Me on a billboard?

My cell phone rings. It’s a guy from my car insurance company’s marketing arm. He’s reading my survey answers about how I switched from my old insurance company because I saved a couple hundred dollars.
He tells me they’re planning an ad campaign on California highways and they want to feature real customers who are residents of the state, representing the diverse population. Am I interested in being on a billboard?
Sure, why not? I tell him. He tells me to email a mugshot to suchandsuch address.com. I tell him it’s no problem if they’ve already got enough chubby white balding guys with glasses and don’t need me.
Immediately, I’m thinking, Is this a mistake?
I don’t mind telling the truth. My friend Andy says it will freak me out if I see myself on a billboard. I’d have to take a picture. Will they send me a poster-sized version of the ad? I’ll only tell the truth, but what’s the harm.
I instinctively no B would say no, but I’m such a ham. What a trip, being 20 feet tall. Maybe they’re looking for the next “it nerd” in Hollywood and some talent agency will give me a call. Stranger things have happened.
I tell B about it. Don’t tell me anymore, she says. She is appalled.
I go out back to snap a few picture. I need a shave and a haircut. My neck is fat. I end up taking a bunch of pictures of the cat first. I accidentally switch to the video format and shoot a bunch of nonsense interstitials. What the hell.