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Scribe
Join Date: Jul 2005
Location: Calgary, AB, Canada
Posts: 98
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mAdMan
Calvin Bauer was an advertising genius, a Madison Avenue throwback, who had crossed the line. His craft had consumed his life until the two were indistinguishable. Thirty years in the business could do that. His real name was Frank Norman, but he had changed it after working on a pair of successful clothing ads. He thought it make him more marketable. He was commonly referred to by his peers as the “AdMan”, a name you could trust.
Calvin was a bright, impressionable sort, who had simply been overwhelmed by “adspeak”. His trademark eloquence had given way to catch phrases, while truthfulness became a victim of the ceaseless chicanery of the advertising industry. Calvin’s heretofore unknown condition had been dubbed “tritosos”, as it involved speaking and thinking in trite phrases. To illustrate the severity of this rare malady, consider a day in his life, from his perspective:
6:07 AM
Bauer thought that the best part of waking up was the Folger’s in his cup. He knew that it wasn’t good to the last drop, but life was about choices. He flipped on his lamp and brought good things to life. Calvin ate his daily bowl of oatmeal, which was one of nature’s most perfect foods. He also downed a Chiquita banana, knowing that it was quite possibly the world’s perfect food. He was amazed that this was not the breakfast of champions, and that they were not selling like hotcakes. Bauer topped all of it off with a glass of juice, for he knew well that a day without orange juice is like a day without sunshine. He had also read all of the news that was fit to print.
He showered, and then shaved. Calvin liked his electric razor, but not enough to buy the company. He squeezed out a finite amount of hair gel, knowing full well that a little dab will do ya. Bauer felt zestfully clean, despite the fact that his soap was not 99.44% pure. He pulled on his jeans, which were Tide clean. He had skipped his BVDs, because nothing comes between him and his Calvin’s. He also made sure that his shirt did not have ring around the collar. and looked for the union label. He left home with a “swoosh”, a definite by-product of his new sneakers. It felt good, so he just did it.
7:12 AM
Calvin wheeled his new sedan into his assigned parking spot, although it had been built for the road ahead. Though it wasn’t the ultimate driving machine, and quality had not been job 1, he couldn’t afford not to buy it. The deal was below invoice price, with zero down and zero financing. He had a tiger in his tank, didn’t leave home without his credit card, and wore a watch that could take a lickin’ and keep on tickin’. As he stepped out of the car, he popped a stick of gum into his mouth because four out of five dentists surveyed had recommended it. Getting there had been half the fun.
10:17 AM
Having craved the wave for the past thirty minutes or so Calvin decided to have some cranberry juice. Calvin signed a birthday card for a co-worker because he cared enough to send the very best. It was for the shapely Miss Clairol, who was lifting and separating. Milk had done her body good. Miss Clairol knew that gentlemen preferred Hanes, and that nothing beats a great pair of L’eggs. All of her men wore English Leather, and so Calvin had switched to that brand shortly after he had changed his name. One couldn’t afford to take chances, and besides he was worth it.
Miss Clairol was very smart in addition to being very pretty. She was good at her job and he had provided her with increasing responsibility. After all, a mind was a terrible thing to waste. She’d come a long way baby.
12:03 PM
Calvin was in his car on his way to lunch. He had not been sure whether to head for the border, or find a place that could do chicken right. He deserved a break today, but did not get it. Thank God It’s Friday he thought as he eased into the TGIF parking lot. His business associate, Allen Edmonds, had flown the friendly skies into town, and was to meet him there. Edmond’s rental car reservation had been misplaced, so he took a taxi. It seemed that the rental firm had failed, despite trying harder. Edmonds was wearing sunglasses, and it took Calvin a moment to determine who was behind those Foster Grants.
They sat down to lunch, and Calvin ordered the other white meat special. It was a limited time offer which came not exactly as shown. He sipped on his soft drink, which seemed to lack Schwepervesence. It was not a pause that refreshed him, but he had obeyed his thirst. Edmonds had chosen a foot long over a leg of lamb, which was served with freedom fries. It turned out to be a vegetarian hot dog, which caused Edmonds to ask “Where’s the beef?” He washed it down with an un-cola.
For dessert Calvin enjoyed milk chocolate that melted in his mouth and not his hand. Edmonds had a chocolate bar that helped him work, rest and play, although it did not specify any specific time allotment for each.
Allen Edmonds bought lunch with his credit card, which was everywhere he wanted to be.
1:28 PM
Calvin returned to the TGIF parking lot to find a dent in his new car. He was annoyed, but not overly concerned. After all, he was in good hands with Allstate, although they were not like a good neighbour. He had not saved money by switching to GEICO, and now he was glad. The car next to him had been placed in a Denver boot, which Edmonds got a kick out of.
In the old days Bauer would have habitually reached for a Lucky after lunch. A nice smoke was his habit, although he decided not to fight rather than switch. Either way, he had definitely decided not to walk a mile for a camel, even if it would take him to Marlboro country. After all, that is where the flavour is.
A friend had told Calvin to “hang tough, don’t puff” – advice he had followed.
Edmonds, however, flicked his Bic and had a Winston, which tasted good like a cigarette should.
