Lisa Hates A Thing: Upselling

I know what I want.

At least, I know what I want in terms of how I want to spend my money. Other stuff? Not so much. Do I want to stay at my job or quit? Do I want to stay in the country or piss off and be an expat? Do I want to date this person, that person, or all of the persons?

I don’t know, so STOP PRESSURING ME. Jesus. And stop asking me about wanting god damn kids then giving me shit about my answer. I don’t trust anyone who wants me to do something that’s potentially going to give me a cloaca.

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I once told a doc I was thinking about having a baby and she said, “OUT OF THERE?”

Upselling is ubiquitous in consumer culture. Throw in an extra feature? Sure! How about this other option? Of course! Seems like a good idea! In the end, we wind up spending far more than we intended and hating ourselves for our weakness and gullibility. How did we not see that the salesperson was just trying to sell us more stuff????

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She obviously wants to come to your….ummmmm….whatever the hell it is.

My previous job at the Waffle House taught me everything I need to know about upselling. Mostly what it is and why I don’t want to do it. The training video showed me how to upsell chocolate or lemon pie…at no benefit to myself. Have you had chocolate or lemons pie at the Waffle House? At which hospital did you wind up?

This is the only thing you need to know about why Trump won.

Upselling is about suggestion. Suggesting more products or services than the buyer intended in the moment. Is the buyer here for a meal? Sell him desert. Is the buyer here for a haircut? Sell him a shave. My irritation is that I understand this is happening. I KNOW. I know when I’m being marketed to and I know when I’m being upsold to because I’m not a moron. However, too often this happens only when another human being holds my hair in their hands.

Recently, I got a haircut. This doesn’t sound like a huge deal, but I assure you, it is. See, where I live, women’s haircuts are fucking expensive. Most start at sixty bucks. Sometimes, you can find a place that starts at fifty. Thus, haircuts only happen for me maybe three times a year. Four if I have a Groupon.

So, this salon in an up and coming neighborhood* had an opening and only charged $45! Fan-fucking-tastic! I’m in the chair…getting my hair cut by a very pleasant woman…..then……

“What are your long term goals for your appearance?”

THE FUCK?????

My long term goals for my appearance are god damn simple: I want to look pretty, OK? I want to feel good about my hair, so that means a getting a good haircut.

Ohhhhh, but it didn’t stop there.

“Have you thought about tinting your eyebrows? It would add more definition to your face.”

NO I AIN’T THOUGHT ABOUT TINTING MY EYEBROWS!

via GIPHY

“If you didn’t want to tint your brows, an overall blonde would suit you. We could do an ombre. That would be so pretty on you.”

Bitch, you had one job. Cut. My. Hair.

But, you had to upsell. And not even products! I’m used to being upsold pomades and shit because they make my hair look like a photo shoot. You had to upsell treatments to make me feel like a more acceptable human female.

And now, even though the haircut you gave me is OK and only cost $45, I’m not coming back. Because you made me feel like a work in progress.

TINTING MY FUCKING EYEBROWS. ARE YOU GOD DAMN KIDDING ME?

You’ll never tint my eyebrows.

Fucking cunt.

*I’ll deal with this shit in another blog post.

Neal hates a thing: Adele

Neal hates a thing:      Adele

Many people who know me have been present for the visceral reaction I experience when an Adele song is being played, or when there is any Adele-related conversation taking place within my earshot. First, an anger bubble forms in the music centers of my brain (more commonly known as the Braintoven zone). Second, the bubble bursts, causing me to croak out something to the effect of “…Fuck this noise!” or “….Clicks and whistles!!” This post will hopefully provide some insight into why I have such a problem with Adele and what she represents…. THE complete destabilization of our economy as we know it……….

 

First off, I’m sure that Mizz Adele is a lovely woman and someone I would enjoy having copious amounts of booze with. She probably doesn’t eat the souls of kittens for brunch.

Don't even think about it.
Don’t even think about it…..

Second, her voice is fine. She’s an adequate singer and I’m sure she’d go very far on American Idlevoice, or whatever horseshit show is on television now claiming to find all the talent in all the people.

So, what’s my beef?

My beef is that she represents the soulless, unoriginal, pop music that’s packaged and manufactured by producers and jagoffs who spend their days doing demographic market research.

MUSICS!!!!
                                      MUSICS!!!!

