You literally just get to make up the number. If you’re making a product, you get to choose the MSRP. That’s how my overly active imagination thought MSRP worked.īut as I’m sure you can tell, that’s not how MSRP works. Hence the elaborate fictional account above. Some people–myself included, as of last year–think that MSRP is an officially assigned number. As I turned the handle, the judge called out, “Oh, Mr. The head judge stamped the price on his forms and handed it to the security guard, who ushered me to the door. “Well that simplifies things, doesn’t it? All in favor of a $60 MSRP, say ‘aye’.” The other judges, expressions of superiority having returned to their faces, replied in unison. Stegmaier–does Viticulture include a pecan pie?” And that’s if it comes with my wife’s homemade pecan pie in each box. Stegmaier, from what I can tell from this components list, you’ve got yourself a $65 game at best. The head judge wiped his brow with a handkerchief. I’m pretty sure the last few lines were directed at the other judges, not me. Louis, son! We’re talking about Mississippi dollars here, not Berlin pesos! This boy comes in here, thinking he’s getting a $70 MSRP. Gasping for breath, he said, “Germany? This is St. I think the one on the left actually guffawed. “And where, pray tell, were those games registered?” The female judge really did not like me.Īll three judges burst into laughter. “My research showed that games with similar types of custom components and pieces have MSRPs of at least $70.” Stegmaier? I will remind you just this once that you are under oath.” The man on the left chortled before being hushed by the head judge. “I hereby plead for the court to consider an MSRP of $70 for Viticulture: The Strategic Game of Winemaking.” I tried to recall the formal language of the court as I had studied online over the last few days. The female judge–who I swear hadn’t even looked at the forms–addressed me with a smirk. Such formalities.Īfter stating my name to the court and swearing in upon a copy of Freakonomics, the head judge asked, “Will your accountant be joining us today, Mr. Where do you sit in an empty auditorium? I chose the second row and eased into a hard wooden chair. Without looking up, the judge in the middle said, “You can take a seat, Mr. The security guard handed copies of my application to the MSRP judges. Their average age must have been at least 65. Two men and one woman sat behind it, each wearing a purple robe and an expression of superiority. The room–more of an auditorium, really–was empty save a long, curved desk in the front. Tennyflower’s stamp before taking the documents and ushering me into the room. I was gasping for breath by the time I made it to Room 942. The security guard at the door scanned the top form for Ms. The elevators were too much of a gamble, so I dashed up the stairs. Two minutes! I grabbed the forms and sprinted down the hall. She was already scratching out the incorrect answer and stamping her approval on all three sets of forms. “Is there wine in the game?” she asked, peering over her glasses. You see, it’s a winemaking board game–Viticulture–so I wasn’t sure if I should put it in the “games” category or the “wine” category. After a few minutes, she pointed the tip of her pen at page 4, section 3. Tennyflower, MSRP Administrator, the nameplate read–reviewed them. I slid the completed forms under the bulletproof glass and waited while the lady–Ms. She was wearing those pointy horn-rimmed glass that went out of style in the ’50s, and her hair was in a bun so tight that her lips were pulled into a permanent grimace. “Next!” called out the lady behind the counter. The paperwork in my hands–filled out in triplicate by typewriter, per the instructions–was sticky with sweat by the time I reached the the front of the line. Louis Division of Manufacturer’s Suggested Retail Price. It was the middle of August, and the AC was broken at the St. I stood in line in the sweltering heat for what felt like hours.
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