I was a creative supervisor on the account and had a great track record with them. I think the envious Mr. Corner Office didn’t like the idea that the client always seemed to buy whatever I presented.

So while I was on vacation, he worked up a corny commercial that he presented himself and was and shot down by the client. Corner Office wanted his concept sold, and I was given the task of re-presenting it.

“Fine,” I said “Maybe we can just tweak it and have another go at it. But, we should probably have another idea to present at the same time.”

I worked up a new concept and brought it to Corner Office’s office for review. The boss’ reaction was: “Well, I’m not nuts about it, but present it. I really want the other spot sold.”

At the client meeting he sent Carl Blowhard, a cigar-chomping lieutenant along to make sure I wasn’t going to try to sell my idea.  The first words out of Blowhard’s mouth were: “We’ve got something that’s gonna knock you on your ass!”

I said, as calmly as I could: “Well, actually before we show you anything new, we’d like to re-present an idea that you saw previously. And, like a good soldier, I re-presented Corner Office’s favorite. “Hmm,” said the client. “It’s really not so bad, is it?  But Carl said you’re gonna knock me on my ass. What else do you have?”  Then I went on to show him my idea. “Wow! That one’s terrific. Let’s do it!”

When we got back, Blowhard tells Corner Office that I sold him down the river.

And so the nightmare begins…

About a week later, Corner Office calls me in to a meeting and says “Take us through the commercial you sold the client,”

After I described it, Blowhard says: “No. No. That’s not how it goes. Where’s the guy with a cow and the candy bars falling on his head?”  Corner Office cuts Blowhard off and he says: “No, the guy falls off a ladder into the candy bars.”

“Wait a minute!” I respond. “You just asked me to present the concept that the client agreed to spend half a million dollars to produce. There’s no cow. And certainly no ladder. Look, I’ve offered to sell the client something else. Now we’re ready to shoot it and you want to change it?”

“Do you want to do the commercial or not?” says Corner Office. “Do I want to do what Blowhard just described? No. I don’t like — or even understand — what either of you just told me.” “Fine. Blowhard will do it,” says Corner Office.

I left GBB&B a few weeks later and started a freelance creative service.

Blowhard made the TV spot the way he described it, which was awful. The client paid a small fortune for it, refused to put on TV and then fired the agency.

The client and I had a drink shortly after that and he confessed that he hated Corner Office and Blowhard from the get-go.

I ran into Corner Office about year ago, looking very tired, used up and unhappy. I’d never realized before how short he was.

Hired Gun

When the director of the entire purchasing department announced his retirement, Steve, the graphic arts supervisor was named to replace him. That set off a scramble for Steve’s position, and Bob and the other buyers all postured for the promotion to supervisor.

Since Bob was the “go to” guy in the section, with the most knowledge of graphics production, he was considered a shoo-in for the promotion. He was the most efficient order processor in the entire purchasing department, and was respected and well liked by the vendors.

The retiring director however, was not a fan of Bob. Even though he was a lame duck executive, about to depart the company, he expressed his negative concerns to Steve and the other supervisors in a meeting. He explained that Bob was a maverick and didn’t really fit in with the corporate culture of the company. He made decisions without approval from above, and his productivity was so high, that he couldn’t possibly be thorough.

Steve, the incoming director defended Bob by pointing out that Bob’s annual review was always among the highest in the department, his decisions consistently saved the company money, and he rarely made an error.

Within the next two weeks the landscape changed in Purchasing. The director retired. He was replaced by a different supervisor. Steve resigned in protest. And Bob was advised to seek other employment, as he was no longer needed in this department.

Patrick516

Being a lover of food, the book gave me pause when I thought about what would occur if something like this were to happen to people. Say, for instance you went into a supermarket and the robbies were now in the pet food section. (For those of you unfamiliar with “robbies”, it is broccoli rabe, a somewhat bitter cousin to broccoli.) Although I enjoy broccoli rabe often, I had never heard it called “robbies” before moving to Rhode Island. I guess it’s part of the local vernacular. It’s in the same category as cabinets and stuffies, two other words that I would never have expected to find on a restaurant menu.

How would you react if you ordered a pepperoni pizza from Domino’s and the pepperoni came thin sliced in a little plastic tube, just like Pringle’s potato chips? And speaking of that, did you ever wonder where they find enough potatoes the exact same size to make those chips?

Where would you be if they moved all the Dunkin’ Donuts shops? You drive to your favorite shop and find it’s been moved to the top floor of a six-story walk-up. And what’s with all the donut shops in Rhode Island anyway? With Dunkin’ Donuts, Honey Dew, Bess Eaton, Allie’s and now Krispy Kremes, we have more donut shops per capita than any other state in the country. I heard the new governor is going to add that fact to the sign down on I 95 when you cross the border from Connecticut.  It will read something like this, “Rhode Island, where you’re never more than 100 feet from a donut shop.” And it’s being sponsored by Ocean State Cardiology Associates.

