For those of you who
"A promo girl is a unusually thick girl with good physical attributes who is willing to spend her working life wearing the following, a bikini, a swimsuit, micro skirt, cropped top, boob tube. Whilst standing in front of some crappy cheap product at a exhibition which is aimed entirely for purchase by males. You would imagine that they would have low self esteem but normally they are so engrossed in the business of bending over the car that they actually feel they are making a difference to the world. " (Urban Dictionary).
Now, before I get into all of this, I want to clarify that I say Promotion *girls* because Promotion *guys* are just creepy and aren't as effective a marketing strategy to sell shit, cos of that serious lack of boobs and whatnot. And besides, when the rare opportunity arises when I actually DO see one they don't try to sell me shit.
Reason #1: They're walking advertisements.
Let us use Facebook as an analogy. I like Facebook. I visit Facebook quite often. However, the experience is just somehow ruined by those top-right corner adverts (you know, the ones that won't ever go away) that scream at me to buy some useless crap or a secret training manual that gives you abs in four days. Same with promo girls: wherever you go, they hang around in the corner, reminding you that, no matter how much fun you're having, some company out there wants to devour you wallet-first. In a world where I can't even watch DSTV for ten minutes without begin bombarded by rage-inducingly atrocious Knorr cooking adverts and its inane ilk, and where I can't even sit through a 30-second Youtube video without being subjected to a unskippable 45-second(!) commercial for some crap that (1) has nothing at all to do with the video at hand and (2) that I'd never even consider wasting my money on, now I can't even go out and relax with friends without more goddamn advertising suffocating me at every turn.
Selling stuff is a job, yes, but with promotion girls it goes beyond the mere economic transaction between seller and buyer and goes into the realm where they personify the product and its agencies. This brings up the ugly mess of advertising: ugly people don't usually become promotion workers, or rather, aren't hired by promotion agencies. Ergo, this reinforces the "you aren't good enough, but maybe our product will improve your life" ideal that every company tries to brainwash you with.
Reason #2: Dress code.
If you don't go out too often, do a Google search for "Promotion girls" right now. Go on, do it. This will still be here when you get back. The first thing you see is the cleavage (unless they've swayed in favour of a skirt shorter than the SA government's list of trustworthy government officials). The second thing you notice is their clothes, or rather, the lack thereof. Hell, there's probabyl more food in famine-stricken North Africa then there is material on their bodies. Now, I know sex sells. Television and decades of advertising have proved that. I just can't help but feel that this twists it. Whenever I see a promo girl, I secretly take note of her face, just so that in future if I see them again and they complain about sexism/sexual objectification/chauvinism I can tell them to STFU and GTFO (something which I have yet to have the pleasure of doing). A lot of people (girls, for the most part, defending the trade) say that I'm misled - that this is empowering, it's their body, and it's easy money - which, in my opinion is a load of horseshit. Yes, women should be allowed to wear what they want to wear fearlessly and without shame, but this is not one of those areas where this rule applies. This is a job-driven decision that limits women to being sex objects that sell merchandise, nothing more.
Reason #3: Insincerity.
A girl I know worked as a promo girl at the local pub here. Funnily enough, we went to highschool together, and exchanged all of maybe six words between us in the 4 years that we knew each other. Suddenly, out of nowhere, this girl comes along all buddy-buddy as if we'd fought in the trenches together.
"You never say hi to me," she jokes, "at least buy a shot?"
That's a two-way street my dear, but you don't see me guilting you out of your parent's hard-earned money, do you?
The rest of the girls who have offered me their wares in the past have been no different: at first glance, their face lights up brighter than a Christmas tree, as if I'm their out-of-the-blue returning true love coming back from what they believed was certain death. Hell, I've never even seen dogs look that happy at their long-returning masters. Worse, sometimes they even have the audacity to scowl after I say "no".
Worse than that, they'll interrupt whatever it is you're doing. Real example take from last year:
"Yeah, man, I'm just really worried about Jess, you know? I mean, she hasn't been looking so happy, and the other night in Friars she just burst in tears..."
"Shit, dude, I don't know what to say... Maybe you should just..."
"HEY GUUUUUYYYS, sorry to interrupt, but do you want to buy a shot? They're only, like, zOMG, R6 and they're ssooooooo, good."
See what I mean?
Reason #4: They can't take no for an answer
"Hey! Do you want to buy a shot?" *fake smile*
"No thanks."
"Awww..." *pouts* "They're only R8."
"Nah, I'm good."
"Come on! I'm sure you and your friends could use it, and it's on special tonight." *her face screws up plaintively*
"Nah" *I indicate to full beer right the fuck in front of me* "We're fine for now".
"You guys are missing out! Are you sure? I can't even tempt you?" *holds up bottle temptingly and tries her smile again*
"No thanks."
"Aw, come on... Are you sure?"
WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, woman? That's FOUR (count 'em; you can count, can't you?) negative replies to your attempts. FOUR. Get the hint.
Reason #5: Last night.
Until last night, I thought I couldn't dislike promo girls more. That was until one of them broke the mould and elevated my disdain to a whole level. So, a pair of green-shirted, short-skirted girls bearing caramel vodka or something like that come up to me and attempt the usual song and dance routine. Giving my usual 'no' in response to her pleas, and indicating to the *fruit juice* in my hand (additionally explaining that I'm a teetotaler until Boatrace in September), she turns away. Which is when I see her promo partner wildly making out with some guy.
'Okay,' I think to myself, 'her boyfriend is here. I mean, they're not exactly in the same league, but hey, stranger things have happened, even if it is a bit unprofessional to have a PDA whilst working, especially where your job kinda draws on the fact that the majority of the men buying from you want you to A) bang them, and B) preferably be single.
Skip forward two minutes. A taller dude by the bar counter takes up Promo girl 2 on her offer of caramel vodka, and buys a few shots for himself and his mates (none for the girls themselves, at least). Right after this they make out. Well, "making out" is putting it lightly. Even "lunging" is an inadequate description. To put it in a way that might nearly capture what I saw, they were practially eating each other's faces. Even the owner of Friars would say "holy shit, that's disgusting." And Friars, to all you non-Grahamstonians out there, is bad.
So, this one-course meal done, promo girl goes on her merry way. Which is the exact moment that another, older man (I'd say gentleman, but that would contradict what comes next) shouts out to this clearly satisfied customer, "Fuck, boet, did she do it to you too? I thought I was special!".
3 dudes. She made out with three dudes after selling them alcohol. And I'm not even nearly naive enough to believe that she didn't charge them for this, ah, service. To be sure, she probably took a Mandingo (read: my friend's slang equivalent of "a big tip" - a hilarious reference, I know), which, by any reasonable person's measure, amounts to prostitution.
(a side note here: fuck all three of you guys in the bar. You looked quite pleased with yourselves, but you should actually be aware that you are, in fact, fucking desperate douchebags with absolutely no sense of dignity. What happened to standards, to morals?)
Reason #6: Give them an inch, and they take a mile.
Sometimes, though (and very rarely at that) I will buy a shot from these scantily-clad saleswomen. If I'm in the mood, and I've gone off wine and want to kick things up a gear, I'll buy a shot. ONE. Which is our next problem. Suddenly, the shot math goes horribly awry: you're not just buying for yourself, but also your mates. And then, to cap it off, the short-skirted girl laughs and jokingly says, "and one for me, right?".
Let's be serious: your job is not different to that of a bartender's. You're paid to sell alcohol. If a bartender was seen drinking on the job, his manager would probably have some serious words with him. Same with waitresses: when I order a cup of coffee, they don't immediately joke, "and one for me, right?". I mean, it's just not professional.
To make matters worse, when this rare transaction (at least on my part) is complete, you can see that the maths just doesn't add up. Usually, when you've handed over your beloved green rhino for that R8 shot, the girl in question holds on to that left over R2 coin for just a bit too long , making it just that much more awkward to ask for your change. Normally, the buyer in question is (1) drunk and (2) thinks that money will increase his odds of a chance hook up (which, in light of the girl mentioned above, shows that they're not too far off the mark), they just let the R2 slide, making the "on-special" shot cost the same as if you'd have bought it in the bar. I'm a student, on a budget tighter than The Hulk's purple spandex pants. I value change even more than the Obama administration; give it the hell back to me.
Reason #7: It's the shallowest job. Ever.
In short, Promotion work is the shallowest job imaginable, unless you count whatever the hell the Jersey Shore cast do for their wealth as a job. It requires absolutely no skill, no depth of personality beyond a fake smile, and if you're good at it it means you have achieved nothing apart from being born of two parents with a pretty reasonable gene pool.
You see, I have two sisters (very intelligent, talented sisters at that), and (as easy and as good as the money is for this line of work) I'd like to think they are worth more than just a sexual object that moves merchandise, to be perved over by lecherous drunk fools while they fake their way into selling whatever crap the company has asked them too. Sure, I get it: easy money, and for what? You don't have to do anything. Hell, looking at Intel and Motorcar models, you don't even need to know jack shit about what you're even selling, as long as you are at least an 8. But that's exactly it: no matter how brainy or interesting you are, your job comes down to how high out of ten you score on any given day. It's these little compromises in the name of money that drive moral degradation.
Of course, not all promotion girls are created equal, and I'm sure there are some out there reading this with no small amount of indignation. Think what you will; I'm just waiting to find one who doesn't piss me off so much. -----
Later note from the author - due to comments and discussions about this post permeating to even today (20 August 2014), I've revisited this topic using a more critical, mature approach.
