My name is V. Just V. My mother tortured me with a stupid name that I’ve been made fun of for my whole life, so all you get is V.
I have found myself in a precarious position lately. I am thirty, dating a steady guy for a few years now, working (You know. I’m a “young professional,” as they say.), and yet not content.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
V
It’s midnight. I’m working. I’m in advertising, so to a degree, my work can be done whenever I feel like doing it. And I’ve been with my company long enough to be able to write my own schedule, which works out well given that I prefer not to be a nine-to-fiver. I go in during business hours when we’re having client meetings or my team needs me to share ideas in person. I do, really, go in during normal business hours. Sometimes. It’s just not a priority. And with technology as good as it is these days, I can be there without actually having to go in. For Christ’s sake, my laptop came with a built in webcam, so I can easily video conference with anyone.
I work for just a little longer, researching current fashion advertising trends and just generally surfing the net to drum up some ideas for the campaign we’ve just acquired. We’re currently working on an ad campaign for a new line of exercise clothes for women. Some celebrity is “designing” the clothes, and her line is slated to be in stores in the Fall. I use the word “designing” loosely because we all know how much of it celebrities actually do. Every account we get like this, the client/celebrity always comes in to our first meeting blinged out trying to talk over our heads to prove to us that he/she knows what the best strategy is for marketing his/her newest, I’m-more-expensive-than-anyone-but-the-really-rich-can-afford line of clothes.
At this stage in the game, my coworkers and I just sit there and smile and humor the jackass sitting in front of us. They never know what’s best for their advertising campaign, but you could never convince them of that. We’ve tried. It never works. I’ve found it’s best to just smile and nod and agree with whatever dribble they’re presently going on about and move on with our own ideas as soon as they’ve left the room.
I understand celebrity-speak, and I understand when to ignore the self-righteous bullshit that sometimes comes out of their mouths.
That’s my superpower I use on everyone. It’s best for me to ignore whatever self-righteous bullshit you spout to me. Well, it’s best for you, if I ignore the bullshit you’re spouting because you don’t really want to hear what I have to say about all your clever little ideas no matter how many days it took you to drum you’re favorite gem up. Yes, this is a bit condescending on my part and maybe even a little presumptuous because I don’t always really know you, whoever you happens to be at the moment.
Take that new pop singer, Angeliunia McLeod. First of all, you can’t pronounce her name. Secondly, you can’t pronounce her name. Thirdly, if I can’t pronounce your name, I can’t tell my best friend to go buy your new record. We told her to change her name. Did she listen? No. Have you heard her sing anything lately? No. Like I said, I’m not trying to be condescending. I know what I’m talking about, and you don’t. Not about marketing you. Not about making you money. Not about how you should dress or talk or even walk down the street chewing your sugar free gum. Maybe you know about shopping or drinking or fucking. But I know about advertising to the millions of people who pay attention to nothing but pop culture.
And it is the truth. As a general rule of thumb, I am smarter than you. You the gas station attendant or waiter or even bank manager. Thank you for doing your job well and in a way that directly benefits me but you can close your mouth for all I care because the “insights” you’re having today, I had when I was sixteen. Don’t get me wrong. I’m really glad you’re having these awe-inspiring revelations now, but you are by no means ahead of the curve nor are you even meeting the average. Thank you for your time but go home and sleep next to your girlfriend/wife/husband/fuckbuddy/whoever and leave the thinking to me and the rest of the big girls.
God I’m a bitch!
I say these things, but I only half mean them. I mean, I am smarter than you, but I don’t look down on you with as much disdain as I have previously displayed. Hell maybe I do. Who fucking knows? And it doesn’t matter anyway because you’ll never know how I loathe the small intelligence you put forth as genius.
