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David Spates The giant sumo worked You should have seen the rear view of this
25-foot giant sumo wrestler. The last time I saw cheeks like
that was at a Dizzy Gillespie concert. Where oh where did I spy a 25-foot sumo wrestler?
At a used car dealership, of course. Where else would one expect
to encounter such a vision? My family and I were driving down Chapman
Highway in Knoxville over the weekend en route to dinner, and
that's when I saw it - a huge, inflatable sumo wrestler standing
guard at a dinky little used car dealership. It's the kind of
dealership where they proudly proclaim that they tote the note
and bankruptcies are no problem. Strange how I've never seen
a giant inflatable sumo wrestler at a Mercedes or BMW dealership. Driving by, I found myself just staring at
this ridiculous monstrosity. "What does a sumo wrestler
have to do with selling used cars?" I thought. "Don't
they know how ridiculous that looks? Only people with room-temperature
IQs would be attracted by such an asinine gimmick." Then it hit me, and I felt my intelligence
quotient drop at least 30 points. Like a Pavlovian dog, I had exhibited the
exact behavior the marketing genius who inflated the giant sumo
knew I would. As I was gaping at what I'm sure is an affront
to sumo fans throughout Japan, I was no doubt at the same time
taking some note of the cars on the lot. Plus, the large-cheeked
sumo was ensuring that I would always remember that I saw him
at a used car dealership on Chapman Highway in Knoxville, TN.
All things considered, that's a pretty remarkable job of drive-by
marketing done in a matter of seconds. When we are presented with gaudy and stupefying
attacks on our consciousness, I dare say most people would initially
react the way I did. We're shocked that anyone would engage in
such a moronic ploy, but at the same time we realize that it
must be effective enough that someone somewhere has decided to
stick with it. I think the phenomenon is similar to telemarketing.
I don't know anyone - apart from the telemarketing weasels themselves
- who is a big fan of telemarketing. Some yutz calls you at home
as you're trying to enjoy the only decent meal you've had all
day. He's been looking at your credit history and is confident
he can save you thousands of dollars in interest payments. Or
he's offering you and you alone a great deal on a second mortgage.
Or he's from Modern Toasters magazine and he wants you
to buy a three-year extension on your subscription which, by
the way, doesn't even run out until 2007. Whatever this weenie is selling, we all agree
that it's quite annoying. But here's the punchline: Even though
we all find it very aggravating, there must be plenty of people
out there who buy it. If they weren't, the telemarketers would
have closed up shop decades ago. That being said, I have a hard time attacking
the bothersome telemarketers and that obnoxious car dealers of
the world without placing some measure of blame at the feet of
us consumers. As long as we fall for their dopey tricks, they're
going to keep cluttering the landscape with 25-foot sumo wrestlers,
and they're going to keep calling us during dinner. I try to do my part to bring an end to the
mayhem. I don't patronize stores with cockamamie gambits - no
searchlights, no clowns waving by the side of the road, no hot-air
balloon rides for the kids, and no over-the-top flashing neon
signs. (Unless I'm in Vegas, in which you'd be hard pressed to
find any building that isn't aglow with neon. Even the convents
there look like Clark Griswold's home in "Christmas Vacation.") Also, I don't ever buy anything from a telemarketer.
He could be offering a 2000 model Porsche for the low, low price
of $39.99 and I'd turn him down. Those people need to be stopped. |