When I was about ten years old, my family headed to Arizona for a cousin’s wedding. And though, at home, my parents strictly limited my and my brother’s TV time, when we were on vacation, all bets were off. So I spent hours at a clip planted in front of the tube, watching whatever I could find on the hotel’s station lineup.

At the time, the Radisson chain was ascendant, and their ads seemed to appear at every commercial break. The spots panned across one lavish hotel room after another, intercut with sparkling pools and polished lobbies, all filled with elated guests. Over which, the jingle crooned: “Why get a room, when you can get a Radisson?”

And, frankly, I was sold. With each repeated viewing, I’d pan around our own fairly shabby and cramped hotel room, before returning my gaze enviously to the screen.

Eventually, I couldn’t take it any more, and headed over to interrupt my mother, reading on the bed.

“I don’t get it,” I said. “Why are we staying here, when we could be staying at a Radisson?”

My mother stared at me blankly for a moment, then replied, “this is a Radisson.”

It’s a lesson I’ve thought about a lot in the years since.