So, I was driving to the bank yesterday afternoon–thankyouverymuch Bank One/Chase for making your facilities so handy to 9th Warders–when I saw this truck parked on the neutral ground. There was no one near it, no displays of merchandise, nothing: just “Hot Plates”.
Since the sign was hanging on a truck, I thought it might be the work of some enterprising young artiste who’s staked his future on the manufacture of trendy decorative license plates–the kind displayed on front bumpers with phrases like “Rhonda ‘n’ Rudy” hovering above airbrushed beach scenes.
Then I thought, well, no, it’s back-to-school season, so I’m sure the sign was put up by some similarly enterprising retailer who’s imported dozens of electric cooking devices in the hopes of selling them to the dormitory-bound.
Then, of course, I remembered I was on stretch of Franklin Avenue that’s more than a little thugged-out (as the kids say nowadays). “Hot Plates” is most likely the work of some ballsy mofo who’s selling state-issued license plates of dubious provenance.
Which only goes to show that being provocatively vague in your marketing materials can get you remembered.
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