Part of the reason I am in advertising is because I love people and I love to study people. I have read enough books on the psychology of man and spent enough years working in the field, i.e. working in the customer service industry, to really appreciate the intense level of stupidity that runs rampant throughout 95% of the population. I enjoy being able to dissect you and your actions and break their causes down to some of the most basic human emotions. I enjoy examining the question of whether or not we have actually evolved. Based on research stemming from the interaction with my clients…we have not evolved.
It’s two in the morning. Time to call it a night and crawl into my oversized bed fitted nicely with my overpriced 1000 thread count 100% Egyptian cotton sheets.
I work for just a little longer, researching current fashion advertising trends and just generally surfing the net to drum up some ideas for the campaign we’ve just acquired. We’re currently working on an ad campaign for a new line of exercise clothes for women. Some celebrity is “designing” the clothes, and her line is slated to be in stores in the Fall. I use the word “designing” loosely because we all know how much of it celebrities actually do. Every account we get like this, the client/celebrity always comes in to our first meeting blinged out trying to talk over our heads to prove to us that he/she knows what the best strategy is for marketing his/her newest, I’m-more-expensive-than-anyone-but-the-really-rich-can-afford line of clothes.
At this stage in the game, my coworkers and I just sit there and smile and humor the jackass sitting in front of us. They never know what’s best for their advertising campaign, but you could never convince them of that. We’ve tried. It never works. I’ve found it’s best to just smile and nod and agree with whatever dribble they’re presently going on about and move on with our own ideas as soon as they’ve left the room.
I understand celebrity-speak, and I understand when to ignore the self-righteous bullshit that sometimes comes out of their mouths.
That’s my superpower I use on everyone. It’s best for me to ignore whatever self-righteous bullshit you spout to me. Well, it’s best for you, if I ignore the bullshit you’re spouting because you don’t really want to hear what I have to say about all your clever little ideas no matter how many days it took you to drum you’re favorite gem up. Yes, this is a bit condescending on my part and maybe even a little presumptuous because I don’t always really know you, whoever you happens to be at the moment.
Take that new pop singer, Angeliunia McLeod. First of all, you can’t pronounce her name. Secondly, you can’t pronounce her name. Thirdly, if I can’t pronounce your name, I can’t tell my best friend to go buy your new record. We told her to change her name. Did she listen? No. Have you heard her sing anything lately? No. Like I said, I’m not trying to be condescending. I know what I’m talking about, and you don’t. Not about marketing you. Not about making you money. Not about how you should dress or talk or even walk down the street chewing your sugar free gum. Maybe you know about shopping or drinking or fucking. But I know about advertising to the millions of people who pay attention to nothing but pop culture.
And it is the truth. As a general rule of thumb, I am smarter than you. You the gas station attendant or waiter or even bank manager. Thank you for doing your job well and in a way that directly benefits me but you can close your mouth for all I care because the “insights” you’re having today, I had when I was sixteen. Don’t get me wrong. I’m really glad you’re having these awe-inspiring revelations now, but you are by no means ahead of the curve nor are you even meeting the average. Thank you for your time but go home and sleep next to your girlfriend/wife/husband/fuckbuddy/whoever and leave the thinking to me and the rest of the big girls.
God I’m a bitch!
I say these things, but I only half mean them. I mean, I am smarter than you, but I don’t look down on you with as much disdain as I have previously displayed. Hell maybe I do. Who fucking knows? And it doesn’t matter anyway because you’ll never know how I loathe the small intelligence you put forth as genius.
Part of the reason I am in advertising is because I love people and I love to study people. I have read enough books on the psychology of man and spent enough years working in the field, i.e. working in the customer service industry, to really appreciate the intense level of stupidity that runs rampant throughout 95% of the population. I enjoy being able to dissect you and your actions and break their causes down to some of the most basic human emotions. I enjoy examining the question of whether or not we have actually evolved. Based on research stemming from the interaction with my clients…we have not evolved.
It’s two in the morning. Time to call it a night and crawl into my oversized bed fitted nicely with my overpriced 1000 thread count 100% Egyptian cotton sheets.
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