I suspect I've said this before, but New Zealand is the only country I have ever visited which advertises fork-lift trucks on prime time television. This is something that I'm reminded of daily as there is a Crown Forklifts dealership just next door to the office where I work. As such, whenever I walk past it to the bus-stop, I invariably end up getting the ad's jingle caught in my head ("There is nothing like a Crown / For picking it up and putting it down").
"Hey."
Elsewhere most Kiwi adverts seem to be redubbed American or European ones, where an authoritative sounding woman extols the virtues of a particular brand of toothpaste while remaining reticent about the apparently severe side effects it has on her lip-synching. Meanwhile, the current campaign for the New Zealand Police Force is powered by the tagline "Get better work stories", which seems like a rather dubious reason to become a law-enforcement official, but then what do I know?
"Hey."
I'm standing at the bus stop across the road from work waiting for the Number 84 to materialise from the fug of cloud and exhaust at the end of the road. A plump, red-headed kid has emerged from one of the houses facing the factories and office blocks and is regarding me.
"
Hey." he says again. He's persistent, I'll give him that.
"Uh, hi." I say, non-committal and muffled under a waterproof jacket and woolly hat.
The kid is frowning. He's wearing a t-shirt and shorts; his feet are bare on the pavement, still damp from the afternoon's rain. He looks about twelve, but nevertheless appears to be sizing me up as though trying to determine whether he might be capable of kicking me under a truck or not.
"Do you want to buy some chocolate?" He says.
"Sorry?"
"Chocolate?"
He makes eating gestures with his hands.
"Um." I say, "No, sorry."
"You sure?"
I assure him I am. A pair of huge articulated lorries judder past, throwing up a half-hearted sheet of water from the gutter.
I step backwards to avoid it, but the kid ignore it as it sluices over his legs.
"It's Cadbury's." he says. "Cadbury's Caramello."
"Uh, no." I say, "Thanks for the offer though."
"Are you diabetic?"
"What? No."
"Why don't you want to buy any chocolate?"
I am dangerously close to explaining to him that my mother always told me not to accept chocolate from strangers before I realise that this should probably be his line.
Instead I just peer down the road with increased determination as though I might be able to summon the bus by will alone.
The kid nods to himself analytically.
"You got a car?" he says.
"No." I say, "That's why I'm at a bus stop."
"You get the bus?"
"Yes."
"You're wasting so much money."
"Am I really?"
"Yes, you should walk."
With that, he turns on his heel and walks himself, down the street and away. I notice for the first time that he doesn't actually seem to have any chocolate to sell.
The future of New Zealand's marketing industry is clearly in good hands.
Labels: Vince