 

“But Neal!! The music is so good and catchy!!!” {said the rando millennial in the back of the room}

In all fairness, I have a few guilty pop song pleasures out there that are extremely catchy. For example, Rock Your Body by Justin Timberlake is aces. Also, I cannot confirm or deny, but there may, or may not, be a Brittney song in one of my Spotify playlists. They just happened to strike a chord in my ear holes. But for the most part, the music is either similar and over produced, is peppered with the Millenial Whoop, or  is “sampled” from actual musicians who sat down with an actual musical instrument (note: a computer is not a musical instrument)  and wrote an actual song.

Now, most of this post sounds like it comes from a place of hate.

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But in actuality, it comes from a complete love of original music. This is an amazing time for musicians in that anyone with some natural talent can upload themselves to the YouTubes for all the world to see or, for a fraction of what it used to cost, record a professional quality album in the comfort of their home.

I think of it this way. Remember when you were a kid, and all you wanted to eat was chicken nuggets, and you would never dream of trying {insert smelly food here that you hated as a kid but now love}. For me, spinach was one of those foods that, if prepared with love and care is quite delicious. The kind of music I enjoy is handled with love and care.

 “But Neal! What does this have to do with Adele??” {said anyone in the room who doesn’t share my ADD}

While I conceded above that she has an average voice, there are so many other interesting and fantastic voices from female singers that most of the population has never heard. So when I hear people talk about Adele like she’s the greatest female vocalist to come around since Patsy Kline, my brain screams “but…but….what about…..”

 

Listed below are 3 songs by female vocalists who I think are the bee’s knees.

  1. Every Body – Thao & The Get Down Stay Down
  2. Brazen – The Heartless Bastards
  3. Salina – Laura Marling

“So Neal I’m definitely going to love all three of these songs then right?” {said your mom}

 

NO! That’s my whole point. A piece of music doesn’t have to be universally loved by everyone all the time. There are some songs I love that I would never recommend to anyone because I know it’s not for everyone. So in closing, am I telling you to go out and burn your favorite Adele hat? No, I’m saying there is more great music out there to listen to now than there ever has been before and it’s waiting to be discovered. So get on that shit!

Spear Hates a Thing: The Common Cold

I have recently been waylaid by the most dastardly of adversaries: The Common Cold. See, the common cold doesn’t want to really harm you. It doesn’t want to maim you or cause you any permanent damage. It only wants to slow you down, to make you slightly “less than.”

It is in this way that the common cold does its damage. You get a cold and you go to work. You stare at the screen blankly wishing for the important information that is on it to seep into your brain through osmosis. You try to think so that you can solve some sort of problem and find yourself devoid of any rational means to make a decision. All you can think about is how stuffy you are, or how much your head hurts, or when you are finally going to be able to return to bed.

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“There’s something important here, I know it.”

Your kids don’t care if you’re sick either. They still have to go to soccer practice, or swim lessons, or to that birthday party at the trampoline park with the blaring music and the screaming as the kids bounce and bounce and bounce. You’re begging for the sweet, merciful tranquility of a NyQuil-induced coma, but first…there’s cake!

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“NyQuil, take me away…”

In fact, it’s probably your kid’s fault that you caught that cold. Kids are remorseless germ-mongers who are hell-bent on spreading disease and viruses. You may tell them to “cover your mouth when you cough,” or “throw those tissues out when you’re done with them,” or “for all that is holy, please do not lick my face.” However, none of that will stop them from their mission to spread as many germs as possible, in as many ways as possible, while affecting as many people as possible.

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Adorable…and disgusting.

Your only recourse is to try to get right using some sort of medication. But, don’t try to get the medication that contains pseudoephedrine (you know, the stuff that actually works), or risk being labeled as a meth cook. Hey! Lady behind the counter! I’m not breaking bad, I just have a cold. Now, give me the good stuff so I can go about my day being miserable.

It’s entirely possible that I am bitter right now because I have a cold and my meds are about to wear off. Probably not. Fuck you, Common Cold. I hate you.

Lisa Hates A Thing: Viral Marketing

Your viral marketing plan is bullshit.

A few years ago, a massive sculpture of a single mac n’ cheese noodle popped up in Philadelphia near Love Park. In a city known for public art, a giant bit of mac n’ cheese wasn’t terribly out of the ordinary. After all, this city has a statue of a giant clothespin:

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A representation of all of our disapproving mothers.

Along with oversized recreations of game pieces:

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Because Philadelphians are sore losers.

And a statue that might just be of poop:

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A fiber problem?

Cheddar yellow and emblazoned with the phrase, “You know you love it,” the mac n’ cheese statue was immediately a draw for photo ops, which went all over social media. It as so fun! It was so Philly!

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Note the punctuation choice. A period rather than an exclamation. This statue is an asshole and knows it.

It was so viral marketing. Copies had been placed in several cities by Kraft. Because….I guess there are people who don’t know about mac n’ cheese?

How empty must their lives be? Had they been locked in a bunker? Why is there a need to market mac n’ cheese? It’s the perfect snack, it’s easy and fast, and it’s everywhere. Mac n’ cheese is beyond marketing at this point. It permeates the snack-o-sphere. You don’t need to market that.

Just keep churning out new ways to enjoy it, Kraft. If you want to market, buy some fucking add space like the giant conglomerate you are. Don’t act all start-up, you corporate piece of shit.

Which brings me to Lady Gaga.

I’m barely aware of her music anymore, but her imagery is everywhere. I can’t go on the internet without seeing her photo everywhere in promotion of her new album, Joanne.

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I’m part of the problem.

She’s permeating everything, much like pumpkin spice. So, I about lost my shit when I saw this stencil defacing public sidewalks all over Philly:

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Someone went to college to deface this public sidewalk.

It’s the mac n’ cheese statue all over again. Only now it has a fucking hashtag.

This kind of marketing is for start ups and indie bands, not an artist with a multiple number one albums and a recording deal with fucking Interscope. Jesus.

Fuck corporate viral marketing.

Lisa Hates A Thing: Bumble

In the world of dating apps, there’s losers and there’s losers. The losers are all of the apps. The other losers are everyone on them. Let’s review our dating app options:

Tinder (people who want to fuck). OKCupid (people without smartphones who want to fuck). Match (people with $25 a month to burn who want to fuck). Hinge (stalkers who want to fuck).

Then there’s Bumble.

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The logo looks like a bee hive AND a vagina.

The so-called feminist Tinder, which requires the woman to initiate conversation. Sounds great! But, those assholes at Bumble put a fucking 24 hour time limit on making contact. You match…..you have 24 hours to message your match…..he or she has another 24 hours to respond. This slows shit down considerably.

It also turns everyone into an asshole. Know why?

Because you’ve sent your clever initial message and then…. THERE’S LITERALLY A TIMER COUNTING DOWN ALL THE HOURS THAT BASTARD/ BITCH ISN’T RESPONDING.

That’s what I like in a dating app: building resentment immediately. I’m going to resent you eventually anyway, so let’s just cut right the fuck to it.

And the fucking action photos!

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“Maybe someone at the bottom of this lake will love me!”

I’ve spent some time on OKStoopid and I’ve seen to truly terrible profile pics. Mirror selfies. Bathroom mirror selfies. Bathroom mirror selfies that are obviously in a public loo in some shit establishment. And driver’s seat photos. So many driver’s seat photos. Why are you taking a selfie in your car? And why aren’t you smiling? Jesus.

Bumble is pic after pic after pic of people skiing! Cliff diving! Wind surfing! Hiking! Bumble is full of people who Do! All! The! Things! Like they don’t want to just make a cocktail, sink into the sofa, and watch Netflix like the rest of us.

He really wants to watch Black Mirror, but is worried his friends will think he's a nerd.
He really wants to watch Black Mirror, but is worried his friends will think he’s a nerd.

As a point of contrast, my photos fall into two camps: 1) me singing at karaoke and 2) me leaning against a brick wall.

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My spoken word album cover

How the fuck is anyone supposed to keep up with that shit? How is anyone supposed to feel OK about what they actually do when they’re confronted with another social media construction of a fabulous life?

Guess what, Bumble assholes? You’re not really fabulous. You’re just like everyone else, except with a couple more action photos. And I guarantee that I had more fun drinking whiskey and binging Snuff Box than you did on the ski trip where you took your profile pic. You know, the trip where you fucked that waitress then called your girlfriend a whore because she smiled at your cousin.

Fuck Bumble.