ADventures 11 – No country for young women

Big agencies always have Big Daddies coming over. Why, no one knows. Presumably they must do something to fill their time. And skipping from office to office commenting on loo hygiene and the peeling paint on the walls satisfies their life purpose.
Note: This entire post is based in reality fictional. 

Monday morning in a fictional ad agency in a made-up galaxy far, far away:

Servicing hottie: “Tra la la! Another day of tormenting creative people! Wheeee!”
Art Director, smoking, watching her go: “If that bitch comes near me before lunch, I’ll cut her.”
Copywriter: “Fuck, really? Wait, I’ll call her now only.”
Racuous laughter. The day has begun.

Monday afternoon, post lunch siesta, two female copywriters are discussing their love lives brand strategy
Copywriter: “Servicing cow has sent mail…FUCK.”
Other female copywriter (OFC): “What now? The client wants my fucking uterus in the script?”
1st Copywriter: “NO! BIG DADDY IS COMING TOMORROW.”
OFC: “WTF?? WHY??? SHIT I DON’T HAVE ANYTHING TO WEAR! FFFUCCCCK! I HATE MY DHOBI”
1st Copywriter reading mail out loud: “Ladies, Heard through the Glassvine that Big Daddy will be in town tomorrow. Please take appropriate action.”
OFC: “Has she marked everyone necessary?”
1st Copywriter: YES. Bless her, she always does. Okay, we need to leave early and shop.”
Male Art Director: “Haan! Finally! Stop wearing these old things. Go sexy! We need something to look at!”
The combined gaze of the women reduces him to ashes which are wafted towards his computer. His mouse now moves like in an ouija board.

Next Day, 10 am
Bright and sunny morning. The Branch Head steps out.
“Good morning!” is chirped out at everyone. Cleaners are gently reminded that if any dust is seen, their heads will be parted from their bodies. Secretaries are told to please polish the fucking china and get coffee from a decent restaurant this time.
The office is on time. The punctuality KRA of the quarter has been met with this one day alone.
Branch Head stops short in his journey towards the Creative Dept. Where are the women?
He bounds back in. And stops. ALL the women are in Indian clothes. With dupattas almost swaddling them.
He clutches his hair and almost wails. WHAT IS WRONG WITH THESE FUCKING PEOPLE? Why do they roam around almost naked on most days and look like they’re attending a funeral TODAY of all days?
A secretary walks past with some cups and his attention is diverted.

11:30 am.
Big Daddy enters. A welcoming committee comprising the Branch Head, Ass Licker 1, Ass Licker 2 and the new hire, an Account Director in her 30s – is stationed at the door.
Big Daddy walks in. “Hello, hello, hello all. How are you all?”
Hands are shook, flattery happens and then, Big Daddy smiles: “Oh helllooo. You’re new. What’s your lovely name?” He asks New Hire’s boobs, both of whom seem shocked speechless at this level of unprecedented attention.
New Hire’s mouth kicks into action: “F-f-f-fine, thank you. Er.” Her boobs are confused. Weren’t they being talked to? Why was Mouth answering?
Glances are exchanged amongst the rest of the (male) party. Bets were mentally calculated as to how long New Hire would last post this trauma.

12:30 pm: After an hour closeted with the Branch Head, Big Daddy is ready to explore virgin territories. Literally.
Servicing Saviour dials 1st Copywriter on extension: “ALERT! ALERT! The Vulture has landed! ALERRRRRT!”
Dupattas are stapled into shoulders, hair is scraped back – every woman now looks like she works in an NGO.

Big Daddy enters with welcoming committee, minus the New Hire who’s been sent home for rest and recuperation.
Big Daddy: “Hello, hello, hello, so nice to be here again!” He speaks from his heart, to the region around he women’s.
Assorted raggedy bunch: “Hiiiummhgfgh.”
Branch Head, maniacally nodding: “SUCH a pleasure to have you with us!”
Big Daddy surveys the range of swaddling dupattas around him. “Very….PLEASURABLE to be here.”
Mentally, every woman throws up.
Lips are stretched, rictus-like.
Beads of sweat start to appear.
Big Daddy is engrossed in a distance evaluation of thick South Indian cotton. What lies beneath indeed.

Branch Head, cracking under the pressure, brightly: Lunch?
Big Daddy: “Ah, yes. Great idea.” He points at the youngest sacrificial virgin servicing girl’s boobs. “Why don’t you come along? I can find out what you think of the agency.”

