A Commercial and an Infomercial

Yesterday, I helped with a commercial, so I’m going to be an extra. 

I mention this, because in our culture, being on tv, even briefly, is still something people are willing to debase themselves to do. American Idol’s first few episodes are full of people willing to destroy their lives belting out off-key versions of Mariah Carey. “I was on tv! Simon Cowell hissed at me. Now I can die knowing I mattered in this cruel cruel world.”  

At the same time as our commercial, I helped out on a Spanish Infomerical at the same car dealership. 

I had one job, and at first, I kind of messed it up. I was supposed to drive used cars up to the presenters who would comment on the vehicle. Being a relic from another era, I didn’t know how these new-fangled vehicles work. To let you know who you’re dealing with, I have to point out that I’m not sure I even know how my phone works, and it is still difficult for me to answer it when it’s ringing. So, as a transplant from a time where vehicles were started with brass and wood clockwork machines, I now live in a Jetson’s future where there are no car keys. I had to ask how that worked, “How do I start this here contraption?” My Amish ignorance irritated the other Infomercial car drivers, who considered me an annoying luddite. 

I don’t speak a word of Spanish, so I drove up to the commentators, paused briefly, and then promptly drove off again. The director raised his hands in the air and made some sounds like the Sand Person who attacks Luke Skywalker in Star Wars. I sheepishly backed the car up, trying to concentrate and not run over the presenters, and they had to do the take again. 

Hating myself, I raced around the dealership, found the next vehicle, and did the process again, but this time hit my marks perfectly. I got the hang of it. Each time, the beautiful girl opened up the car door and there I am smiling for the entire Hispanic community of DFW to see. I politely smiled and subtly nodded in seeming comprehension at what they were saying, and drove off when the director pointed. Each of these times, wondering if the intended audience would consider me a “White Mexican”, like Guillermo Del Toro. This was done over and over.