So I had to make a road trip last week and on the way back home I took some back roads at a leisurely pace. As I was driving down a lonesome highway in the middle of nowhere I saw a scratchy old billboard advertising “Gus’s Really Good Fresh Beef Jerky 90 Miles.” Below that line, in smaller lettering, were the words “Beef Jerky, Honey, Olives, Restrooms.”
I have expressed my deep affection for such signs in a previous post long ago so I won’t repeat myself here. But I will tell you that for the next 15 minutes as I barreled along with the stereo blaring (Elliott Smith, Pointer Sisters, Steely Dan) I pondered the following:
1. 90 miles seems a long distance from one’s business to post a billboard
2. Isn’t it contradictory of Gus to advertise his beef jerky as “fresh” since, after all, beef jerky is aged and dried and then vacuum-sealed?
3. Are people allowed to erect and paint their own billboards, since it sure looked as if that’s exactly what Gus did?
By the time I had mentally gnawed on (not unlike eating beef jerky) these weighty questions, I had passed another of Gus’ billboards reminding me that his really good beef jerky was only 60 miles away. Not long after that was another billboard paid for by Gus letting me know that beef jerky, honey, olives and restrooms were only 30 miles away.
Two more signs and 20 minutes later, I understood that I was witnessing the work of a marketing trailblazer. In this era of online, interactive, viral, contextual and guerilla marketing, not to mention $200 million TV advertising campaigns, Gus had, with his six crappy billboards in the middle of nowhere, totally and completely convinced me that not stopping at his beef jerky shack was something I would regret until the day I died. And I don’t even eat beef jerky.
But stop I did, in a cloud of roadside dust, exactly 500 yards after I saw the final billboard proclaiming “Gus’s Really Good Fresh Beef Jerky 500 Yards.”
However modest you might imagine Gus’s Really Good Fresh Beef Jerky establishment to be, it was far more modest than that. It was a tiny cement building that appeared to be a converted gas station with bumper stickers all over the front door and, as promised for the past 90 miles, walls lined with dozens and dozens of packages of beef jerky and cheap wooden racks of olives, honey and dried fruit. There were also restrooms and, as an unadvertised bonus, you could feed Gus’ three immensely crabby chickens for 25 cents if you so chose.
The place was pretty crowded, and I jostled among my fellow travelers trying to choose between hot jerky, teriyaki jerky, elk jerky or sweet and sour jerky. I finally decided to go old school with my beef jerky selection and buy the original “cowboy” flavor. It cost 8 bucks (three packages for $20), which seemed kind of expensive, but then again I’m no beef jerky expert and besides, I was still under the Gus’ magic marketing spell. I HAD to buy it.
I took a picture of Gus’ beef jerky empire, saluted his evil genius and drove off. About 30 minutes later, I passed a big, modern-looking store with a fancy sign advertising “the world’s best beef jerky.” Poor bastards, I thought, as I sped past. I already had my beef jerky, as did everyone else around these parts, courtesy of Gus. Why would we ever stop at this place?
I actually have a piece of Gus’ jerky sitting next to me on a plate as I write this. I tap out a paragraph, then chew, chew, chew for 10 minutes or so before going back to writing. As eating endeavors go, it’s time-consuming and a bit tiring, but it IS really good beef jerky.
