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All this and candles, too.

After seeing countless commercials for the casual dining chain restaurant Red Robin (yummmmm!), Mrs. Pincus and I got the opportunity to dine at one of their 538 locations on our most recent trip to Virginia Beach. Earlier in the day, Mrs. P's cousin Juniper chauffeured us around nearby Williamsburg with our actual destinations being several local wineries. The penultimate stop on our whirlwind tour of the historic city (of which we saw no sites of any historic significance) was a Yankee Candle® store of theme-park proportions. (Oh, you read that right! It's an enormous building that resembles a hotel, jam-packed with display after fragrant display of the stout, glass-potted, wax-'n-wick beauties. The multi-room complex is supplemented with cookware, handbags, candy and other unrelated, non-candle items — just to fill the place out.)

We'll meet 'neath that giant Red Robin sign
that brings this fair city light.

As the sun set and our thoughts turned to dinner options, we surveyed the landscape. I am convinced that the geographic area known as the Eastern Shore of Virginia has more fast food and chain restaurants per square foot than any other place on earth. Along both sides of Interstate 64, some of America's favorite restaurants can be spotted. National heavyweight advertisers like Outback Steakhouse, Carraba's Italian Grill, Olive Garden, TGI Friday's and hundreds of Starbucks, along with regional entries like Smokey Griddle Pancake House and Southern Pancake & Waffle House (the South sure loves them some pancakes!) were among the wide array of evening meal choices. Juniper suggested Red Robin (yummmmm!) and said there was one just ahead. I checked the GPS on my phone and — sure enough — 100 or so feet ahead, in a shopping center that looked just like a dozen shopping centers we already passed, was a Red Robin (yummmmm!), its channel-lettered logo glowing bright red, reflecting off the adjacent Dick's Sporting Goods. We found a parking spot, then entered the restaurant. We joined a fairly large group of hungry patrons, all gripping now-silent pagers, poised for a vibrating explosion of LED lights informing the holder that seating and menus were mere moments away. 

Objects may appear larger
in our commercials.

Soon, our pager's lights began blinking and a young lady in a popped collar, logoed polo shirt led us through a maze of booths and bistro tables to a semi-circular booth in the far corner of a room that boasted three gigantic screen televisions as its main decor. We all slid awkwardly into our booth and perused the menu. Now, I'll be the first one to admit that my silly, self-imposed dietary restrictions severely limits my choices in most restaurants, but, rest assured, I can always find something to eat on nearly every menu. And Red Robin (yummmmm!) would be no exception. I settled on the vegetarian-friendly version of their signature Banzai burger, piled high with grilled pineapple, cheddar cheese and a thick teriyaki sauce, in addition to lettuce and mayo. This, as are all entrees, was accompanied by the highly-touted "bottomless" fries. Oh yeah! The centerpiece of Red Robin's (yummmmm!) advertising is their promise of an endless supply of generously-cut steak fries, always available and always plentiful, even long after you've gobbled up the last of your burger. The implication was that fries could continue to be delivered through dessert and coffee, as long as the customer desired.

Really? REALLY??

