Gems from my Mailbox: The BJ's Invite
You guys. I received this in the mail the other day:
I feel the need to call out BJ's for the egregious promotion of a fantasy in order to sell memberships. I think it is blinding obvious to everyone that this scene would never happen in the real world. The family looks so happy - so very pumped indeed to be eating dinner together. I don't think I have to tell you that this is a farce because no family would be this very, very excited when they were about to dig into a plate of boiled carrots, boiled peas,
boiled potatoes, and a slice of turkey.
Who styled this? BJ's has a vast selection of food stuffs that are exponentially more exciting than this meal (Their plates could be filled with Stouffer's Mac and Cheese!). Which marketing expert said to her team, "I have this great idea - the set will be a stylish kitchen that screams '2016,' we'll drop in a very good-looking family, naturally, and we'll show them eating their annual '1985 Day' dinner feast. Kids love the 80s, so we'll have them looking absolutely overjoyed to have a plate of mostly thawed peas."
This level of elation does not exist in places where there are that many frozen peas.
My most vivid memory from BJ's growing up is seeing the giant trampoline hanging over the cash register area of the warehouse. This was, like, an Olympic-sized trampoline. The trampoline was so big that I didn't even want it, I just wanted to admire it. You know how you get new members, BJ's? Advertise that big fucking trampoline instead of your frozen vegetables. I would like to see this same family all jumping up on that great, giant trampoline on the next promotion you send me. Or at least give them a plate of ravioli.