To me the most traumatic move would be if they took all the garlic out of the food stores and sold it only in Benny’s Appliances. Fortunately, this would never happen, because it would be a logistical nightmare to move that much stuff. Ever since I moved to Rhode Island, I was convinced that the largest company in the state was the garlic distributor in Providence.

Next time you go to Federal Hill and pick up a dry salami off the counter in Venda Ravioli, think about how easy it was, and how you didn’t have to get all stressed out finding a dry cleaner that sold it.

There, now you don’t have to read the book.

As a kid, I just didn’t get this fake stuff. I remember being shocked reading an ad in a magazine for women’s panties and men’s briefs that were padded in the seat to enhance how you looked from behind. I couldn’t believe anyone would spend money to make their butt look bigger. My mom and all my aunts were always complaining that theirs were too big.  Back then all the girls in school wore padded bras. I didn’t get that either. Whenever I copped a feel, I knew right away that it was false advertising. And when the word would get around school, the girls would be mortified.

My first exposure to breast augmentation was about 20 years ago, when my niece, who worked for me as an art director, decided she needed larger breasts. For my money, she had all the equipment necessary to attract any male with better than 20/200 vision. She was very pretty, tall, and had a nice shape. But she wanted to graduate from grapes to grapefruit, lest Mr. Right pass right by. So she had a consultation and made her appointment with destiny. Of course, she first had to have an appointment with the loan officer at the bank, because this procedure would set her back several months pay. The plastic surgery center offered all kinds of incentives, like a gift certificate for a C-cup bra, but they didn’t offer an easy pay plan. When she came to work the next day, showing off her “new boobs” I had to ask her if the bank had a lien on her breasts, and how would they collect, if she defaulted.

I guess the investment paid off. Shortly after she had the procedure, she moved to California, where she could stack up to the competition, where everybody out in Hollywood has implants of some kind. And there she found her dream hunk. I never asked him, but I’ll bet he would have fallen in love and married her anyway. But she told me that the extra equipment gave her the self-confidence she needed to snag this great catch.

The other thing that troubles me is all this face work that women are getting done. A friend of ours went on vacation, and when she came back she asked me, “Do I look any different?” That’s always a dangerous question for me to answer, and I cringed, hoping I would guess right. So I tentatively commented, “Yes. I like your new hair style.” To which, she responded, “I just went through five friggin’ thousand dollars on my face, and you like my hair!” You need to understand that the whole time she’s shouting these expletives, her facial expression did not change. That’s when it hit me that there were no longer any wrinkles, creases, dimples or dents in her face, and her skin was so taut, it didn’t move when she spoke. To make matters worse, I couldn’t tell if she was smiling or snarling. It was truly unnerving.

And this plastic body syndrome is no better with guys. They’re taking steroids, getting hair plugs, having silicone implants inserted in their biceps, and elsewhere, and having unwanted fat vacuumed out of their beer bellies. And the women that they are trying to impress are sitting around making fun of them. So what’s the point?

With all the migration back to natural foods and natural fabrics, when are we going back to natural bodies? I expect this will happen as soon as I invest in a case lot of Grecian Formula to start coloring what little hair I have left.

It all started with some of the local newspaper editors skipping their medication. And then at the National Convention of Headline Writers, a group of college kids slipped some concentrated Hysteria into the water supply. Right after the writers got back to work, (on a slow news day) three women in separate incidents were attacked by alligators, making the perfect storm of journalism.

First, let me tell you about the attacks. One woman went snorkeling at dusk, which is feeding time for gators, presenting herself as dinner. The second woman sat on a low trestle bridge dangling her feet inches above the waterline. We all know alligators love toes, so she was a goner, feet first, so to speak. The third woman was luckier. She was watering her flowers when a gator mistook her hose for a snake and went after it. She whacked him in the snout with the nozzle and he took off. The other non-story contributing to the hype is about all the pets that are disappearing. Again, this is being blamed on your friendly neighborhood alligator. The press, of course, ignores the fact that pets will travel thousands of miles to return to their original home. And they have also been ignoring all the dogs and cats that are walking along I-75 on their way back to Ohio.

And now, every time some loveable gator pops his head out of the water and gives someone a toothy smile, they panic and call the Alligator Police. My buddy Al, who is a licensed trapper, has been pulling about 20 gators a day out of the lakes. The TV crews are eating it up, filming Al at every chance.  You’ve probably seen him on TV or on the Internet. One IQ-challenged anchor breathlessly told the TV audience that Al was so busy during this alligator insurgency that he had a backlog of 39 sightings to respond to. I quickly did the math and that came out to two days work. Wow!

At this rate, unless some real news distracts the press, the Florida alligators will soon make the Endangered Species list. With mosquitoes now almost non-existent in Florida, the only pests left will be the over-the-top news reporters.