Strained laughter is heard. German prisons have more joie de vivre.
The Youngest smiles uncertainly. First her boss told her to dress conservatively and then piled an extra dupatta on her. Now she had to go for lunch?

The other women tearfully watched her go.
Servicing girl: “Poor thing. We should have put a third duppatta.”
1st Copywriter: “Or locked her in the bathroom.”
They sigh.
Life goes on.
The duppattas were put into storage till the next quarter.

 

ADventures 10 – Meet the Bosses.

First Advertising Interview:
Some Creative Director: I don’t like the 3 ads in your book. They’re too college-y.
You (fresh out of college): Okay. (vigorously nodding) That’s why I want to join here. For kick ass work. I would work really hard.

Interview after 2 years of late nights, slogging, proof-checking till your eyes bleed, doing the shit work and then seeing bigger campaigns go to seniors:

Another Creative Director: I like the first three campaigns. But not the others.

You: (Nodding) Yes, that’s why I want to join here. For kick ass work. I would work really hard.

(at the same time)

Yet another CD: I like the last three campaigns. But not the others.

You: (Nodding) Yes, that’s why I want to join here. For kick ass work. I would work really hard.

Interview at 5 years knowing that CDs are too human, taste is subjective, hell, creativity is subjective.

ECD: I like the first four campaigns only. But you don’t have enough released work.

You: (Nod) Okay, that’s why I want to join here.

(at the same time)

Another ECD: I like the last five campaigns, not the first four. But you don’t have enough scam work.

You: (Nod) Okay, that’s why I want to join here.

Interview at 7 years

ECD/Regional CD/NCD: I love your work! But we have a head count issue.

You: Okay. Um. (not sure if I want to join here)

At the same time:

ECD/Regional CD/NCD: So, I can’t say I like your work. Frankly, I can’t afford you. (These sentences should have been in reverse order.)

You: Okay. Um. (not sure if I want to join here)

The one thing all these guys have in common is that they all made me wait at least 20 minutes.

 

ADventures 9 – Out of the agency, into the quagmire

So I’m now in a non-agency advertising role.
I honestly don’t know if this is a good move or a bad move or whatever – given that I don’t see myself in a traditional, hidebound agency set-up anymore, or even in the future…
Should I even be terming these adventures in advertising? But it’s still defined as advertising, just not in an agency…

ANYWAY.

This post isn’t about my career choices, it’s about some gems I overheard today.

So the scenario is this. Overzealous Marketing Guy (OMG, who I suspect has more than enthusiasm coursing through his system) is commenting on some layouts that need to go out. The layouts are not just idiot proof, they’re amoeba-brain proof. Yet OMG is pondering them with the seriousness of Moses deciding on which commandments to carry down.

OMG – Do we need the “the” in this sentence?
Me (dumbfounded) – Um yeah, it’s Watch the program. So yes, its necessary. Else it would be “Watch program” and we’d sound stupid. It’s grammatically incorrect.
OMG – Yeah, grammatically, yeah but advertising can take liberties right?
Me – speechless, I didn’t realise what we were doing was advertising. I manage to shake my head in dissent and smile shakily.
OMG – Okay. Do you think it looks alright in this angle?
Me – Um. You mean the logo? Yeah. Okay. Hey, Art Director, please put a full stop at the end of program.
OMG – Yes! A full stop! Wow! That just gives the whole thing this poetic finish! Fantastic!
Me – Mouth open.

 

‘I wish I’d done this’ II. Actually more I DREAM of doing this.

 

I wish I’d done this. A long copy ad by Meteorite London.

One of 21 other lovely long copy ads.
http://www.cbsoutdoor.co.uk/en-gb/Our-Media/London-Underground/48-sheets/longcopy/Commercially-Driven-Entries/

 

ADventures 7 – It’s QUITTING DAY!!!

The title is the name of a jingle Hiroshima invented when she quit at our last workplace.
She actually woke up early, and woke me up to bawl it into my sleep tenderized ear.

Today, I sang too.

I’ve been in my current job for a little over two months.

I hated it, and my boss right from the first day. This is a man who has no expression on his face, no matter what happens. Happy? Sad? Drunk? Constipated? You just can’t tell with this guy. Ideally, I’d call him the Sphinx. But since he sucks so much, I call him the Stinx.

That pretty much describes his creative and boss-ive abilities as well.

By the second week, I wanted to leave. And was really jittery taking a house as well.  By the end of the first month, I hated my new job, I’d found and lost two potential houses, my grandfather had had a stroke, and I was miserable, homesick and extremely demoralised.

