Photo by Robert Linder on Unsplash
One of the things I like to do before going to sleep at night (i.e., dozing off on the couch) is watch YouTube video reels of old television commercials.
I’m addicted. I’ve been known to watch 10-15 hours of old commercials per week.
I’m partial to the reels from the early 1970s, the commercials I may barely remember, if at all.
It’s a great way to escape back to those innocent days when I was a little kid and had no idea just how hard and complicated the adult world would be.
But I digress. The point is that I like to watch old commercials.
So, it should come as no surprise that when I learned I would be in Pittsburgh the same day as the Oscar Meyer Wienermobile, I leaped at the chance to go check it out.
History on wheels
The Oscar Meyer Wienermobile dates to 1936 when Oscar Meyer’s nephew, Carl, conceived the idea of a hot dog-shaped car to drive around Chicago to promote the company.
Across nearly 90 years of history, including a few hiatuses, the Wienermobile has taken many forms and been involved in numerous incidents. These included fender benders, minor brushes with the law, and having its catalytic converter stolen during a stop in Las Vegas.
In May 2023, Oscar Meyer announced it was renaming it the “Frankmobile,” an idea that was so stupid it had to have been a publicity stunt. Stunt or no, the name change was short-lived, and by summer’s end the rightful moniker had been restored. (Don’t get me wrong, if the Frankmobile name had stuck, I still would have gone to see it, but with much less, um … relish.)
And so, the name was back to the Wienermobile when I set out to see this iconic piece of Americana, one of a fleet of six that travel across the country.
Yes, really, BJ’s.
Pittsburgh is one of our notoriously grayest cities, yet on this early February morning, the sun was shining brightly down on the parking lot of the BJ’s Wholesale Club where I would encounter the famous vehicle.
Let’s stop right there for a second. Because, yes, really, I went to see the Oscar Meyer Wienermobile in a BJ’s parking lot.
Go ahead and snicker. Believe me, if the tables were turned and you were telling me this, I most certainly would.
We’ve come to see a giant hotdog on wheels
I pulled into the parking lot and there it was, sitting in the sun in all its kitschy glory. Spotless and majestic in its beautiful glossy shades of mustard yellow and ketchup red.
Though my personal history doesn’t date back as far as 1936, I’ve known about the Wienermobile seemingly my entire life. I’d encountered it a few times on the highway. But this was the first time I would get to see it up close.
My pulse accelerated a bit as I hit the lock button on my key fob and walked over to join the queue of poor boys and pilgrims with families.
The line moved slowly, allowing me to take stock of my fellow attendees.
I was concerned I’d be the oldest person to show up, but that fear was allayed once I saw the couple ahead of me who appeared to be in their seventies. They took a succession of smiling selfies. I was in the right place.
Just behind them was a cheery and chatty young woman who announced she was listening in on a boring conference call, an act of resourceful multitasking she was especially proud of. As she had it on speakerphone, I can confirm that, yes, the call was, indeed, boring.
Immediately in front of me was a grandmother with her two young grandsons. I asked their ages. The older boy held up four fingers while his younger brother held up two—perfect ages, I would think, to appreciate a giant hotdog on wheels.
They were off-the-charts excited. Almost as excited as me!
The chatty woman and the grandmother struck up a friendly conversation, during which the grandmother explained that while she had never before seen the Wienermobile she had seen the now-retired Hershey’s Kissmobile.
I thought about inserting myself into the conversation and sharing that I had once arrived at work to find a giant inflatable colon in the lobby. To encourage all employees to get screened for colon cancer, we were invited to walk through and examine it (“Hey, look boss, polyps!”).
In a rare moment of good judgment, I opted to keep this story to myself.
This was a big deal
At one point, I looked back to find that the line had swelled to over 50 people. No two ways about it, this was a big deal.
The two-year-old in front of me was finally overcome with excitement and couldn’t stand it any longer. He burst out of the line and went charging over to the Wienermobile. His grandmother, who’d seen this movie before, told her older grandson to stay in line while she scurried over to retrieve the toddler, picking him up by the scruff of his winter coat and carrying him back to the line.
As we got closer to the Wienermobile, there were foam core cutouts of hot dogs and condiments with holes you could stick your head through for a picture. The boys grabbed these with gusto and held them up backward, with the graphics facing them, so they were sticking their heads through amorphous white blobs. After a little coaching from grandma, they proudly turned them around and posed for her with big smiles on their faces.
The line inched mercifully closer.
I turned around again and spotted a pre-teen boy holding a diecast Wienermobile Monster Truck. I didn’t ask, but I had the feeling this wasn’t his first encounter with the giant wheeled hot dog. It occurred to me that the Wienermobile might have groupies—or at least avid fans—who come out to get a Wienermobile fix whenever it comes around.
And as I began to ponder what you would call a Wienermobile groupie, the line moved just a little more quickly.
A few minutes later, we were finally at the threshold of greatness. I did my best to take it all in.
The Wienermobile is larger and more rugged than I expected. At 27 feet long and 11 feet high, it’s more akin to a motorhome than a car. It’s built on a truck chassis and has a dual-wheel rear axle. Had the weather not cooperated and the Wienermobile had arrived in a typical Western Pennsylvania February snow, the driver would likely have navigated the poor road conditions with ease.
I peeked inside. The interior, also decked out in mustard yellow and ketchup red, features both captain chairs and bench seating that run the length of the vehicle on both sides. The interior upholstery was more ugly than fun. I was surprised to catch myself thinking that I didn’t care if I ever got to ride in it.
Unless I was driving, of course.
The Wienermobile was staffed by two perky early twenty-something female “hotdoggers” (their official job titles) who handed out store coupons for bacon and Wienermobile whistles and volunteered to take visitors’ pictures in front of the iconic vehicle.
Mostly it appeared that a hotdogger’s primary job responsibility is to greet everyone with a smile.
Still, they took their job seriously. When the woman on the conference call asked for a second Wienermobile whistle so she could have one for each of her two children, the hotdogger turned her down, smilingly explaining the need to have enough whistles for everyone.
I tapped the woman on the shoulder and handed her mine. I didn’t need a whistle. After all, I was going home with my memories.
I gave the hotdogger my phone and she snapped my photo. Then it was over. I began walking back to my Honda Accord, a car that had never seemed less cool.
The sun shone down in beams of mustard yellow and ketchup red. Or at least that’s how I’ll remember it the next time I’m parked on my couch watching commercials from 1971 on YouTube.
The attraction of a giant toy car
As I buckled my seatbelt and checked my mirrors, I reflected on what I had just experienced.
Specifically, I wondered, what is it about a novelty vehicle like the Wienermobile that so captivates the imagination?
I think it’s a couple of things.
First, there is something childlike about this piece of commercial machinery. After all, what’s the Wienermobile if not a giant toy car, one that doesn’t look anything like the cars and trucks we drive every day? And when it gets down to it, the Wienermobile serves no practical purpose whatsoever.
But, unlike a toy car, the Wienermobile doesn’t ask us to use our imagination to shrink down to become part of its world. Instead, it’s sized and scaled to meet us where we are—in our world. There’s something wonderful, even magical about that.
Then there’s the other reason.
It has the word “wiener” in its name.
