slovenia came Hungary, barely two weeks later, and the finding of the Jánossomorja factory, where the manager of the PEZ headquarters in the country (a guy whom Steve called Geppetto) gave them free way to get all the dispensers that They could carry, at a ridiculous price. Over time, he ended up making exclusive dispensers for them - and, of course, outside the company - multiplying the visits of the Glew to his installation. They got out of there with bags full of Bugs Bunny or Coyote heads, which back in Michigan translated into twenty thousand dollars tax-free.
The boom lasted nearly a decade, where Steve sold more than two million PEZ dispensers, paid over $ 100,000 in bribes, and forgot about the light and heating problems of his farm, where he could build up a stable of horses. The profits surpassed four million dollars. The infrastructure seemed so solid and the illicit business so prosperous that an office with five workers was needed to orchestrate everything. Collective fury and political turmoil had built up his empire.Illustration: relajaelcoco.
But Bernard Shaw already said that there is no man who can live on the highest summits for a long time and it was Steve himself who took down the slope. Sick of ambition and a bipolar disorder he refused to deal with, he began to unravel. "I will not medicate myself at all, I have finally found a use for my madness!" He bellowed, dynamiting without knowing the wizards of an illegal business based on discretion. The PEZ Outlaw starred recklessly in the conventions, boasting of its power and its millions. He threw dispensers from the window of his Jeep and showed up at meetings dressed up as a bear. A bear that was taken for invincible, owner and lord of a Brand that did not really belong to him. The noise surpassed the recommended decibels when a collector, the Austrian Johann Patek, refused to sell to Steve the valuable editions of dispensers he owned. The American smuggler showed up at his house to steal them, with a beard and an anger to Charles Manson and a single objective: to eliminate him from his territory. The thing ended with a chase in car of Steve to Patek by all Austria, of which the first one left airing bribing to the traffic guards with PEZ dispensers filled with dollars.
The villain the story of Steve Glew promised is not the Austrian collector, but the owner of the PEZ corporation, Scott McWhinnie, who liked to be called "Pezident" in a pun of originality. From the official franchise they stopped being alien to the millions of illegal dispensers that already circulated throughout Europe and the United States, and they chose to face it with the only possible alternative. The smuggler had to be crushed. Steve checked it on the spot in 1997 during one of his visits to the factories of Jánossomorja: it had ceased to be the Fish in command and the pleitosia disappeared. Geppetto, Elvis and the rest of his associates had received strict instructions from the top of the company and could not provide him with more dispensers. The molds had been destroyed.So he played it all to a letter. Dead the contraband route, was launched to the manufacture. He invested a large part of his fortune in creating the dispensers himself. It was not enough and he borrowed to the absurd, to create out of nowhere 134,000 copies of exclusive design that came to Michigan in a huge container in April 1998. Steve believed that would be the definitive blow that would make millions at the Cleveland Convention.
But PEZ had already stopped looking the other way and, on the very day of the inauguration, issued a statement that directly affected the waterline of Steve's business: "Those copies are fakes," the company said. The collectors then fled the product that Steve had made so costly, who returned to his farm with two tons of plastic and a bankruptcy guessing under the beard. PEZ had killed him financially. In the aftermath of the fall of the contrabandistic empire, the PEZ company also allowed itself to boast of its victory. Steve discovered it surfing the internet, after being forced to sell all his belongings and return to a
Misery that looked a lot like the place where it started. A new section called "Misfit Dispenders" had been incorporated on the official website of the franchise, where the corporation released strange dispensers, copies of which Steve Glew had manufactured. I had lost everything, even that. He reduced his specimens to ashes and buried them in his backyard, next to his failure."This story is all I have," Steve announces with thick red letters on his blog. "But it's not entirely true. A year ago the rights to its history are no longer available on Amazon. According to some unofficial sources, producer David Klawans (who one day read a story about six Americans escaping from the Iranian embassy and later turning it into the Oscar-nominated Argo) got them. Before, he called his friend journalist Jeff Maysh, who published a piece of Steve's incredible story in Playboy magazine. Since then, redneck has stopped updating his blog.
Now, Steve Glew has something else: an imprecise hope. And also a plan B hidden in the basement, in the form of dozens of boxes of cereals, of strange editions, between which counts a prized "Kellog's Bannan Frosted Flakes" that the most dedicated collectors ambition. Maybe Steve, after all, ends up being a legend. My name is Pez outlaw. For eleven years I lived a life that was more a fantasy than a reality. In those eleven years I gained about 4.5 million dollars. World looking PEZ dispensers. My opponent in this venture was the president of PEZ Corporation, Scott McWhinnie.
This post n the last weeks use of it is known in certain circles as the Pez Outlaw treatment.
For Pez Corporation it lasted almost 2 decades.
When you ask to be friended or follow me, make sure it's what you really want, because I'm relentless in pursuit of my goals.