I had one plan for Tuesday morning: a cinnamon oat latte, the corner table by the window, and forty-five minutes with my receipt-list before work.
The latte cooperated. The window light cooperated. My phone had other ideas.
Between two photos of a friend’s new puppy, an ad. Swipe. Another ad. The TV above the pastry case (sound off, captions on) ran one too, and the podcast at the next table paused for yet another. By my second sip I’d heard about a wonderful plan that’s on its way, a terrible danger that’s on its way, and a voice so sure of itself I almost checked my own pockets.
You know I stay out of politics. My lane is scarves, soup, and the way fog sits on the hills in October. So I’ll leave the who-to-like part to you and just share what I noticed, because it made my morning easier and it might help yours.
What I noticed first was a feeling. Ten minutes in, my shoulders were up around my ears and my latte had gone lukewarm without me tasting it. I felt hopeful and scared at the same time, which is a lot to feel before 8 a.m.
So I tried a little experiment. I turned my phone face down, flipped over my receipt, and tried to write what I’d learned. What was the plan? How would it work? What was the danger, exactly, and where was it? I sat there with my pen for a good while. I could remember how each ad made me feel. I couldn’t come up with a single how, when, or how much.
Right about then, a grandma at the next table handed her granddaughter a birthday present. Wrapping paper, curly ribbon, the works. The little girl shook it, held it up to her ear, and started guessing. A puppy. A tablet. A unicorn. Her grandma smiled and said, “You’ll see.” That kid was having the time of her life, and the box was still shut. Her guesses were doing the work.
That’s when it clicked. The ads were handing me boxes too.
One box has a bow on it. The voice tells you what’s inside: relief, a fix, the thing you’ve been waiting for. The other box is wrapped in caution tape, and inside, they say, is the thing coming to hurt you. Both boxes stay shut. You get a label and a description, and your imagination handles the unwrapping.
That’s the sneaky part. When a box stays closed, you fill it yourself. I caught myself packing the bow box with my own wish list and the caution-tape box with my own 2 a.m. worries. The ad didn’t have to put any of that in there. I did. And a box you packed yourself feels truer than one a stranger packed for you.
Then comes the hand move. The minute someone reaches for a lid, like a reporter asking “how, exactly?” or a neighbor asking “is that really happening?”, the other box gets pushed in front of their face. Ask about the bow and you’re shown the caution tape. Ask about the tape and here comes the bow. Back and forth, like a pour-over kettle moving in little circles so the grounds can’t settle.
Anything to keep you from looking deeper.
I kept thinking about that famous cat in the box, the one who gets to be two things at once until somebody lifts the lid. A closed box can be a lot of things. Looking is what settles it. Which may be why these lids stay down.
Some of these ads also remind me of a strange idea I read once, about a mind that pops out of random static with a whole past already packed inside. That’s how a few of them feel: a finished little world, backstory included, that showed up out of nowhere and expects you to move in.
Here’s where I landed, somewhere between the latte and the last crumb of my scone. Getting fooled by a politician’s game stings. I’ve been there, and I’d bet you have too. We still have to see through it eventually, because these boxes do get opened. They open at the grocery checkout, at the pharmacy counter, in the mailbox. Better to peek now than be surprised later.
So I wrote myself a list on the back of my receipt. You’re welcome to borrow it:
- What’s in the box? Who does it, how much does it cost, and by when?
- Did they answer the question, or did they hand me the other box?
- How long has this box been “coming soon”?
- Did I pack this box myself?
This trick doesn’t wear a team jersey. I’ve seen it dressed in more than one color, and you probably have too. The questions work on any of them.
Ad season will pass the way a hard frost does. Until then, I’m keeping my scarf on, my latte warm, and my eyes on the hands. Ask to see inside. A real gift can handle being opened.
Stay clean, stay kind, stay caffeinated.
