Battle Of The Undeservedly Smug Pitchmen: Caddy v. Citi
Two maddeningly self-satisfied ad bros enter; one leaves. (Sarah wishes they'd both leave.)
It's time for another splenetic episode of Ads Sarah Has Seen 81,459 Times Thanks To Live Baseball And The Contempt Their Familiarity Hath Bred Theater. Today's installment pits two baselessly self-regarding pitchmen against each other. Who will prevail?
…This guy. I hated this know-it-all bratsky immediately, and repeated exposure has not improved the view, since The Ambassador over here doesn't seem to get that the "bigshots" "stuck at" the cube farm are running the cube farm, or that his shitty attitude about doing the donut run every Friday means that, when he does return from the vacation he probably doesn't qualify for yet because he's only worked there for like 10 minutes, he's STILL going to be low man on the totem pole because HE SUCKS.
Also, ooooh, CREDIT-CARD POINTS. Like everyone doesn't get those with any card. You practically get points with PLAYING cards now; it's the worst-kept "secret" in retail spending. This self-righteous little don-utthole is starting to ruin donuts for me; it's that bad. Unacceptable.
But is this performance of I, Sophomore Intern more irritating than the condescending fartknocker who throws away an entire soft-serve because it's vanilla -- which, he hilariously points out, the product he's urging you and your sophisticated palate to purchase is not? Said product is a Cadillac. Fuck off, Paul E. Walnuts -- and if the vehicle's that awesome, how about you wash your hands after disdainfully letting that cone melt all over them, instead of clambering directly into the grampsmobile and getting the wheel all sticky?
Oh, my bad. He jams his hands in his pockets first. Napkin, dickhead. Get the knack. I cannot abide ad pitches that position the goods as an off-the-beaten-path alternative for the discerning consumer and imply that, if you don't yearn for the iconoclastic superiority promised by, let me point out again just as an example, a car historically associated with Mafia grampae, you're vulgarian sheeple who don't even know what selvedge is? And the entire premise is based on a false equivalency that assumes people enjoy vanilla because they're too intimidated by continental flavor stories like butter pecan, I guess? Vanilla is legit delicious and doesn't need your approval, Philippe. Park in a beehive.
Who is smugger?
Ooh, tough one. Philippe is derisive towards both vanilla ice cream itself, and those who consume it, but The Intern seems prouder by comparison of what he thinks he's getting away with by racking up points on expenses he'll be reimbursed for, when interns have done this since the dawn of what we used to call "charge cards."
Winner: The Intern
Who is smug with less basis?
See above re: The Intern 1) thinking he invented the concept of expense-account point-loading and 2) not getting that his free vacay doesn't mean he's going to get a corner office as an acknowledgment of his scam artistry.
But Philippe is acting like driving a black American-made SUV instead of a white one is on a par with living off the grid -- and it if were, it would still be annoying, because electricity and Amazon drones are awesome. We're also supposed to admire him, I think, for just chucking a perfectly good ice-cream cone.
At least The Intern's getting a trip out of his smugness, no matter how otherwise deluded he is.
Who is more wasteful?
Thank you for not hucking those Krispy Kremes into a trashcan, The Intern. You are also not shilling for a gas-guzzling 3BR condo.
Whose product is crappier on the merits?
I drive a Smart; I am clearly not the demographic for Cadillac's attempt to reposition itself as the vehicle of choice for snitty fortysomething rule-breakers. But I had nothing against Cadillac before I started seeing this ad.
I had nothing against Citibank, either, though I don't bank there, so it comes down to which I'm less un-likely to consume. Don't see myself ever buying a Caddy.
Whose tangentially related food is more sullied by association?
Philippe is more of a dick about vanilla, but because it backfires, vanilla seems even more awesome than it did before thanks to Philippe being such a noz about it.
Donuts basically come out unscathed; I don't want to run into this kid at a donut shop, but Donut Friday is a great idea and I may have to institute it at East Coast HQ.
In the alternate universe in which both these nimrods are real people, The Intern has the best chance of growing up and learning to keep his head down and trap shut about the muckety-mucks at work, who may actually know a few things about life and have the power to bust him down to inventory duty if he doesn't get his nose firmly into joint about the chain of command.
Philippe is old enough to know better and still thinks he can talk shit about my milquetoast soft-serve preferences, while driving a wannabe truck half the livery dudes in Brooklyn own.
If I can only cross the street to punch one of them in the tits?
It's Philippe. And if he thinks I'm not throwing his lavender salted-caramel gelato into traffic as well, he can penser again. Ass.