How to Recognise Crumbling Infrastructure

I keep on finding myself taken aback when faced with advertisements during my part-time profession of commuting. The tube often lulls me into a half-life existance incompatible with the pleasures of reading and too jittery to produce legible writing. Adverts used to be strongly inferred as a subliminally exulting presence, they reproduced fatuous notions of generic ideals provoking cravings to climb the a desire hierarchy. This surely collapsed as Public Relations infiltrated the media and a majority of commuters introverted into the regurgitated journalism of the Metro bubble. Preened lives are no longer the bottom line sell, visual spiel has become textual zeal on the curved platforms people stand facing, waiting in regimented file appropriate to knowledge of where the doors will be when the train finally arrives. Finally arrives. I believe this is answer. 

Statisticians and experiences can vouch that trains are becoming infrequent for reasons ranging from suicides to signal failures. I believe the detailed and involved paragraphs betraying the typically laconic nature of the advertisement can be absolutely adduced as proof that waiting times for trains are increasing. Disappearing is deluge the concise, emboldened catchphrases, molesting metaphors in flashes of earnest emphaticisms. Stretching across the curvature of the London Underground is the antithesis to snappy slogans: text. And reams of it.

A man from an advertising agency blusters for several paragraphs before a multi-clausal announcement of a job prospect. Whatever happened to Your Country Needs You? Jack Daniel’s now depicts sepia images accompanied by text that one can only assume it is imperative to mutter internally in a southern American drawl. This advertisement not content with coercing a commuter into travelling, but also adopting the twang and dialect of the source of the product it’s attempting to sell. Absurdly, even a data-collection company has time to entice the public on the platform when they a forced to wield their clipboard as shields, a result of besieging citizens on the street. 

Advertisers are now intrepidly daring to do the vintage-unthinkable: hold our concentration. As the wind billows on the Underground rendering newspaper-reading a nuisance, the industrial-adhesives keep 9 ft advertisements in place with the aid of a copious dispersion of font. Waiting times are get longer, this is the indisputable truth. 


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