Wine Before Five
Because Life is Good. And Sweet. And Short.
Yesterday, I decided a Subway sandwich was just the thing for lunch. When I entered the store, there was a person in line, ordering, and so I had a few minutes to wait. I used my three minutes well, I thought.
I have never liked Subway’s color scheme. Sorry, Subway. Bright yellow and deep green just aren’t appetizing colors for me, even when I try to pretend they represent something yummy like fresh sweet corn in August and slices of crisp green peppers straight from the summer garden. Yes, bright colors are supposed to make you want to eat more, but they just make me want to leave the store, so my orders are “to go” most of the time.
I began to think about Subway’s marketing techniques. First, there was the photo of Jared, the weight-loss super-star — mixed in with the “make you eat more” color scheme. I just won’t insult your intelligence by going into this whole thing. (Yes, I do know it’s not a fried greasy burger with fries joint, but still…)
I studied the menu board, not to decide what I wanted – because being the boring eater I am, I consistently order only one thing – and began to think that it really was not an easy read after all, and – hey, I like to read. What about people who are primarily visual, who have an alternative learning style, or those with dyslexia? I pondered whether the marketing gurus for Subway – and any other fast-food store – had ever considered what more effective methods they could use to display their menus. They’ve never asked me, and now I think they should.
As the clerk stepped in front of me, I snapped back from my thoughts about marketing techniques, learning styles, and the juxtaposition of Jared and the “eat more” theme.
I was thinking about that six-inch turkey flatbread I wanted, but looking at the sign that said “All Footlongs $5 All Day Sunday!” With dressing on the side, that would be lunch for both Sunday and Monday. I’m not an adventuresome eater, so same meal two days in a row is just fine. My mind was converting “six-inch” to “twelve-inch,” but the sign said “footlong,” and so I said:
“I’d like a 12-inch footlong, please.”
Miss Clerk stared at me, blank expression, no words.
“I’d like a 12-inch footlong please.”
“OH!” I laughed. “That doesn’t really make sense, does it? Of course the footlong is 12 inches!”
She didn’t smile. She remained expressionless.
I gave up.
“I’d like a flatbread turkey footlong, please.”
Miss Clerk reached for the flatbread. Success.
Honest. I am convinced that I’m smarter than I look. Or sound.