We ordered. When our meals arrived, I scrutinized the tiny chrome-plated cup that stood in the shadow of my burger in the corner of my plate. Eight, maybe nine, broad steak fries stood upended in the confines of the scant metal container. I thought about the images I had seen in Red Robin's (yummmmm!) effective advertising campaign. Visions of fresh-cut potatoes, mounds of golden-brown fries fanned out and overflowing from the blond-wood cutting board — far, far too many for one person to consume, but readily available for the taking. The puny cupful of fries next to my burger? Damn! I could down them in one, fairly effortless gulp. Between bites of my burger (which, I will admit, was pretty good) I finished my fries. I looked around the bustling eatery for our server, but he was nowhere to be found. (In all fairness, the servers — with their gelled-up hair and shirt collars standing at attention — all resembled one another.) I finally picked out our guy (Chip or Dave or Bruce or something) and requested another round of fries. Chip (or whoever) winked and shot me a "thumbs up" sign, then disappeared into the crowd. A few minutes went by. Then a few more. Then a few more. I slurped at my water glass and poked around at the crumbs and sauce remnants on my mostly-empty plate. Juniper and Mrs. P, both normal-paced eaters (I am a particularly fast eater), were still enjoying their dinner. Each still had plenty of fries left in their initial order. I was craning my neck and diligently scanning the place for a sign of our server and my second round of supposedly "bottomless" fries. More and more time passed before Chip finally arrived to place a plate of fries before me. There were approximately twice the amount of my first order, this time arranged on a plate instead of in a little cup. I tried my very best to leisurely devour the fries, but I could not. My lightning-fast eating habits, coupled with my lack of patience, had me wolfing down this supplemental portion in record time. Of course, I wanted more. After all, they — not me — made the "bottomless" offer first. But, now I was wise to their game. They were a bunch of "fry-teasers," weren't they?!? Those potato-tempting bastards! They were worse than drug dealers! They get you hooked, then they take their sweet time bringing out more, forcing you to be too embarrassed to order a third round, daring you to risk eating them while the custodial staff is mopping the floor and stacking the chairs on the tables.

I reminded my wife of the time we went to an all-you-can eat Dim Sum night at a Philadelphia Chinese restaurant. We ordered the special and our waiter brought out a considerable selection of vegetarian dim sum (traditional Chinese food served in bite-size portions). We ate the first round and ordered more. Round number two was equally as tasty, but half the amount was offered. The third round was brought to us on two small saucers, a size usually reserved for a tea cup or after-dinner mints. The fourth round was the check. It was determined for us that we had had all we could eat. It seems that Red Robin (yummmmm!) had taken a page from that Chinese restaurant's playbook.

I don't think I will go out of my way to find a Red Robin (yummmmm!) closer to home. The bottomless fries may not have a bottom, but they sure have a catch.

(yummmmm!)

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

I eat cannibals

I love advertising. I'm one of those people who does not fast-forward through commercials. I actually enjoy watching commercials. I like the clever ones. I like the creative ones. I even like the stupid ones, in a "what not to do" capacity. I suppose it's because I've been in the marketing/advertising field for so many years, I feel I need to keep on top of my industry, making myself aware of current trends and not becoming complacent to rest upon my proverbial laurels.

I like to research and trace the history of advertising, especially for a product that has been around for a while. It is interesting to see how the methods have changed (or haven't changed) for the same product over a period of years or even decades. I often wonder who was the lucky ad agency representative that was able to convince a stuffy corporate executive to loosen up a bit with their ad campaigns. Who was able to get Charles Grigg to stop calling his carbonated elixir "Bib-Label Lithiated Lemon-Lime Soda," shorten it to "7Up" and brand it as a psychedelic alternative to cola? It turned out to be excellent advice. See? Some courageous company decision-maker has to be the one to take a chance. To change for the benefit of company growth.

Consumer foods giant General Mills has been a leader in product and product marketing for over a century and a half. They didn't become a twenty-three billion dollar-a-year company by accident. Considering they produce staple goods similar to those produced by other companies, marketing was key in General Mills growth and staying power. That's why core brands like Gold Medal remain number one choices among consumers, along with acquired brands like Pillsbury and Green Giant.

Of course, General Mills is synonymous with "cereal." Names like Wheaties, Cheerios and Chex have been around — gosh! — nearly forever. Clever marketing has elevated brands like Trix, Cocoa Puffs and Lucky Charms to lofty levels, nearly untouchable by competitors. Each of these cereals, introduced in the mid-twentieth century, featured a fun mascot, instantly endearing to the younger target market at which they were aimed. General Mills used this same strategy with subsequent breakfast food introductions — The "Monster" cereals in the 70s, and, my personal favorite, Cinnamon Toast Crunch in 1984.

