In childhood, I even used to like the advert. Why not! Especially when its objects sometimes got in my hands. The wraps of those incredible candy bars were carefully stacked, flattened out and put under the press, that is, under the hefty mythological dictionary. Then they served me in various ways… as a bookmark for Olga Kobylianska’s book, for instance. My school journal in high school was three-four times layered with stickers from chewing gums. I tried plastering the fridge, and the mirror in the hallway with beautiful colorful stickers, but my mother gave me hell, made to tear them off, no matter how, even with teeth, and strongly recommended to continue plastering exclusively in my “asylum”. Though, having bought a miracle washing powder for the first time in the late nineties, she couldn’t resist and ran to Aunt Vira from the third floor – to boast, smell and praise.
Now everything changed. I dream about at least one day without advert. But, no.
In the morning, I make a cup of coffee and buckle down to scrolling Facebook feed, struggling through it once and again. Among selfies, wishes of good morning and culinary delights of friends, the messages that hunting for some Marlin has already begun gleam in front of my eyes, that the panties of this domestic producer are so good that you’re unlikely to take them off and the heroes of this cartoon are wild and dangerous. Some general loud messages about treachery, abundantly decorated with exclamation marks… a fantastic vegetable cutter… a neon child colouring… and out of the blue – oh, blimey! The desired stereo system with 12 dynamics. Yesterday, I visited it on the website – admiring it, simply admiring because it costs… Facebook, sweety pie, hooked on it and now offers me it, a little beauty. As if saying, buy me. I don’t have money, I answer. Buy it, whatsoever – the Facebook teases me in half an hour. In hour. In a day. It won’t forget it for a while. Rubbing salt in my wound. There’s no rescue from it.
I make another cup of coffee. Dexterously maneuvering between the cats, carry to the computer, and suddenly a phone rings. SMS. Reach to read, dissecting. The variants are few. Whether a mobile operator offers some special tariff for calls anywhere and anytime even to the kingdom come. Or a favorite bank assures that it’s the right time for me to make a super beneficial deposit.
Finally torn my eyes, I remember that I have to go to the home appliances store because the hairdryer ran out of work and I have nothing to dry my cat. With a stone face, I fish out a few booklets from the mailbox – some Anastasia offers me to go through the sugaring procedure, new Internet provider assures that his speed is the fastest and some inconspicuous piece of paper announces the fair-sale of leather goods and various boots: only here and only for you! I wad the papers, close the mailbox, recollecting that sugaring is when a living human is torn off the body hair. I’d rather think about the article I ought to write this evening, but this sugaring is bouncing around in my head.
I pass the billboards with slogans “Guarantee!”, “We’ll fight!” and “Ahead!” almost deadpanly.
Only notice that Y.V.T. is cheeky enough to promise to cut the prices for heating by two or three times. “Uh-huh”, I think and come in the supermarket. Imperturbable boy at the entrance tries to pawn me off the newspapers – I don’t take them. Earlier, I’ve taken them because I thought that their salary depends on the amount of the given out newspapers and then I found out that they are paid per hour – after that, I don’t take it. I think how it’s better to get the second floor without any accidents. Nothing major but the way is obstructed with colorful dolls, which joyfully wave their paws, inviting to enter a new shop of female women’s outerwear. Quickly maneuvering, pass around the fairy-tale chimaeras and jump on an escalator.
Choose a hairdryer. The price is reasonable. “I’ll have it”, I say.
“Your phone number”, kindly demands a cashier in a red T-shirt.
“To send spam?”, I ask. “I won’t give it. Just sell it.”
“Unfortunately, the price we offer on the price tag is promotional, which is only for the members of our VIP-gold-luxury-club. Without a phone number, it will be a hundred hryvnias more.”
I don’t want a hairdryer anymore. The cat can walk slightly damp, it won’t suffer.
I’ll go downstairs, I think, to buy cigarettes and something to eat.
And then back home, because it’s already time to think about the article, but fairy-tale creatures, annoying dynamics, 12 pieces are swirling around me.
I stand seven minutes in vain near the whole foods section. The queue is so long that I feel like I’m dying. I randomly pick some sausages, fermented cheeses, ciabatta.
“Do you have a card?”
“Would you like to replenish your mobile phone?”
“Would you like a toy? For one hryvnia? Do you collect stickers for purchasing a wonderful Italian blanket?
I don’t say a word. Let them take me for a churl. I don’t care.
Once, I’ve heard a man answered a cashier:
“Is it a store or migration service here? It seems that I make a visa to America – so many questions you ask.”
At home, I try to think about the article, the article, the article, but I fail. In the end, I turn on pleasant music on Youtube “for unloading of brain and neuro system”, grab a cat and stretch on the couch. Four minutes of silence and rest.
“Get a New Year discount! Just two weeks! Fairy gifts in a fairy country! Hurry up!”
I clench my teeth and turn off the sound. Thinking, isn’t it better to move to Australia? There are kangaroos, spiders, poisonous snakes. And there is tiny hope that a fabulous monster won’t pop out from a rabbit hole on the meadow and won’t rush to a new store…
And the article? What about the article? I’ll leave it for tomorrow.
P.S. Please pay attention – this all was written by a man who has headed the advertising department on TV for seven years.
Serhiy Osoka