Thursday, 5 November 2015

Ramble: Obsolescence comes as standard...

DISCLAIMER: This post contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.

World of Blackout Film Ramble

As an aspirational, middle-class twat who enjoys breathy singer/songwriters backed by twee ukulele accompaniment, and who probably gets a warm glow from the stock-photos of smiling families which are used as placeholders in the packaging for new photo-frames, I really wish that more TV adverts for financial services such as banking and insurance were aimed at me.

That said, I looked very hard and I found one*...1

Right, hang on a minute. You were idly staring off into space with a petrol pump in your hand when you noticed your infant child's gurning face, and decided to return the gesture by demonstrating that just because he/she can't speak yet, he/she's not going to be the most idiotic person in a ten-foot radius. I thought this advert was going to be about you being a knob and forgetting to monitor the one job you'd given yourself before spraying a highly inflammable liquid all over yourself, your car and the garage forecourt, but luckily those auto-shutoff valves have got you covered on that front. Like that's a catchall for your monumental stupidity.

So this advert is about "wrong fuel cover". We all make silly mistakes though, don't we? Don't we? Y'know, like the kind of playful-palm-to-the-forehead thing you do when you're in the first flushes of new parenthood and you're so wrapped up in your little bundle of joy that you pay less attention when handling hazardous materials mere feet away from your nearest and dearest while they're strapped into an enclosed glass and metal container.

But hey, the insurance will cover the cost of getting the tank emptied and everything, so that's alright, isn't it? Sure you've lost an entire afternoon sitting in a confined space at the side of a busy garage forecourt with a child who's going to do nothing but eat, cry and shit and a wife who's hating you more by the minute, but as long as you're not financially out of pocket, you can just enjoy the moment with the family you were so preoccupied with, right?

But wait… you already had the wrong nozzle in your own actual car before you started pulling faces at the baby, didn't you? The damage was already done. Don't go bringing the kid into this, mate. This fuckwitted rookie-mistake would have happened irrespective of who else was in the car, staring at you in disbelief as you fail at basic life-skills. Again.

You're a parent now, sunshine. You have a miniature human to raise. You now essentially have to be "on" for the next twenty years or so, as that growing, vulnerable, impressionable person looks to you for food, shelter, education, money, moral guidance and support. You, the guy who can't read a label on a pump specifically designed to catch the attention of people who aren't sure which pump they should be using because the engine in their car might have magically transformed overnight into a one which takes the other type of fuel. Yeah, 'the other type'. There are only two available, there. You had a 50/50 choice in a question you already knew the answer to, and you still got it wrong.

Well I seriously hope that kid of yours doesn't have a nut allergy, otherwise you'll probably end up pushing an entire bag of KP Dry-Roasteds down their neck before phoning the insurance company and comedically sighing "hey, you'll never guess what I've just done?", then laughing it all off while a twee fucking ukulele plays in the background and your wife thinks '…what the hell have I agreed to?'

The insurance premium for being a fucking idiot is every bit as high as you deserve.
And it's still not enough.


*1 Which is a gentle way of saying that this fucker has been on my television way too much lately, and I say that as someone who doesn't really watch much television at all.

• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.

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