Conversing with an ad

Conversing with an ad
October 16, 2001
By Peter Stair

I was biking to hum bio section yesterday when I passed a billboard carrying a gigantic bullhorn. “Hello Peter,” he said to me.

I skidded to a stop and turned around to face a smiling man wearing a large cardboard poster with a picture of a candy bar on it. There was another poster on his back, and all sorts of logos on his face.

“Did you just say my name?” I asked?

“Yeah, what’s up? You look fit, lean and hungry. Are you interested in buying one of those manly chocolate bars you really like?”

“Um, not really. I mean, maybe. How do you know me?” I said.

“It’s my job. I know a lot about you. I know, for example, that you once tried one of BMG’s buy-one-get-eight free CD deals. Which reminds me: I’ll bet you want to buy the new Radiohead CD for half price. Rolling Stone called it, ‘excellent.’”

He held a copy forward and smiled nicely. The billboards on his back transformed from an image of a candy bar to a picture of the Radiohead album cover.

“Who are you?”

“I’m your friend. I’m here to let you know about all the fun you could be having. I help people find what they want. I also like girls who wear Abercrombie and Fitch.”

He smiled again.

“Sounds like you’re a product pusher.” I said suspiciously.

“I prefer to see myself as a story-teller, like Dickens, or Homer, or even Jesus.” He paused, then told me, “I encourage people to live their dreams, and then I show them how simply they can attain these dreams by going to the store. People like my stories.”

“You’re not like Jesus!” I exclaimed ridiculously. I wondered why I was talking to an advertisement.

“No, you’re right. I’m much more exciting. Unlike Him, I fill otherwise drab public spaces with stimulating pictures and thoughts. I sponsor free giveaways and sporting events. I even provide you with free entertainment on the TV and in the newspaper.”

He was a good salesman.

He continued, “And, after all, isn’t life boring when you’re happy with what you already have?”

I paused and thought about all the ways advertising had improved my life.

“So, do you want this CD?” he prodded. “I have friends who say it changed their lives.”

“Wait,” I said, still thinking about story-telling. “Maybe city bus rides are cheaper because of you, but you also play on our emotions and stir our insecurities to create needs.”

He looked at me quizzically. “Like,” I continued, “You make people work 60 hour weeks at jobs they don’t like just so they can pay for a luxury car.”

He nodded thoughtfully, as if he had heard what I had said before.

“Here’s a better way of looking at it: I help people satisfy needs they previously didn’t even know about.” He enunciated the last few words with confident enthusiasm. “People are living with luxuries they wouldn’t even have dreamed of without me.”

“But do you think we’re all better off once we find these needs?” I asked.

“Isn’t it self-apparent?” he gasped, “Humanity is enjoying its blissful self-actualization! I mean, we’re beyond satisfying merely our basic material needs. Only now have we been able to spend so much time on higher pursuits, like working on computers, or driving cars.” As he spoke, his Nike swoosh mohawk shook enchantingly.

“I thought we were destroying our habitat and making ourselves miserable at the same time.”

“Well, I suggest you reconsider that opinion,” he said brusquely. Then he tried another pitch, “Surely, you’d at least agree that we help each other by buying more things.”

He looked at me dramatically. “Yes, if we weren’t always wanting more things, the economy wouldn’t grow fast enough, and there wouldn’t be enough jobs. Indeed, without ad guys like me, society would fall apart.”

“So you’re just doing your duty as a citizen?” I said, catching on.

“Precisely. And you would be too if you only bought this CD today!”

“No. That can’t be right.” I resisted, “There’s got to be a better way.”

“Not really. Unless you’re willing to talk about some pretty revolutionary things. . .” he tapered off. “So! Do you want this CD or not?”

I checked my pockets, pretended they were empty, and shook my head sadly. “Sorry,” I replied.

“All ri-ight, but don’t blame me when the economy falls apart.”

Bewildered, I finished biking to hum bio section.

Peter Stair is a junior human ecology major. If you dare him, he is willing to be the first person he knows of to write a column without declarative, imperative and exclamatory sentences.