Monday, February 3, 2014

Super Brand Ass (ociation)

(Photo by Pug50, Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic (CC BY 2.0))

The stablehand wasn't sure how to react to the woman standing in front of him. She had opened the gate and drove her SUV straight up to the stables. She was clearly excited about something.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"I hope you can," she responded. "I guess this sounds a bit unusual, but..."

She paused for a second.

"...but I was so moved by what I saw on TV yesterday that I just had to do this. I guess you watched the Super Bowl, sir."

The stablehand didn't know where this conversation was going. "Uh...yeah," he replied.

"Well, I saw that one know, the one with the horses that was aired by that beer company?"

"I don't think I saw that," said the stablehand. "I must have gone to the can - I mean, stepped away from the TV."

"Oh, you missed a wonderful commercial, sir," she responded. "The horses were absolutely beautiful, and it was the most moving thing that I've ever seen on TV. And that's why I request." She lifted up the small cooler that she was carrying. "Sir, I would like to drink beer with a horse."

"Uh, I'm sorry, ma'am, but my boss doesn't let the horses have alcohol."

"No, I didn't mean that. I just wanted to drink this beer" - she again lifted the cooler - "in the presence of a horse."

"Well, I'd have to get the boss' approval, and he's in town right now."

The woman reached into her purse. "A hundred bucks for a half hour with a horse."

The stablehand looked around. "Well, OK. But make it quick."

"Oh, yes..." the woman sighed to herself. "My dream come true."

So the stablehand led the woman, still carrying her cooler, up to the stables on the top of the hill. He waited at the door, mystified by the woman's look of exhilaration. She reached to open the door, but he stopped her.

"Um, ma'am," he reminded her. "One hundred."

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry," she replied, handing him five twenty dollar bills.

He then opened the door. "One half hour," he told her. "If I knock on the door, that means the boss is coming and that you have to scram. Don't leave any beer bottles in the stable, and don't try to ride the horses. And have fun." He closed the door behind her. Having nothing else to do, he stood by the door and listened.

"Oh, it's dark in here...oh, it smells! But the horses are so beautiful...but that smell! Where can I sit? Oh, here's a box...Boy, this floor is muddy; you'd think that guy would clean the mud up. Ah, that's better. Open the cooler...and now - glad I brought a can - pop that. And now, a beer with the horses. Uh, this beer isn't so good. Kind of like carbonated water...and those horses smell! Ew, I can't finish this beer - WHAT'S THAT ON MY SHOES? THAT'S NOT MUD!"

The stablehand pretended to be working when the woman stormed out of the stable.

"Are you finished?" he asked.

"Well, I'm certainly finished with this beer!" she angrily shouted. "Whenever I think of this beer again, I'll think of" - she paused - "HORSE POOPIES!"

She stormed to her car, trying to clean her shoes on the ground as she did so.

Meanwhile, in a boardroom far away, an advertising team was conducting a post-mortem on their most recent ad.

"The ad was clearly an unqualified success," said the manager. "Hashtag use, likes, and shares all set new records."

A junior assistant stood up. "But did we accomplish true engagement?"

"Didn't you hear me?" replied the manager. "I said that hashtag use, likes, and shares were all up. "If that isn't true engagement, I don't know what is."
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