I make my living from advertising and marketing communications. Have for a long time. So I'm not one to complain about the ubiquitousness [is that a word?] of ads. While I will admit it can get tedious to be bombarded constantly by Tom Shane's nasal monotone on the radio, or Dr. Jang's horsey-mouthed cheeriness on TV [he's a local dentist, and he's just horrible], for the most part I don't mind ads. I read them. I study them. I critique them. Generally, I find them interesting.
Over the years, they've cropped up in all kinds of places that you'd never expect to see them. They're on those plastic separators you stick between your Doritos and the next person's beer on the grocery store conveyor belt. They're on gas pump handles. On the backs of taxis and your credit card bill and your jacket. Everywhere. And the other day I saw an ad in the most unexpected place of all.
I was reading a magazine article in a travel pub. It was a story about where to go/stay/eat/tour in some city. Palm Springs, I think. At the end of the story was the two-line mini-bio on the author. You see these all the time: "Joe Blow lives in New Hampshire with his wife and two dogs." or "Sue Meenow is a writer and painter who divides her time between Los Angeles and Sri Lanka." or whatever. It's just a little blurb to tell you a bit about who just put all of this information in your head. Mildly interesting stuff, and an extra perk for the starving writer.
Okay, so I finish reading the article, and I get to the mini bio expecting the usual patter. Only this time, in an article that never mentions airplanes or airports or the journey - just focuses on the destination itself - the blurb says: "Joe Blow traveled to Palm Springs on Delta Airlines. www.delta.com"
Gotcha! You've been sucker punched! Y'know, when I read a billboard, I expect an ad. When Jack Bauer is about to meet his doom, I expect a cut to commercial. And of course when I read a magazine, I expect lots of ads. But not in the writer's bio line. Not when I'm looking for a little tidbit about the life of a fellow writer. A teeny peek into his/her life. But now I know nothing more about the writer of that article than I did before. All I know is that Delta flies to Palm Springs.
Is nothing sacred?! How much did Delta Airlines have to pay to completely obliterate Joe Blow and his life, and along with them any chance readers may have had of connecting with him, however tangentially? Really, it couldn't have been more than a few hundred dollars. And if you're a magazine editor whoring yourself out for a couple of bills, you're probably in need of a thousand times more than that. So what's the point?
Writers have it hard enough in this world. We're underappreciated and underpaid. I'm one of the lucky ones who makes a good living at it. But most writers eke by, ecstatic over any recognition whatsoever, even if it's just a two-line mini-bio at the end of the story. But now they've even taken that away. What's more, they've subjected me to yet another advertising message that, this time, is completely dishonest. I'm not talking about the message itself. I'm talking about the fact that I was tricked into reading it. I wanted to slap someone.
I'd write a letter, but I'm afraid they'd print it. And you know if they did, under my name they'd put something like "Mike McGinty wrote his letter while wearing Russell Athletics sweatpants and a Calvin Klein sleep pullover, and wiping his nose with Puffs hypoallergenic facial tissues after sneezing on account of the large amount of McCormick black pepper he put on his Kraft Macaroni & Cheese." Sheesh.
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