The evolution of Cinnamon Toast Crunch is an interesting journey through marketing trends and changes. Cinnamon Toast Crunch came along in much the same way as many of its predecessors. It was a crunchy wheat/rice combo coated with cinnamon and sugar. The box initially featured a happy little drawing of a cinnamon-kissed slice of bread and his pal, a smiling cinnamon shaker. These characters soon gave way to three happy, yet bumbling, animated bakers, all decked out in pristine kitchen whites. There was jolly Wendell, the obvious leader of the trio. He was flanked by two unnamed colleagues, although they were inexplicably referred to as "Bob" and "Quello." The group appeared in a series of commercials and their likenesses were emblazoned on box fronts for association and recognition (them there are marketing words!). In 1991, however, Wendell's associates were shown the door and the white-haired baker was flying solo. His visibility was increased and his adventures became the focus of commercials and promotions, including send-away premiums, like plush dolls. Wendell was prominently featured on every redesign of the Cinnamon Toast Crunch box as well as spin-off versions like French Toast Crunch, Peanut Butter Crunch and Frosted Toast Crunch.

But in 2009, after a solo run of eighteen years, the venerable Wendell disappeared. He was replaced by strange little creatures known as "The Crazy Squares." I can only imagine the conversation, and eventual convincing, that took place in the advertising strategy meeting up in the Minnesota corporate headquarters of General Mills. Seated at a long, dark-wood table in the center of a conference room lined with matching dark-wood paneling, the General Mills executive board gathered to be pitched to. A slick, nattily-dressed young man from the contracted ad agency — his head full of outside-the-box creativity and his hair full of mousse — clicked along a PowerPoint presentation while the stuffy seniors stoically sipped water from glasses wet with condensation.

Just after the first few slides displaying growth charts and boring facts and figures, the slick ad man unleashed this guy  — 

A collective gasp from the board members cut the air. Sure, this little character is smiling. Sure, he's full of whimsy and mischief. Sure, he's dusted with sparkly sugar and inviting cinnamon, but there's something... something.... off about him. Something malevolent. As the presentation offered more detail, the true horror was revealed.

Look! The little guy is playful! How cute!

Look! Oh, he's so funny, just floating in the bowl!

Ha! He's a little dickens! Getting silly with another Cinnamon Toast "Crazy Square."

Oh, this is a little weird, but I guess it's fun and those guys are adorable!

Wait! WAIT! What the fuck? What's going on here?

HOLY SHIT! THEY'RE EATING EACH OTHER!

At that point, I assume, the CEO stood up at the table, cleared his throat and leaned forward. He was prepared to send slick ad guy and his crazy new campaign on the quickest route to the elevator. But then, suddenly, he had a moment of clarity. A vision. An epiphany. "If this campaign riled me up," he thought, "imagine how it will make kids feel! Kids love this shit! And, if kids love it, they'll beg Mom to buy those Crazy Squares!" A smile beamed across the CEO's face. He blotted his dampened brow with a monogrammed handkerchief and commended the slick ad guy. "Genius, my boy!," he bellowed, "Genius!" The slick ad guy smiled smugly. The board members applauded.

And so, the stalwart, reliable, friendly Cinnamon Toast Crunch became edgier and more aggressive in its advertising, taking a somewhat dangerous route. But, it worked! They took a gamble and it worked out great. It was no longer about "gee, our cereal is good and it tastes good and it's good for you" and hundreds of testaments that have been repeated over and over. It was now a shocking, attention-grabbing surprise with very little to do with the actual cereal. The Crazy Squares have been shilling for Cinnamon Toast Crunch for seven years, even appearing on new holiday-themed versions of the cereal, as well as a new chocolate version and reintroduced peanut butter variety.

But what ever became of Wendell? I'd be willing to bet those Crazy Square bastards ate him.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com