Last Thursday I had the pleasure of participating in a focus group about restaurants, NASCAR, and the possibility of combining the two. It should be noted that “pleasure”, in my native language, means “unfortunate experience of being exposed to the type of person who would make a perfect poster-child for the effects of eating lead paint-chips by the handful.”
Everything seemed normal when I arrived. I was shown to a room full of comfortable chairs and a heaping platter of sandwiches, of which I greedily took two. Chairs, not sandwiches. I chatted with other people as they drifted into the room, and we all mused aloud as to what the exact purpose of the focus group would be. Little did I know the focus group was a guise for a psychological test about how much stupidity a normal person could be exposed to before uncontrollably soiling himself.
We were taken into a smaller room with a two-way mirror and less comfortable chairs. This is when the brain-melting pain began, and in retrospect, it would have been nice if I had been given a few napkins, or a paper towel, because I didn’t realize I would have to fight so hard to keep my brain from liquefying within my skull and dribbling out of my ears and onto the ground.
The moderator asked us to imagine one of our favorite restaurants and I noticed that the think-tank with legs next to me had already listed three restaurants on his pad. After a few moments, she asked us to describe our favorite restaurant, and she started with the overachiever I just mentioned.
“Well, I have three,” he said.
“Name your favorite,” the moderator said politely.
“Well, if I had to name two favorites,” he continued, while a headache slowly pulsed its way into my forehead.
“Name one,” the moderator managed to say politely. I admired her restraint. If I had been in her place I would have launched into a forty minute tirade about how the man should have never passed kindergarten, much less be allowed to wipe his own ass without a signed-note from his parents and under the supervision of a battalion of trained professionals. Finally he complied and named a single restaurant, but not before trying to mention at least one of his other choices as well. The moderator quickly cut him off and asked me the same question. I named a single restaurant, and then she moved on to the next person.
“I also have a few favorites…”
“Pick one, please,” the moderator said, still somehow polite, and still somehow refraining from telling the participant that their subscription to talking had been cancelled.
And so it continued until everyone was forced to name only one favorite restaurant. I was wondering if I was going to have to write these people’s names down in order to forcibly sterilize them later, or if natural selection would save me the trouble of doing so by having them think that cleaning their outlets with a wet soup-spoon was a fantastic idea.
As the focus group continued, the dumbening increased exponentially. The participants must have slowly realized they were all part of a randomly gathered group of lobotomy survivors and the “helpful opinions to drool” ratio was quickly spiralling into number ranges better served by discussing the population of Asia. Questions about their opinions of a NASCAR themed restaurant were met with long-winded answers that started with catering, meddled briefly in suggestions against placing any number of foreign objects into one’s own anus, and ended with a humorless anecdote about how cars go “beep.”
Just when it looked like the group was willing to move into yet another hour of talking about the broad and irreconcilable differences between radically different restaurants such as TGIFriday’s, Applebee’s, Ruby Tuesday, and Chili’s, we were escorted from the room and given $105. I grabbed the cash and ran for the door as fast as I could, hoping that I’d be able to shower before all the dumb-dumb germs penetrated too deeply and I was left with an inexplicable craving to drive 10 miles an hour below the speed limit in the left lane with my right-hand blinker on for six miles while talking on my cell-phone to a pet-psychic about whether or not my taxidermied parakeet had seasonal affective disorder, all the while on my way to my job at Wal-Mart to pick up my paycheck that I planned on blowing on lottery tickets and a money-order for a pleasant Nigerian bureaucrat who wanted to give me millions of dollars of my long-lost dead uncle’s money that I planned on using for buying more subscriptions to Reader’s Digest in order to win the Publisher’s Clearing House grand prize.
And the “soiling yourself” part is where?
You failed to mention Ted Nugent blaring from the boom box sitting on the front seat of your car.
Oh Lord. Were these randomly selected people or actual NASCAR fans, and you just happened to be in the mix with them? I remember you saying you wanted to go just to skew the results (or skewer the fellow focus groupers)…I wonder if you did so, even if it was just by picking your one favorite restaurant. When you mentioned it at first, I thought it sounded like it might be fun and I was a bit envious - now I realize it was horrible and I feel bad for you…except for the $105 part. Bastard.
If I’m reading this right I’m going to guess you won’t be signing up for this sort of mind-numbing bendover anytime soon. Sounds more like torture than research. *shudder*
i would have stabbed all those people in the eyes with sporks…
Wait. Are you implying that those Nigerians aren’t on the up-and-up?
Shit.
A nascar resto? Yet another place for me to avoid! Fridays & Applebees is lame; Ruby Tuesdays’ only redeeming characteristic is their burgers are quite good; and Bennigans? No one makes a finer Monte Cristo. Other than that I avoid these places as a R-o-T.