I moved to Mumbai to change fields. But with each passing hour, I kept wondering if I was a fool to sit here and get depressed in this job, hoping that something might or might not happen in six months.

Moving in no time is fairly common in advertising. So after many many rationalising sessions, many self-justifications and guilt trips to the moon on my own and with friends, I decided to quit. And fixed a date.
And then moved it up because I couldn’t stand the place.

So this morning, I called Hiroshima. And sang, “ITS QUITTING DAYYYY!”
Then, I went in to work. Approached my boss.
And in my best, I’m-so-sorry-but-I’m-helpless voice, I laid it out.

Me: Hi. Got a minute?
The Stinx: No change of expression.

Me: So, after my grandfather’s stroke, my parents have been very stressed. And they’re finding the going very difficult. And they’ve asked if I’ll come home. And its all gone back and forth a lot, and basically I’ve agreed. So…
The Stinx: No change of expression.

Me: Er. Yeah. So.
The Stinx: (FINALLY) So, when would you like to leave?
Me (thinking that was easy, he can’t wait to have me out): Um, No, I’ll serve notice and go. (I need to, I need the money!)
The Stinx: No change of expression.

Me: Er. So…(making hand gestures that are supposed to mean “Can I go? but end up looking obscene.)

The Stinx: Actually, I’d prefer you hold on till Monday, when the super boss is back….
Me: Okay…okay…but my dates will stay the same.
The Stinx: (Expression changes from irritated to…more irritated) Why? What do you mean?
Me: I’d like to be done by the 25th.
The Stinx: No change of expression.

Me: (Words are pouring out like endless rain to fill this empty pot) So by Christmas.
The Stinx: What?? 25th of December???
Me: (wondering when else Christmas is celebrated) Yes.
The Stinx: No change of expression.

Me: (Pick an expression. Any expression.) Er. Yes. So.
The Stinx: No change of expression.
The Stinx: But how can you serve only 15 days?
Me (because it says so on my contract?) …. Er. Um. Because…
The Stinx: (cutting me off expressionlessly): I have to check this. (turns his face away from me, expressionlessly)
Me: (looking at him, realising that I’ve dismissed, pick up my ers and scoot)

 

ADventures 6 – Of casting couches and coy cougars

The players:

Jack: Last name Ass. Second in command, and I use that term loosely, at the workplace. Hiroshima’s boss. And Neonderthal’s, therefore also Bonsai’s. Possesses disturbing tendency towards inappropriate comments.

Nina: 50 plus. Fit plus. Slutty plus. Inappropriate plus. Would have been a cougar if she had class. Would have been a good creative director if she had any creativity.

Steven Sycophant: Ad film director, has tendency to switch to his mother tongue in the middle and is frequently affronted that no one understands him. Licks Nina’s ass constantly.

Steven Sycophant: Wah Nina! You are so hot and cool at same time I say! Can I cast you in my next film? You can play Macbeth’s mother!

Nina: Tee hee! Really? You think I can act?

Steven: You can do anything! So how much will you pay me for doing a film? Don’t forget, I’m going to make you a star!

Nina: Tee hee! How much will you pay me? (coyly) No casting couch no?

Jack: Ahahaha. Director saar, you will be lucky to have Nina on a casting couch! Geddit? Geddit?

Steven (ignoring Jack): What ma? No money in filmsu wonly!

Nina: No money, no nudity! Tee hee!

Jack: Woo hoo! Nudity! Geddit? People with clothes off!

Me: (slump, hit head on table and die of embarrassment)

 

ADventures 5 – What people in advertising do.

Was what this long-planned post was going to be about.

One of the first books on advertising I ever read, by David Ogilvy, had this account exec try explaining to his mother what exactly it was that he did. Decades later, I faced the same problem. With my parents.

Me (holding up an ad in the newspaper): Look! I worked on this!
Dad: Oh really? (studies it) This is a picture of a man on a terrace. With a suit.
Me: YES! ME! I worked on it.
Mum (also studying the ad now): So you clicked the picture?
Me: Er. No. The photographer did that.
Mum: Okay. So you chose his clothes?
Me: No. (sigh) The stylist did that.
Dad: So you told them how to shoot it?
Me: No, the art director did that.
Mum: So you chose the model then?
Me: No. the client did that.
Dad (ever the accountant): So did you negotiate money?
Me (offended): NO! (sneering) The client servicing person did that.
Mum: So, what did you do?
Me: I wrote all the copy.
Dad: You mean the words?
Me: (Proudly) Yes!
Dad: There is a logo. Which has been around since I was a kid. There is a line saying “SMS xx number for details.” And there is a “Conditions apply.”
Me: Yeah there was more. There was a headline and all but the client junked it coz he wanted emphasis on the clothes and the model.
Dad and Mum: Which you had nothing to do with.
Me: Silence.
Dad: You know, I’m very worried about you. I’m already 53. You’re not even earning enough to keep yourself in lipsticks. You take headphones to work and claim you’re listening to music. And your agency and your clients are leaving your work out when they print it. What is your plan for life?
Mum: I think I’ll call up the matrimonial bureau.

