Apr 212007

My gas pump talked to me tonight. “NBC at the Pump” it’s called. After driving 50 miles past intimidating billboards, screaming neon messages, ad-clad big rigs, and store window displays, I couldn’t even fill my tank without having my mind drained by corporate sponsorship. NBC has infiltrated the sacred four minutes of silence that it takes to fill a gas tank by fusing a television monitor right above the gas pump. I caught yesterday’s weather, several ads for various NBC programming, and several more ads for Shell. In between ads, Matt Lauer told me something that I no longer remember. Katie Curic reminded me that Matt Lauer said something. And some new sitcom is coming out this Spring or Fall, whichever comes first.

The pump refused to spew a receipt, so I trudged to the glass snack shack to request one in person.  Past the Shell garbage can and the rack of LA Times newspapers. I walked past the postered windows twice before I found the one that concealed the door. I could barely see the man behind the counter, as he was obscured by a Lotto ticket machine and Slim Jim beef stick box. I talked to Slim Jim and received a printed receipt; on the back was a coupon for free coffee between 5 and 7am. I pictured dozens of sleepy people in pajamas at the crack of dawn, fumbling around the glass building for the hidden door, not unlike the zombies from Night of the Living Dead.

A horror flick, you say? If you classify advertisers as grotesque, mindless worms, I suppose you can say my brain was sucked dry by them.

Posted by Jefferson