As I sat and read about your Focus Group Overachiever, spontaneously a sphincter emerged from my forehead, and before I knew what was happening… my mind frappe was now on tap… corn and peanuts a-go-go.
Serra- Lucky for me, it never came to that…. this time.
DL- Probably Lee Greenwood instead of Nugent.
Rusty- No, we represented the “average” Baltimorean with “moderate” interest in NASCAR.
Patti- Actually, you’d be surprised what I’d endure for just a small amount of cash. Even if it including some bending over.
WK- They thoughtfully removed all but blunt objects from the room. No stabbing was to be had, unfortunately.
Wombat- Of course Nigerians are on the up-and-up. They wanted me to let you know that you should give your money to me, and I would send it to them.
NM- I’m not saying that there’s anything wrong with any of those restaurants, but it’s retarded to think that they differ on such a fundamental level that they could even be considered in different categories.
funny comment.
self deprecating remarks…. innuendo.
(i have a headache and i fell down the stairs again.)
wow that sounds like torture, I absolutely have no patience for stupid people, I so would have slapped the shit out of that guy…or been trying to persuede them to hear all 3 of my suggestions…:)
Here are some boobies to make you feel better
http://thedoggydidit.blogspot.com/
I don’t have a fave restaurant. I couldn’t have answered that question. I guess I would have been kicked out at that point. I wonder if I’d still get the $105?
so, you made some new friends.
That’s nice.
Kendra- Jocular response. Fake outrage. Awkward pleasantries.
TDDI- Boobies!? Awesome, I love birds!
KC- The restaurant I named wasn’t a chain restaurant, so the moderator quickly moved on to the next person. I didn’t realize they wanted us to name banal, food-trough, theme restaurants.
Zenchick- Yeah, so now I don’t have to talk to YOU all the time.
Wouldn’t a NASCAR themed restaurant be a banal, food-trough-ish, themed restaurant???
God Phoenix…I sure as hell hope so. The idea of NASCAR attempting anything more complex than a corndog puts me in the kind of red-alert status only Dubya could understand.
Phoenix- Oh for sure. They kept saying, “Would you imagine a NASCAR restaurant as more of an Outback, or more of a Chili’s?” and I was like, “What in the sweet name of all that is food is the difference between those two places!?”
Patti- That’s what I kept saying! They wanted the NASCAR menu to offer crazy options like “Chicken Scampi Alfredo Angel Hair Pasta with Sundried Tomato and Lemon Zest scalloped potatoes” and I kept telling them that they should stick to the basics like ribs, burgers, dogs, fries, etc. They even talked about having guest chefs (wtf?) come in and design the menu. Like Chef Marcel Froufroupants would really draw in the Dale Jr. fans.
The “average” Baltimorean with a “moderate” interest in NASCAR, eh? I don’t think I’d ever call you average, and if I had to guess, I’d say you have zero interest in motorsports, so…hmm…I’d say you probably did skew the results.
Even so, it seems like you were completely on the right track with them sticking to the basics. I would have suggested a burger joint. Chef Marcel FrouFroupants! BWAHAHA!
Geez ACW…I bet a walk through the restaurant at dinner time would consist of a heapin’ helpin’ of “What in tarnation is this goo on my noodles?” and “ZEST? Good God Betsy…don’t eat that it’s soap!”
now MY head hurts.
This was beautiful. Just beautiful.
And you know, I think I know some of those people. They live in my neighborhood.
I thought they already had a NASCAR themed restaurant called The Waffle House?
“the “helpful opinions to drool” ratio was quickly spiralling into number ranges better served by discussing the population of Asia.”
ummmm. Don’t you mean ‘drool to helpful opinions’ ratio?
well…they are surely far more interesting than me ;-)
(do they know how to use IM?)
The Waffle House is the most potent laxative known to man.
Rusty- At first I was trying to skew the results, but then I thought how cool it would be to have a restaurant that wasn’t like every other chain restaurant out there, so I voiced my opinion.
Patti- I’m not exactly sure what you were hinting at there, but I laughed, so it’s all good.
Jess- Unfortunately these people live in EVERY neighborhood.
Hink- Don’t hate on WAFFLE HOUSE. Every cranny of each waffle is like a little orgasm on your way to heaven.
Mr. Foot- Yeah, I got my degree in English, so it was more about the joke than actually getting the ratio correct.
Zenchick- If they did know how to use IM, I’m sure it would be all, “OMG wtf? LOL!”
tfg- I disagree. Taco Bell is such a potent laxative that most people just save themselves the half-hour and flush their food before they eat it.
I had forgotten about the NASCAR group. They just wanted to know your favorite restaurant? Couldn’t you have just written that on a piece of paper and then collected your $105? Or, could it not have just been mailed to you? Man, you’re rich now. You’re buying us all a round of shots!