After six years in advertising, I figured “Okay, I still can’t tell my parents what it is that I do. But at least I can write about what everyone else does. For example, art director. Wears black, smokes pot.” Not a new idea, but what the hell.

And then I saw this video.
And it explains, clearer than I ever could, cuter than I ever could and better than I ever could.

Ironically, it’s an ad.
I remember reading something like this when I was 18 and decided I wanted to be in advertising. At that time, the whole jokey article filled me with glee and a mad desire to get to know this wonderful world and see these wonderful stereotypes everyone was making fun of.
At 28, seeing this video makes me smile – only a little bit. And that too, only because of the kids in it. And then fills me with a desperate desire to run away, and never see these horrible stereotypes again.

 

ADventures 4 – Go-a?

To go-a or not to go-a. That was the question. For the ad fest there this past weekend.

I think the highlight of my trip was lunch at this restaurant called Tate’s in Colva. At about 2, with the sun dappling through the trees, I sat down to a fruity mocktail and a “French Baguette Pizza slice” after a stressful morning of bargaining and sand-sliding-under-feet-ing.

During my previous trip to the fest, in 2007, I was part of a biggish contingent and much merriment, leg, nose and swimsuit pulling had taken place. But it left you with absolutely no alone time.

This time, I was one of four, the others being Squid, my boss Nina and Peanut.
Peanut (named because of size of his brain) is Hiroshima’s…..well, he’s not smart enough to be Hiroshima’s anything. But in designation, is slightly above her. But she rules his ass. And whoops it too. And how.

For reasons I won’t get into here, Peanut was sent to India’s biggest ad fest.  Pointless really. For example, this sublime piece of conversation between him and me – who were staying at a far away hotel as befitting our lowly drone status – in a cab, on the way to the hotel. Peanut sees a board that advertises “Well-appointed rooms”.

Peanut: ha Ha HA! So funny! See that? (nudging me)
Me (thinking “just one more nudge mofo…”): What???
Peanut: Well appointed rooms! WELL. APPOINTED. ROOMS!
Me (wondering if I’ve already lost my mind in the Goan heat, dammit we haven’t even reached the venue yet): So?
Peanut (joyfully): Who the HELL would APPOINT a ROOM? hahahahahahahah!
Me (after a beat, realising he’s serious): HAHAHAHAHAAH! OMG!! YOU ARE TOO FUNNY!

He was still laughing two days later. Regrettably, he assumed I was laughing at the board and not him. Pity.

So anyway, I didn’t really want to be with any of them. So I sort of took off on my own. Forgoing the pleasure (hah!) of going to the fest on Saturday, I just walked up and down Colva, paying too much for clothes and earrings and restoring the faith of Goan shopkeepers in the gullibility of touristkind.

Having had breakfast there, I decided to go back to Tate’s for lunch. Completely empty, Tate’s has autographed photos of Hollywood stars. Who’ve possibly never been to India. But have really good secretaries and mail services. Tate’s has really good food. I’d taken along a book called ‘Kill and Tell’ (Sorry Hottai, chick lit.) Presumably that’s what readers will do to the author after they buy the book. Pathetic. Gave up on it within the first 10 pages.

When my lunch arrived, I decided to eat it with my left hand. I’ve always been a complete right-hander, to the extent that in school, when asked “which is your left hand?” I actually raised my right and pointed at my left. After a weird, Sholay-esque dream a few years ago where I didn’t have a right hand, I’ve been trying to use my left hand more.

So at Tate’s, I picked up knife and fork and proceeded to spend an entertaining 45 minutes trying to eat a Subway sandwich sized single half baguette loaded with melting cheese, onions and tomatoes and some green things. Being a vegetarian, I normally assume stuff is safe to eat in Goa if I can see green. Goans don’t bother adding anything to vegetables. “Why waste masala no men?”

Fifteen minutes into my left-handed foray, a dog wandered in. Obviously familiar with the place, the dog sat down with a very hopeful expression. Which slowly turned quizzical as I continuously made an ass of myself. He barked several times. