When I was a teen my father once told me that I was too gullible and would, therefore, be a perfect candidate for a cult. I don’t remember exactly what conversation prompted this encouraging statement, but it most likely had to do with my belief in UFOs, ghosts, and the news about how a severed thumb was found in a can of 7-Up. However, unlike the other fatherly wisdoms he imparted to me over the years, such as drive-in movie dates result in pregnancy, sitting on cold concrete causes hemorrhoids, and walking to school with wet hair could kill me, I chose to make a concerted effort to be less gullible.

Unfortunately, the less gullible I got, the more cynical I became. Where I once cried watching Shirley Temple movies, I now sat dry-eyed and shook my head at the thought of a six-year-old tap dancer meeting Abraham Lincoln. I tossed out romance novels in favor of horror. I switched off sappy love songs on the radio and listened to Black Sabbath. Most of all, I stopped believing every television commercial I watched was telling me the absolute truth. Suddenly, I realized that Lemon Up Shampoo would not get boys to follow me around school. Washing dishes with Palmolive liquid soap would not make my hands soft, and drinking Coke would not bring about world peace. 

It’s the fantasy world of television ads that bring me to this latest tangent. With the Covid-19 pandemic forcing us to stay in our homes, shun friends and neighbors who now have the ability to kill us with their spit, I have been watching a lot more TV. And, as a result of my increased viewing, I’m seeing a lot more TV ads. Commercial breaks that were once filled with men on the golf course touting unpronounceable drugs promising erections, have now been replaced with melodramatic, feel-good, pandemic propaganda. All the ads start out the same. First you hear the slow, sad music once reserved for images of abused animals shivering in cages or ill children in wheelchairs. But now, superimposed over the music we are treated to empty hospital corridors and gurneys. There may be a still photo of healthcare workers sitting on the floor in hazmat suits and, of course, the pre-requisite shots of mask imprints on tired and sweaty faces. Then, just when you expect to see a heartfelt message about the toll this plague is taking on our healthcare workers, a graphic pops up that says, “We are all in this together. Brought to you by Frito-Lay.”

Frito-Lay. The potato chip company that is probably making money hand over fist off of people who are sacked out on their sofas stuffing their mouths with corn chips, is now “there for you.” But, it doesn’t stop with Fritos. Jack in the Box, Domino’s Pizza, Tide Pods, DSW shoe store and even cheesy injury lawyers have chimed in with their pandemic platitudes. I can’t imagine that any Covid sufferer quarantined at home with numerous health problems is thinking, “I feel so much better knowing Tuffy Muffler cares.” 

Speaking of platitudes, haven’t we had enough already of those corny, worn-out phrases and buzzwords? A New Normal. Unusual Times. Let’s Come Together. Be Kind. And, if being kind means running over several people with your grocery cart to get the last package of toilet paper, then we’ve achieved kindness. So, let’s put those useless sayings aside and get real. I’ve come up with a few new phrases that I think express what everyone is really thinking:

• This Sucks
• Get Me Out of Here
• More Booze
• I’d Like to Rip That Mask Off Your Face
• I Hate My Family

And speaking of family, let’s discuss the nauseating ads that show happy families doing Yoga together, making backyard vacation spots, playing board games and laughing in the kitchen as they prepare gourmet meals together. This is false advertising at its worst. For example, I saw my friend bike riding with her daughters the other day. “Out getting a little exercise?” I asked. Laura looked around, and with a guilty face said, “It’s not worth fighting with Emily about where to put the fucking comma.” I understood. Another friend confided to me that she had been fantasizing about selling her ten-year-old to the Gypsies. These are true stories that can not be smoothed over in television commercials with smiling actors and muzak. The theme to The Exorcist would be more appropriate. 

If my father were still alive, I don’t know how he’d handle this pandemic. He’d probably question everything Dr. Fauci and his medical team says and come up with his own theories. I can just imagine him watching the news, shaking his head and pointing his cigar at the TV while saying something outrageous like, “These scientists don’t know anything. This whole virus probably started with too many people going outside with wet hair.” If only it were that simple.