The two men drove back to Calvin’s office for meetings before drinks.
2:12 PM
Calvin had a stomach ache. He couldn’t believe he ate the whole thing. Plop, plop, fizz, fizz. Oh what a relief it is. In retrospect, perhaps he should have found a meal that was finger lickin’ good. His broker called and was bullish on America, but Calvin had no time for that now. Certainly, he would have listened if E.F. Hutton would have called personally.
3:04 PM
Allen Edmonds was chatting with Miss Clairol. Does she or doesn’t she? That was the question, and it was not about her hair colour, which only her hairdresser would know for sure. She did not seem interested in Mr. Edmonds, but he just kept going, and going and going. Edmond did not seem to notice she was wearing a diamond, which is forever.
“Betcha you can’t eat just one” she said, handing Edmonds a bowl of potato chips. That was her way of letting him know that he shouldn’t let his fingers do the walking. It seemed to work, as Edmonds decided not to reach out and touch someone.
5:00 PM
Calvin closed the office door, with only the janitor remaining. He was vacuuming. He noticed the machine being used beats as it sweeps as it cleans. It seemed to do a good job, despite the fact that it did not suck like an Electrolux.
Even though he referred to happy hour as “Miller time”, Calvin usually drank Budweiser because he considered it as the king of beers, which seemed to be a better choice than the champagne of beers. Calvin also knew that neither of those choices had made Milwaukee famous. He made his decision quickly, for when you’ve said Budweiser you’ve said it all. After verifying the born on date, Calvin sipped his premium lager slowly, enjoying the good taste and good times it had promised.
“This bud’s for you,” Calvin said, toasting his drinking pal.
Edmonds, for his part, looked like he was trying to drink Canada Dry. He drank Cutty Sark to demonstrate that he would not give up the ship. Quickly in his cups, Edmonds switched to rum and coke, and then tried to teach the world to sing.
7:00 PM
Calving dropped his business associate off at his hotel which, in fact, did have the light on for him. Edmonds would take the bus home the next day. After all, their sign said “leave the driving to us”. He was free to move about the country, albeit more slowly on the wings of Goodyear.
7:45 PM
Calvin returned home and was greeted by his pet cat, which was looking for dinner. He gave it food so good that cats ask for it by name. He was tired, and decided to sit back and watch some “must see tv”. He grabbed the remote, which he trusted to the copper top, and turned on his television, which was like no other.
His wife, Liz Bauer nee Claiborne, was a former actress. She brought him a ham on rye, and a bowl of soup. She liked him to eat fresh. After taking a bite Calvin declared “Dear, you are a sandwich artist!” The soup was also M’m M’m good.
“Soup is good food” he added, blissfully unaware that he was lost in adspeak.
Liz Bauer had been worried about her husband for some time, and had been the first to see the onset of tritosos. She wasn’t a doctor, although she had played one on tv. She was, however, convinced that Calvin had lost it.
8:47 PM
Mrs. Bauer had called her friend Bob Hartley, a psychologist, and set up an emergency appointment for the next morning. He was among the best in his field, and was at the forefront of tritosos care. Billions and billions had been served by Dr. Hartley, although Calvin disrespected him for his controversial stance on the important “tastes great, less filling” debate. Besides, his good friend Joe Isuzu had said Hartley simply wasn’t a brand name therapist.
10:09
After falling asleep watching a movie about two comedians on a mission from god, Calvin Bauer went to bed. He jumped into his posturepedic, which his wife had insisted on. Pulling his 300 thread count fitted sheets over his head he fell into a peaceful sleep, and dreamed he was counting sheep on a Serta.
The next morning the Bauers drove their dented sedan to Dr. Hartley’s office. His new receptionist, Sara Lee greeted them warmly. Nobody doesn’t like Sara Lee, he thought. After a brief wait, during which Calvin perused magazine ads, they went in. The office was painted a colour that even a Dutch Boy from Pittsburgh would appreciate.
“Am I sane?” asked Calvin, a little put out by the visit. His scowl showed that he was not the man from glad.
“This is your brain. This is your brain on advertising. Any questions?” Hartley responded, while showing Calvin a medical textbook.
A disfigured, discoloured cranium appeared as the right hand diagram.
“What now?” Calvin asked. He knew that the pharmaceutical companies had many good products.
Instead, Dr. Hartley hooked some electrodes to Calvin’s temple. Liz was nervous, but said nothing. Hartley flipped the power switch, and Calvin felt a snap, crackle, pop in his frontal lobe. His head was squeezing like Charmin.
After a brief time it stopped, and the therapist removed the hardware from Calvin’s head.
Liz and Dr. Hartley exchanged glances. Outwardly, Calvin looked new and improved.
“How do you feel” asked Dr. Hartley, always uncertain after such a procedure.
Calvin hesitated, still stunned from the procedure.
“Think” urged Liz.
“Think different. Think outside the box,” added Hartley.
“Fcuk advertising” declared Calvin a few seconds later.
Dr. Hartley shrugged, knowing it wasn’t a typo.
__________________
"If I see an ending, I can work backward."
- Arthur Miller
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