Like most people, I've seen those Burger King commercials featuring the customers on hidden camera who are shocked upon being told that the Whopper has been discontinued. And like most people, my reaction was sort of a combination of amusement and horror. Mostly horror. Especially that one commercial with the "Go back there and get me a Whopper!" guy, who looked like he was about to go out to his car and get his rifle if he didn't get his Whopper right that fucking second.
Anyway, something happened that made me reconsider those commercials, and I've now decided that the customers' responses were totally reasonable. Even that one guy's. Not because the Whopper is worth getting worked up over. It isn't. The Whopper is a soggy, disgusting mess, barely fit for animals to eat. But it's not really about the Whopper.
See, it's not that these people were really upset at the idea of not getting their sandwich. It's that they had put their faith in what they believed to be an incontrovertible truth: that Burger King would have Whoppers. And when slapped in the face with the realization that that truth wasn't so incontrovertible after all, they didn't know how to react.
It's really not much different than, say, waking up in the middle of the night and seeing the sun out. Smaller scale, sure. But basically the same principle.
I came to this realization yesterday, when I went to the bank to deposit a check, getting about half of it back as cash. The transaction was going fine, right up until she handed me my money and driver's license back, but no receipt for the deposit.
Now, it's not like I need a receipt. I don't save them. I just toss them out after leaving the bank. But by God, I'm entitled to one. So I asked the teller about it, and she just smiled politely and said, "Oh, you don't get a receipt."
Right then and there, I knew what those Burger King people had experienced. It wasn't just the fact that I wasn't getting a receipt. It was the complete and utter certainty with which she said I wasn't getting a receipt. Almost like I was dumb for even bringing it up. And for just half-a-second, I found myself wondering, "Wait...do you get a receipt when you make a deposit? Or did I just imagine that part?"
My mind was blown. I was having, as Burger King so eloquently put it, a freakout.
Granted, as freakouts go, mine was a mild one. There was no shouting. At no point did I say, "Go back there and get me a receipt!" And the back and forth between me and the teller as I convinced her that indeed, yes, when you make a deposit, you get a receipt, only lasted about thirty seconds. But that's thirty seconds more than it should have.
If that guy from the commercial had gotten his gun and had shot up the Burger King and I'd been on the jury? He'd be a free man. You shouldn't screw with people's perceptions of reality. It can only lead to bad things. Funny commercials, yes. But also bad things.
Anyway, something happened that made me reconsider those commercials, and I've now decided that the customers' responses were totally reasonable. Even that one guy's. Not because the Whopper is worth getting worked up over. It isn't. The Whopper is a soggy, disgusting mess, barely fit for animals to eat. But it's not really about the Whopper.
See, it's not that these people were really upset at the idea of not getting their sandwich. It's that they had put their faith in what they believed to be an incontrovertible truth: that Burger King would have Whoppers. And when slapped in the face with the realization that that truth wasn't so incontrovertible after all, they didn't know how to react.
It's really not much different than, say, waking up in the middle of the night and seeing the sun out. Smaller scale, sure. But basically the same principle.
I came to this realization yesterday, when I went to the bank to deposit a check, getting about half of it back as cash. The transaction was going fine, right up until she handed me my money and driver's license back, but no receipt for the deposit.
Now, it's not like I need a receipt. I don't save them. I just toss them out after leaving the bank. But by God, I'm entitled to one. So I asked the teller about it, and she just smiled politely and said, "Oh, you don't get a receipt."
Right then and there, I knew what those Burger King people had experienced. It wasn't just the fact that I wasn't getting a receipt. It was the complete and utter certainty with which she said I wasn't getting a receipt. Almost like I was dumb for even bringing it up. And for just half-a-second, I found myself wondering, "Wait...do you get a receipt when you make a deposit? Or did I just imagine that part?"
My mind was blown. I was having, as Burger King so eloquently put it, a freakout.
Granted, as freakouts go, mine was a mild one. There was no shouting. At no point did I say, "Go back there and get me a receipt!" And the back and forth between me and the teller as I convinced her that indeed, yes, when you make a deposit, you get a receipt, only lasted about thirty seconds. But that's thirty seconds more than it should have.
If that guy from the commercial had gotten his gun and had shot up the Burger King and I'd been on the jury? He'd be a free man. You shouldn't screw with people's perceptions of reality. It can only lead to bad things. Funny commercials, yes. But also bad things.
2 comments:
You should have told the teller to go back there and get you a Whopper. Then you would have messed with HER expectations of reality.
Damn it. That would have been better.
Ah, well. There's always next time.
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