Today’s popular fashion trend began with the exposure of the abdomen, but it expanded rapidly as tops became skimpier and bottoms dropped lower. Unfortunately this style combined with a second trend, obesity, which resulted in something that was really hard to look at. Very quickly, butt cleavage exceeded bust cleavage, love handles replaced waistlines and saddlebags were shown in all their bulging glory. As if this wasn’t enough, body art accessorized the look. In order to call further attention to the flaws in their anatomy, these fashion aficionados added rings to their navels and breasts, and strategically placed tattoos. This rapidly snowballed into a stampede where kids were getting tattoos all over their bodies, and facial piercings on their ears, nose, eyelids and tongue. Some of them had so much hardware drilled into their skin, that they couldn’t get through airport security. And of course, what’s the point of having a tattoo on some obscure body part, if no one can see it. So even more bulging flesh began to be revealed.

And then the fashion trend took a really ugly turn. The parents of these kids decided that they needed to appear younger and trendier than their teenagers, so they began to copy these styles with disastrous results. I’m not sure exactly when cellulite, stretch marks and sagging skin came into fashion, but they’re out there in a big way right now.

Fortunately, hope is on the horizon. A couple of new fashion looks are on the way. One is called “Lollipop Head.” This is where women wear a big hairdo and oversized sunglasses while sporting a pencil-thin body. It’s doubtful that this look will survive, as it will take years for the obesity thing to reverse itself. “BoHo Chic” however, is beginning to catch on. This style copies earlier bohemian and gypsy attire, combines it with more glitter, and hopefully an occasional bath.

The other style that’s emerging is “Emo,” where guys are wearing tight pants and ladies blouses just to make an outrageous fashion statement. One of these enthusiastic trendsetters actually burned his forehead trying to iron his hair flat.  This look is vaguely similar to the “Metrosexual” style that fizzed when the men realized that in order to qualify they had to eat quiche. The other nail in that coffin came when men found out just how uncomfortable it is wearing ladies’ thongs, bras and control-top pantyhose.

I’m told that fashion exists so that we, as individuals can express ourselves creatively and look different from each other. Yet, as soon as a new fashion trend begins, we all immediately rush out to copy each other so that we end up looking the same as everyone else. And we spend a fortune doing it. Am I missing something here?

I’m proud to say that from that moment on, Frank was a model golfer. When one of his iron shots went into the lake, he said “It’s OK. I’ve got lots of balls.” He actually laughed when one of his sand shots landed in another trap, on a different green. And when his two-foot putt rolled off the green, leaving him a thirty-foot chip coming back up the hill, he said, “I’ve got this shot.”

Making this amazing day that much more amazing, was the fact that Frank had gone to the gym before playing golf (like he wasn’t going to get enough exercise on the course). After his workout and shower, Frank realized that he didn’t pack a change of underwear, so he had to “go commando.” I cringed when he shared this with us. From my perspective, having your boys roaming unrestrained would be enough to unnerve and distract any golfer. And speaking of unnerving, on the thirteenth hole, Frank was sitting in the passenger seat of Bob’s cart while Bob set up for a shot. Bob had parked the cart immediately adjacent to the ball, but Frank thought the cart, although parallel to the line of flight, was a tad close to the ball. Concerned that the cart might be a distraction to Bob, he asked if he wanted it moved further away. Bob’s negative response as he started his backswing was immediately followed by an explosive bang, as the ball careened off the underside of the cart’s roof, barely missing Frank’s skull. And that’s when Frank wished he were wearing underwear.

“Thank you for calling Bankruptcy International Airlines. Your call is very important to us. This call may be monitored for terrorist profiling. If you are calling from a touchtone phone, (does anyone own a rotary phone anymore?) press one. If you would like to speak in English, press one, followed by the pound sign. Please listen carefully as our menu options have changed recently. If you would like to order breakfast, press one; for lunch, press two. Due to unexpected call volume, we are experiencing delays of up to seven hours. If you would like to continue to hold, and have your call answered in the order it was received, press one, followed by the pound sign. If you do not wish to hold, then just pound salt. After all, we’re giving you these tickets for free. And besides, a couple of hours wait is nothing compared to the time you will spend on the tarmac without air conditioning, waiting for clearance to leave that third world destination.”

Yesterday, my friend Bruce, a former veteran detective of some “war-zone” cities, forwarded me the transcript from a police department’s telephone response system. Here is the script.

“Thank you for calling the Pandomonia Police Department, Our hours are 10 AM to 4 PM weekdays, with no service on weekends and holidays. Since no one is here to take your call, please choose from one of the following options. To request police assistance for a problem that you created, press one. If you would like us to take control of your sorry life due to chemical dependency, press two. If you would like us to raise your kids while you collect unemployment, press three. If you would like to whine about us doing productive work rather than keeping your butt out of trouble, press four. If you would like to sue us, or tell us you pay our salaries, press five. And for all you other losers, press zero. Thank you for making us the number one police department in the national ineptitude ratings. And remember we’re here to save your ass, not kiss it. This call may be monitored for use as evidence against you in a court of law. You have the right to remain silent.”

Well, at least that police department has an answering service. Ours has an unlisted number.