Being Misled...

Being misled is a cornerstone of humanity. From the Trojan Horse all the way to "Compassionate Conservatism", we have an innate desire to package disappointment as something slightly less disappointing; To offer someone something, only to give them something else and hope they don't notice.

In other words, welcome to Hollywood.

Thinking back, I have experienced this all my life. Let's take a little trip down "memory lane", which, if I'm correct, will be called "Human RAM lane" in about 20 years.

Having grown up in NYC, 7-11 was an exotic, almost unknowable experience to me; like sex with an Norwegian. As a child, I saw the commercials on TV, but since there were none anywhere near me, the idea of one grew to mythic proportions.

It was my Godot; always talked about, but never there.

One fall evening in the spring of 1988 my family took a trip to Washington, DC, home of DIY punk and DIY drive-by shootings.

We were there with my oldest brother while he undertook the macabre charade that is "the college search".

I remember taking the requisite sight-seeing drive around town with the fam; "look! there's the Washington Monument!" "look, there's the Lincoln Memorial!" "look! there's Marion Barry smoking crack and having sex with a cheap call-girl!"

These were things I had never seen before, and they didn't fail to impress. But what was the one thing I was most looking forward to? 7 fucking 11.

7-11! The Gourmet Eatery I had only heard about during the commercial breaks on "DuckTales"...well, certainly I must go there post-haste.

We were driving:

"Dad!" I exclaimed, "can we go to the 7-11?"
"Good God" he responded, "why on earth would you want to do that?"
"I wanna go!!! I wanna go!!!"
He looked at me with a mixture of hatred and sorrow. To my family, the concept of a chain store was about as exciting as a weekend trip to Buchenwald circa 1944. In fact, I didn't even enter a fast-food establishment until I was 18.
"Sorry, kid, we've got to run to dinner".
"Can't we go there for dinner?"
"Uh, no, we have reservations"
"Can we go after dinner?"
My mother looked at my father with a "be nice to him even though he's being an annoying brat" look.
"Sure".

We went to the fanciest restaurant in DC, which fit it nicely with my family's lack of chain food experience. We're gourmands, which is French for "extremely picky and annoying". We were served and the food was amazing, but I wasn't paying attention.

Like a teenager awaiting the results of his SATs...I was a giddy mess. All I could think about were those amazing commercials; multi-colored frosty drinks, huge "gulps" of soda, and toys that tied in to the latest blockbuster film. It was my Xanadu.

I remember exactly what happened when bow-tied waiter came up:

"Still have room for desert? We were rated best in Washington".
My family eagerly ordered delicious sounding things; a la mode this, double chocolate that. My turn.
"No desert for me!" I excitedly exclaimed.
"Are you sure? We've got some really great choices"
My mother looked at me.
"Matt, seriously, are you sure? Everything here is great"
"Nope! I'm waiting until after!"
The waiter looked at my mother, she embarrassingly spoke:
"He's excited because we're going to 7-11"
He laughed "Really?"
"Yes!!! We're going!!!!" I shrieked.
"Well, I still remember my first time. It's never as good as it is then"
As a child, I lost the irony.
"Yay!!!!"

I can specifically remember that my mother ate a fudgy brownie covered in whip cream and gooey chocolate sauce. When my mother wants you to eat something she goes "mmmm" loudly, to underscore how much you're missing.

Needless to say, she was pulling an "mmmm" fest.

But I stood strong. I turned down every offer of a bite, because I was saving room in my tummy for whatever scrumptious delights awaited me at the wondrous 7-11.

Then we got there I and have never been so disappointed in my life.

This wasn't like it was in the commercials. I half-expected it have a velvet rope and a bouncer; checking the names of all the excited kids waiting patiently for their sugary delights.

Instead, it was illuminated with a dull flickering florescent light and the only occupant was a middle aged Indian gentleman.

My mother looked at me as if to say "sorry" and "I told you so" at the same time. This was the same look she gave me when I graduated film school.

Morbidly disappointed, I went back to the hotel with a mini-pack of Oreos.

Advertising's not just about making a product look good, it's about making the consumer believe whatever the product is...they need it.

And believe me, as long as there are gullible 7 year olds around (mentally or physically), companies will still market crap as gold-covered crap. I hope my story will illuminate this for a wayward child.

Probably not so much.