Imagine someone stalks you, someone whispering in your ear all day long, someone whom you cannot get away from no matter how hard you try. Such brazen pestering and hectoring, as a matter of fact, is real. You suffer from it every day. You are shadowed even now as you read this. And there is nothing you can do about it.
A leading marketing firm has estimated that an average person is exposed to somewhere between 3000 to 10000 ads per day, which include. but not limited to, ads online, on television, on billboards, over the radio, in newspapers and flyers, in direct mail, through annoying voice mail messages, on vans, on banners towed by light aircraft, on tee shirts, on buildings, on shopping carts—solicitations found everywhere one turns. Promotions, sales pitches, lies, lies, and more lies. No escape. Some marketing people are even working on ways to project messages onto the canvas of the night sky. Imagine, a warm summer night and you want to lie on the lawn and see the Big Dipper only to find a projected advert for Copenhagen snuff, “the dip that makes you see stars” crowding out the heavens. To marketers, nothing is sacred except, of course, the bait and switch. We are awash in commercialization, a societal system that litters everything everywhere with appeals to buy, buy, give, give, donate, donate, ad infinitum. Hey, Buddy, have I got a deal for you! What do I have to do to get you into this car? Tonight is our pledge drive deadline, and your generous gift will be matched by folks just like you. Surely you can spare mere pennies each week to fight childhood cancer. Take our survey (which is a transparent deception to sell you something) and join the thousands who support the future of America. Just try to stay clear of all marketing or sales appeals for one day. Try it. Perhaps if you took a trek deep into the rain forest and left digital devices in your car at the trailhead you would have a chance to be free of the rubbish that clutters your life. For a day or two. But who does that? And then you must go back to what we call civilization, all that discourteous, rude flapdoodle that implores us to buy, or give, or sign up for a free trial, or come on by for a test drive. Run don’t walk or you’ll miss out. Do it now. You can’t afford to delay. How can you pass up this deal?
The market is inescapable, the non-profit and big-profit bazar, the I-Want-Your-Money barkers giving you that insistent come-hither look. They are everywhere. Consumerism is an enormous part of our sociopolitical American way of life. The mall is America. Everywhere you look the hustle is on. Even in our places of worship, especially those that espouse the prosperity gospel, the crass belief that God wants his followers to have plenty of money and to give lots of it to the clergy who deliver those tithing pitches in their preaching. Come on. God wants your money, too.
Our entertainment venues have become platforms for selling stuff. After paying fifteen bucks’ admission for a movie you have been waiting to see, you are subjected to twenty minutes of pre-movie commercials, many of which are designed to make mouths water and give all movie-goers good reason to head to the refreshment stand to buy a twelve-dollar popcorn tub. And a six-dollar soda. Stadia are named after products and services. Race cars are billboards on the move. A typical football game provides about 50 minutes of television commercials, not to mention all the virtual ad placements inserted onto playing fields and backdrops by the conjuring of digital technology. While listening to a baseball game, you may hear the announcer say, “The next pitch is brought to you by the good people at Bad Boy Bail and Bonds,” or, “Now coming in as a pinch hitter is Ichiro Suzuki who trusts the integrity of Japan’s leading financial services team with all his portfolio needs.” Our favorite soccer team around here is the Seattle Sounders FC, but on the players’ jerseys all you see displayed is “Zulily,” whatever the hell that is. I’m pretty sure the day is coming when parents will sell naming rights of their children. “This is my granddaughter, Bank of America. We call her BOA for short.” “How do you do? Have you met my wife, Chevrolet, Chevy for short?” Ah, the possibilities! Were I to live long enough, I’d like to sell my naming rights to “I’m a Sucker,” a Tootsie Pop reference.
I have always liked the idea of commercial-free radio and television. No such thing. PBS and NPR feature a cavalcade of fund drives begging for your money. Not only that, but they slip in paid-for announcements called sponsorships, not commercials. Big difference, eh? PBS and NPR even have the audacity to suggest that you include them in your last will and testament. Not only do they want your tax-deductible gift and a donation of that car you rarely drive, but they also want you to make it an automatic monthly payment, preferably withdrawn directly from of your bank account. Don’t you support good programming? Come on, man. What’s your credit card number?
Just now as I was writing the above paragraph, I received two phone calls, one from an imposter pretending to be an Amazon fraud official (do I need to point out the irony here?), and another from a man who started the conversation by saying, “Hello, Grandpa.” The call came from a correction facility, and the inmate on the other end of the line was about to ask me to wire money for bail, or some other implausible reason. Some senior folks might fall for these cons, especially those who may have a grandson prone to committing felonies. Or, more likely, an elderly person touched with a mild case of dementia, one who cannot quite recall the names of his grandchildren, or even if he has any grandchildren.
How did all this scamming and spamming and begging and hounding become so entrenched into our way of life? Can we combat all the money-grabbing? Can we somehow keep those circling hyenas from pouncing? You bet we can. Just send me $75.00, and I’ll reveal the secret to avoid scams forever.
But wait, there’s more….