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On my recent trip to the Oregon coast, I stayed in Airbnbs and walked the water’s edge daily. I ate seafood that was fresh caught—no shipping or freezing. Sometimes the sun shone. Sometimes fog and mist dominated. It was always lovely.
But then I had one unsatisfactory day in a “no-tell motel” on the edge of Eugene, where I stayed to be close to the airport for my flight home.
Normally when I pay for a night away from home I have access to movies (I love Turner Classic Movies). I don’t have television at home, hence I love a night in a hotel, with something luscious to eat, a glass of bubbly, and a classic film. But in this less than desirable inn, there was no TCM. No movies at all. And, apparently, no TV without commercials.
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At home, if I tune in television on my laptop, I stop immediately if there are commercials.
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But I was in a rather bleak part of town, so I wasn’t inspired to go out and explore.
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I had about 18 hours to kill, and given my surroundings, sleep did not come easily. I was lonesome, and the one book I had with me was not the most captivating. I needed company. Something to fill the silence of waiting.
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The TV talked to me while I finished off the groceries I’d brought from the coast. As I remembered how much I hate commercials, I wondered if they were the reason my parents got rid of the television set when I was a child. They are definitely a big part of the reason my husband and I gave up on TV when we moved to the Ozarks. It’s waaaay better to just sit on the porch and listen to the birds. And the neighbor’s cows. Or pick a few tunes on the banjo.
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Almost all the commercials in that motel room were about how to get some free money or how to save money when you’re spending money. And, without exception, they were louder than the programs they continually interrupted.
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Having been deprived of television as a child, I bought a big one when I had children. And we had cable. Fifty channels, at least. We’d sit around as a family and watch old shows I’d seen on my Grandpa’s TV. Somehow, we made sense of the programs despite the constant commercial interruptions.
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But in that Eugene motel room, I felt my brain turning to jelly. Do people really put up with this constant clamor of crass advertising? Are Americans so programmed to find or save a dollar that it’s actually profitable for marketers to pay for the airing of this claptrap?
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But I finally found PBS. Ahhhhh… (Now, where’s the button for closed captions?)