So I’m bound for the airport at 4am following the completion of this week’s business trip #473.9b and gassing up prior to returning garbage rental clown car. And as I’m fueling, I hear this creepy voice. And it’s 4am, I haven’t had coffee, and I’m on travel that melts my brain. So at first I think I’m a crazy person (I mean, more than normal). But then I realize the gas pump is talking to me.
Now it would actually have been worth it if the pump was offering timeless wisdom, or at least telling me to burn things. But no, in fact, the gas pump was asking me to join the rewards program. Then it asked me to fuel my body with various beverages and food. And I’m like, “Oh God, please leave me alone. It’s 4am, I just want gas, I’m paying for it, honest.”
I’m really glad I didn’t have my lighter at the time, because otherwise I’d likely have removed the nozzle, doused the pump, and set it alight. And then some bleary local resident would have gotten the 4am view of a flaming gas pump with a weirdo dancing around it giggling uncontrollably.
In the modern corporate world, every second you’re not being pitched to is a waste of 0.00000043% on next quarter’s profits. Every experience is worthy of an ad. I’m sure that soon enough, this is what you’ll undergo in your life daily:
– Flat screen full video ads in the bathroom stall of your local bar and/or restaurant; because what are you going to do, not use the bathroom?
– Your bankrupt local city sells billboard ad space; on the sidewalk; for law firms that specialize in suing the city
– You buy a $2 coffee at the most derelict chain gas station imaginable; and you’re asked to join the rewards program; or else the clerk with the shotgun behind the counter gets angry; you don’t want to make the clerk angry, do you?
– The emu at your local zoo is wearing a tarp instructing you to drink Red Bull because as an emu, he’d love to “have wings” if he could
– You get to church and the guy at the pulpit states that only those who worship Satan wouldn’t buy Wrangler jeans because they’re “so comfortable that Jesus just bought thirty pairs”
– You and your significant other get to that dinner party, and of course there’s at least six people hocking their own at-home trash cosmetics or jewelry; only in the future, they’ll actually put their hands on you and get shovey, like it’s some kind of medieval bazaar; you’ll have to defend yourself with the after-dinner biscotti like it’s a lance
And you’ll be invited to personally participate in ad campaigns too. You can already adorn your car in ads, so why not:
– Your dog(s) torso
– Your front lawn
– Your bathroom mirror
– How much to tattoo the Johnson & Johnson logo on your forehead?
– Your kid(s) torso
– Your own freaking casket
Hey friends, admit it, funerals are expensive. Your journey towards Valhalla via a bleached skeleton can set your loved ones back thousands. So why not defer some of those costs and help your local food proprietor make a buck or two?
After all, McDonalds isn’t going to turn itself around with their latest short-sighted, insufficient, and lazy new business plan. They’ll need that extra punch. What do you care that it’s tacky and your bones will turn to dust alongside an ad for $1 fries?
You’re a corpse and have bigger problems to deal with. Day One in Valhalla involves an introductory club fight with a drunken thug. Why is the thug drunk first thing in the morning? It’s what he does.
So sign that contract. Get in on the action, before everybody else does. Or else.
trust us; you’ll be lovin’ it; would we lie?