1. This couple's new Charles Schwab broker can't see the Former Broker, except perhaps as a tiny image in the distance. Online conferences don't work this way. When the new broker says "hi" and waves, she's just assuming that her clients aren't insane and that there really is someone there to say "hi" to.
2. The new broker probably thinks her clients are insane. Who could be so dickish as to do something like this? "Oh hi, person we fired. Say hi to the person who replaced you." Seriously, I'd just tell these people "f-- off, former clients. I'm on vacation."
3. And as long as I'm imagining what I would do if I were the Former Broker, I'd remind these dicktards that they are on vacation at a fabulous beach...and this person they are talking to on their little screen is their NEW broker. That means that I wasn't doing such a bad job now, was I? You ungrateful jackasses got yourself a gorgeous beach vacation but I guess that wasn't quite good enough, because you dumped me for a new broker who has done what exactly for you? Snark on me if you are back at this vacation spot NEXT year, after you've given this new broker a chance to play with your money for a while. And if you find that you aren't in the financial position to vacation here next year, well, sorry but my client list is full. Go pound sand, you knobs!
Or...you could, you know...just PICK UP THE LOTTERY TICKET. Instead of screaming like a banshee as that liquid moves in slow motion toward it.
And because this is a commercial depicting life in the United States, we see a fat doofus jackass with an enormous house winning the lottery. Never mind that people who own houses like this are the LEAST likely to be paying the Stupid Tax that is the lottery. I mean, he's already got so much money that his long-suffering wife doesn't seem the slightest bit excited that potentially millions have been added to their already overflowing bank account.
This isn't complicated, you pompous moron: If you want to use this gas station's services, you're going to have to make a purchase. Squeegees and window washer and paper towels cost money. Maybe that doesn't mean anything to you, but it sure as hell means something to the guy who is operating this station on a paper-thin profit margin. He doesn't run this place to give you somewhere to pull into, take up a space that could be used by paying customers, and consume products you aren't paying for. What the actual hell- do you casually walk into stores to use the restrooms, swipe sugar packets from 7-11 and ketchup from McDonald's and respond "oh I've already got coffee/food, I'm good, I don't need anything thanks for asking?" You really do think the world revolves around you and your virtue-signaling hybrid, don't you?
By the way, the hard-working gas station attendant who will never be able to afford a car like that wasted way too much time arguing with you about the use of HIS squeegee- much more time than I would have. About the second time you repeated "no gas no squeegee?" I'm pretty sure I would have responded by telling you to pile your privileged ass back into your car and hit the road. Instead he played along, and you thanked him for his patience by buying fifty cents worth of gas and giving him a smirk which was essentially a middle finger. You could have at least bought a candy bar, but I suspect you would have insisted on carrying off fifty napkins and a plastic knife for your patronage.
Elitist Suburban White Family can't be happy just cruising around their neighborhood of million-dollar homes with their brand-new tricked-out Lexus; they have to use it to barrel through the home of countless woodland creatures, driving over what looks to be a hiking path and most certainly isn't a road at maybe 30 or 40 MPH. While the narrator says something about "responsibility." Yeah, something doesn't add up there.
Anyway, faux-rugged (check out the unbuttoned flannel shirt and five-days growth) Husband is listening to some podcast about an imaginary creature called a "Bearsquatch," because I guess this is something you're "supposed" to do while illegally plowing through the woods in your LookAtMeTank instead of, oh, I don't know, keeping your attention on the Not-Road you're on to make sure you don't run over something alive or- more importantly- put unnecessary scratches or (perish the thought) dents in that Conspicuous Consumption Middle Finger To the Planet you're driving.
And this is where the "funny conflict" in the commercial pops up to take the place of any actual information concerning the vehicle featured. The way-too-old-for-this-scenario pale, freckled, spineless product of Mom and Dad's DNA in the back seat announces that the mention of "bearsquatch" has caused him to wet his pants with fear and very badly want his security blankee. This lets the viewer know that, once again, Dad has Failed as a Parent for listening to a Very Scary Podcast that will give his offspring nightmares.
"He's usually asleep" dad alibis. Oh, really? Your son "usually" sleeps through your jaunts through forests? Maybe the constant bumps causing the car to go temporarily airborne woke him up this time? Or do you mean "he's usually asleep" during car rides, just figuring that it didn't matter if the vehicle he was in was crashing through a wilderness area or negotiating Entitlement Court and Whitebread Lane on the way home from soccer practice?
"He'll never sleep again" snarks Mom in her best "it's a good thing you have money because that's the only reason I married you dumbf--k" voice. Mom looks for all the world like she's only in this car because Going Along for the Ride is literally part of her job as Good TrophyWife, with the other part represented by that kid in the back seat. Yes, this 12-year old kid will "never sleep again" because he heard a few seconds of a podcast about an imaginary monster while cruising around in a Lexus in the Middle of the Freaking Day with his parents. Because 12-year old kid is made out of Putty, Pediasure and Mommy's Apron Strings.
The commercial ends with Hubby wondering if he couldn't do better than a nasty, overly-protective, ungrateful shrew when he went shopping for a trophy wife 13 years ago, Wife wishing she had just bit her tongue because after all, this is a damn nice Lexus, and son trying to find a towel to wipe off his seat before the smell reaches his parents and they realize they have to get the family pride and joy detailed again.
This just may be the most aggressively stupid commercial I've ever seen, and it's just barely tolerable if you don't watch it with the sound on. No, let me take that back; it's not tolerable even with the sound off. If you keep it muted AND dim the TV to the point where the screen is black, now we're talking.
This whole awful pile of steaming trash features a bunch of people with poor credit celebrating the fact that they've found a company willing to sell them stuff at high interest rates, drawing them in with the promise that this will help them "build credit." "Building Credit," according to Fingerhut, means Buying Things on Credit. Is "paying your bill on time, every time" included in this little lesson being given to children in adult bodies who should have learned how to control their spending a long, long time ago? Don't know- because it's on mute- but I seriously doubt it. I mean, come on- if these morons knew how to handle their money properly, they wouldn't be orgasmic over the ability to buy a lawn mower, and they wouldn't be going wild with joy over buying dozens of other things (like all that grill gear) that they don't really need. Seems to me that these people don't really need to be told the joy of buying on credit, because they experienced that quite some time ago and it's exactly why they are suckers for come-ons from Fingerhut, everyone's favorite warehouse for overpriced garbage that people with decent credit - or, god forbid, CASH- buy at regular stores. What they need is a cold, hard slap in the face and a reminder that Fingerhut- like every other company that extends credit- isn't in the business of loaning money and not getting it back. That lawn mower you're having so much fun with needs to be paid for, you stupid woman. That grill that lets you pretend that you're in the stable middle class for your neighbors has to be paid for too, you pathetic, financially illiterate man.
I'm willing to bet that the production of this commercial was closely tied to the disbursement of stimulus checks over the past 18 months. A lot of people living paycheck to paycheck- but still working- suddenly found themselves with some extra cash, did a little extra shopping, and found that they really enjoyed the sensation of being able to buy something without putting off an electric bill payment or dodging the Rent A Center Repo guy. Now that the extra money has run out, these people are desperate to hold on to that illusion of prosperity goosed by the $2000 or so which just fell out of the sky last year. Their credit rating is still in the toilet, so Fingerhut is their only option if they want to keep Spending and Pretending. Just a theory from someone who- Thank Heavens for a Stable Career- has never gone near Fingerhut, Aaron's, Rent A Center or any other dealer of Temporary Pain Killers for Poor People.
I used to enjoy going to movies, but I very rarely do anymore. I've probably been in an actual movie theater less than a dozen times this century. And it's not because going to a movie is only slightly less expensive than attending a major league baseball game. It's because I can't remember the last time I was able to watch an entire film without being distracted by someone's glowing cell phone, inexplicably pulled out because (I guess) the movie just couldn't hold the viewer's attention (or, more likely, desperate need for new stimulus generated by electronics-induced Attention Deficit Disorder.)
I assume it costs significantly more to attend a professional tennis match. Yet if I read this commercial correctly, the people in the crowd who paid big bucks to watch Serena Williams hit a ball simply don't find the action on the court compelling enough and are scrolling through their devices to find horror movies, cartoons, ANYTHING ELSE to distract them from the sporting event they paid to witness. Which kind of makes me wonder why they are there. Just like I wonder why the person sitting two rows down from me paid $15 or more to sit in a dark room with total strangers and play with their f---ng phones. Give me a break. Please.
As near as I can figure from watching this commercial no less than a dozen times over the course of two baseball playoff games yesterday, here is the storyline:
A very pretty girl is at one of those cliche'd parties at the beach featuring irresponsible young people sitting around a fire drinking beer. Maybe it's because I live on the East Coast and have never been to a West Coast beach after dark, but I've never seen this in real life. I've never been to a beach which allows fires or alcohol at any time of day. But whatever, I see this enough on television to convince me that somewhere there are beaches that allow this, and these young people are at least not breaking the law. They are just being asshats who are more than likely to leave burning embers and empty beer bottles and other trash on the beach when they leave.
Ok, Boomer rant over. Next we see a typical tv greasy Eurotrash wannabee eyeing that very pretty girl and finally making eye contact. Because this is television, the girl isn't at all weirded out at being stared at by this guy despite the fact I get the strong sense that they aren't a couple (I mean, they aren't sitting next to each other.) More like when Daniel LaRusso makes eye contact with Ally and won't break it off until she smiles back. But at least they were just stupid teenagers. Plus, it was the eighties, and everything was allowed back in the eighties.
Come to think of it, they had an open fire at the beach, too. So I guess beach fires are just a thing in California.
Anyway, these people who seem to have just met go running into the surf together, and seem on the verge of kissing. For some reason, a loud gong goes off which I'm guessing is just symbolic- the "gong" is the pretty girl's stomach letting her know that she's hungry (I guess they had alcohol but no snacks in front of that fire. That's pretty stupid. There's no end of snacks that go well with beer, kids.) She dumps the guy to head off to Taco Bell like she's in a trance- like she's one of the Eloi and it's time to give herself to the Morlocks.
I mean, if the sudden desire for a greasy taco from America's favorite provider of cheap grease and carbs wasn't so irresistible, she might have brought the guy along to pay at least. And then he'd have more insight into this girl he's into- she likes Taco Bell. I don't know how he'd translate this- is she just totally tasteless, or is she a cheap date?- but at least she'd still have the five bucks or so she spent on this late-night calorie bomb. Then again, by dumping Eurotrash she's significantly decreased her odds of ending the night pregnant. So for once, I applaud the decision to choose Taco Bell.
