Note: This post will only make perfect sense if you live in Central Florida, but the premise can be applied anywhere.
She haunts me.
She’s there when I wake up. She’s there when I go to sleep. She’s there when I’m fast-forwarding through tennis during a Grand Slam tournament, and she’s there when I’m watching live TV. She’s on every channel, all the time.
She’s in my head while I’m at work; she’s in my head when I’m at play. She’s always, always, ALWAYS, there.
And she’s so damn adorable that I sometimes feel guilty for wishing ill things on her father.
But this has got to stop. For months now, I’ve been bombarded by commercials for Bob Dance Kia and Bob Dance Hyundai. All of them are basically the same: Owner Scott Dance and his previously-mentioned cute as a button daughter, Grace, sit in a car, talk really fast, and repeat the same inane dialogue with the same ending catchphrase, delivered by the blonde, smiling Grace:
“Bob Dance, where everybody rides.”
I don’t blame the kid; her Dad asks her to be in a commercial, of course she’ll say yes. Wear a funny hat and outfit? Sure Dad! I mean look at her, who could say no to that face?
I blame the father, and I blame the people who decided to flood the Florida airwaves with their commercials. I wasn’t looking to buy a car in the last few months, but even if I was, I would not go to Bob Dance, ever. I have been hit over the head too many times with his commercials, to the point of making me NOT want to buy a product.
This happens all the time in advertising. That “Head-On” product that was so ubiquitous a few years ago on TV? Annoyed me too much to ever buy it. I’ve gone out of my way to not watch certain new Fox shows, simply because during the baseball playoffs they’ve been promoted every six seconds.
Don’t ad people understand there’s a fine line between consumer interest and consumer nausea? Don’t they get that by overloading your product onto the public, a backlash will ensue? (If you think I’m the only one made crazy by these Bob Dance commercials, click here.)
And furthermore, isn’t it a little creepy to whore out your kid to help you sell products?
I guess not, because it keeps happening.
Anyway, I can’t get this kid out of my head.
Right now, I just want the little girl in her cowboy hat to go away, far far away, and leave me alone with my L.A. Law reruns and my CNN and my “Rescue Me”(which, don’t even get me started, was AGAIN snubbed in the Emmy nominees).
Please, Mr. Dance, leave us alone. I’m sure you sell fine automobiles.
But if I see one more of your commercials, I’m driving to your factory and hurling something big through the showroom window while screaming “WHY?” at the top of my lungs.
I’m not a violent man. But there’s only so much a man can take.