Advertising and Anthropomorphic Personifications

I am in a particularly cheerful mood today. That is to say, I was this morning. I think much of it came from Beezle, or at least Beezle's vocal absence. Ever since he got connected to his "Internets" he has been extraordinarily quiet. It's something like giving a child a new video game on the day that you'd like him to do anything but bother you - at least that's how I deal with Will when I have the money with the exception that I get to play the game first.

Because of the silence from the ventilation system I've been able to get a lot done with my writing. I like to write to music. Usually I listen to my writing playlist on iTunes, but recently iTunes has been angry with me, so instead I’ve been listening to George Winston Radio on Pandora. It's mellow, and since it's mostly piano there aren't lyrics or sudden changes in the mood of the music. It makes for non distractive inspiration, at least until I get interrupted by commercials.  

Most of the time I'm able to ignore the advertising, but today the cosmos had it out for me... maybe it had to do with balance or karma or the ying-yang or something. Beezle wasn't preventing me from working, so something else had to get on my nerves. Today it was McDonalds. I am not exaggerating when I say that I was subjugated to four of their commercials in the space of one hour.  Three times I was ambushed by an a distracted woman who has trouble making her own decisions, but can easily add a coke to her BigMac for a dollar, or maybe to her chicken nuggets, har har. The other one I can’t remember, but it was just as obnoxious.  

Some people might have got the hankering for a BigMac after all the not so subliminal messaging, but not me. Fat Six Dollar Burgers from Carl's Junior can entice me, yes; but Six Dollar NastyMacs just won’t cut it. The redundant pitches were distracting, getting on my nerves, and dropping my word count, so I took off my headphones and made due with silence. Five minutes later, to my great frustration I heard a little ratta-tat-tat on my study door. Extra distractions weren't what I was looking for, but I saved,swiveled around in my chair and sighed, "Come in."  

It was Will. He was wearing slacks and an orange patterned vest that had been mine a month ago. It was loud and ostentatious and the opposite of posh. However, I liked it. Wadsworth did not, and he'd somehow managed to manipulate it from my grasp. Seeing it on Will was slightly gratifying to my ego. The vest was big on Will, but so was everything he wore - probably because he lives in my dumpster and resupplies his wardrobe with items that leave mine.  

"Yes, Will," I said, doing my best display my annoyance at being interrupted, "what do you need?"  

Will placed his hands in his back pockets and leaned back a little. "Well, Sir," he said, "I just wanted to know if you're hungry."  

"No, not particularly,” I said, “Should I be?"  

"Well... I was just thinking about how much you probably want to go buy a BigMac or something.”  

I closed my eyes slowly and left them shut, "Will,” I said, “I'm trying to write. Why is it that you suddenly think that I need to pound down a greasy hamburger with wilting lettuce and a paper thin tomato on a deflated sesame seed bun? By the way, if you haven't guessed yet, I'm not a huge fan of Ronald McDonald's signature entree."  

Will bit his lip, "Yeah, he said, I know."  

"Then why are you in here bothering me?"  

"I thought that after you bought it you might decide to throw it away."  

"Why would I buy a burger just so that I can throw it away?"  

Will cast his eyes to the floor and mumbled, "I don't know… just 'cause."  

I'm afraid that I'm a little slow, and it took a few seconds of glowering at Will to mental connections. When I finally caught on, I said, "Are YOU hungry Will?"  

He smiled hopefully, "Yeah."  

"Well, I'm not going to McDonalds. I'm busy. Go ask Wadsworth to get something for you. Besides, his cooking tastes better and won't make you die from an early heart attack."  

A whine started creeping in at the edges of Will's voice. "It's not the same."  

"Yes, we just established that. It's better. Now please, I have worked to do."  

"Fine." Will stomped off toward the kitchen leaving my door open. I covered my face with my hands and sighed. Then I swiveled back around to my keyboard and put my fingers on the keys. The moment they touched the plastic, the knocker on the door boomed out three slow rapports. That had to be Death. No one else had the talent to knock so ominously. I balled my hands in frustration before pushing away from the Desk and calling out, "Don't bother, Wadsworth. I'll get it." I wasn't likely to get anything done as long as Death were here, so I resigned to just give up for an hour. I exited my study and walked down the main hall to the door. Opening my door I found death hovering stoically above my porch with nothing but darkness under his cowl and his sickle in hand.  

I opened with the customary greeting that I reserved just for him, "Business, or pleasure?" (It's important to me, that I get that out in the open, you wouldn't believe how tense it is to sit through lunch, not knowing if after the small talk you'll be invited to permanently change residency to the underworld.")  

"Pleasure," Death boomed. His voice is resonating, crisp and deep. I keep trying to convince him to give voice acting a shot, but he remains uninterested.  

"I've been working hard this afternoon,” Death began, “and would enjoy resting and sharing conversation for a short time.” He hesitated before adding, “I would find one of Wadsworth’s rolls most invigorating, if they are available.”

I gestured for Death to come in, but without much enthusiasm. He noticed, and I’m somewhat embarrassed about that now. He regarded me and didn’t move, rather he said,”I know that you are a busy man and I do not wish to impose if you are working, have you already had your break today?"  

I cocked back my head and and screamed at the cosmos and the fates and whoever else had taken up promoting with my least favorite food chain, "Fine! You win! I'm going to McDonalds! Just leave me alone!"

You wouldn’t think it, but Death has expressions. They are subtle and hard to perceive, but I’ve been acquainted with him for a long time. At the moment, he’s head was slightly cocked and it was as if he was furrowing his brow.

“This seems like a bad time,” he said, “I will harvest more souls and come back later.”

“No. I said, now is just peachy. We are going to McDonalds and we are going to like it. WILL, get out here! We’re going to the magically toxic land of the golden arches.”

“Wouldn’t you rather eat a roll? It would taste better and contribute to, rather than detract from, your overall health.”

“Don’t you know,” I said, “ ‘It’s just not the same.’ ”

“If you say so. It will be your funeral.”

“And yours. Get in the truck.”

And so it happened that the local home of the BigMac was first visited by Death. Do not fear for him. He has no arteries to clog.