I don’t want you inside me; you are the incarnation of sadness. A simple bite of your flame broiled patty answer’s the question of Satan’s existence with a resounding: yes. With each chew, it becomes clear that they’ve perfected torture. This abomination came from Hell’s Kitchen… not the good one.
Like a shame filled conquest, I leave your drive-through and other options reveal themselves; the grass beside the porta-potty that has a hole in the reservoir probably has more flavor. But I can’t seem to ignore that sweet 2 for 6. It pains me. I know your not a deal because you won’t fill my sad void but enlarge it. Once done, my abyss will have grown deeper, wider, and darker.
Yet, I put you inside me regularly. Why? Simple, marketing.
That first bite into a whopper is a reminder of how bad something can be. You want the chicken sandwich from the place across the street, but they are out, and in a mad dash to console one’s hunger, you see the 2 for 6. What a fucking deal! Except it isn’t a deal. Immediately after, you’ll realize what you’ve done to your temple. Your soul actually leaves your body, and in the process, renders you paralytic for three hours. During that time, you’re body will join together with latent diseases that live within you and fight the common enemy of saw dust and glue that was just consumed.
No matter what you do, you’ll never escape the signs, commercials, or smells they pump into the air; each of these attacks reminds you and that simple remembrance is all that matters. You’ve blocked out the trauma from the previous experience – the gallon of water you had to drink to avoid mummification, the movie marathon you turned on before taking a nap, and the idle treadmill. All you remember is that for 6.66 USD (the Devil’s sign) you can have two hamburgers that make the void disappear.
It always starts the same way: the kitchen is clean, you are hungry, the ingredients you have are healthy, but five minutes away there is consortium of various food items. You fight it, you’re in pajama pants, you don’t want to put on pants – these are dark times, will the pants even fit? So you put down the book, and hop on the internet. A hashtag is trending, a promoted post appears in your feed, somehow your ads are all tailored towards five of the restaurants in that square block.
Each one of those assaults breaks you down. That’s how marketing works. You never had a chance. Everywhere you look you will be reminded. That’s all that is necessary: making sure people remember that the product exist. It may not drive a sale today or tomorrow, but sooner or later, you will go to the drive through in pajama pants and get the worst thing on the menu because it is cheap and easy.
The goal is remembrance: “Hey I am still here.” As time continues to march on, the past slowly fades and we lose the feelings that had held strong for so long. This plays out all over the place, from fast food to a previous ex drunk texting you in the middle of the night. It shatters your world, reposition your focus towards what they want, and it all happens from a simple reminder.
That’s the beauty of marketing, as long as you remember that they’re there, it is a win. Even writing a critical piece about the whopper, makes me want a whopper… thank god I made tacos. Stay healthy my friends.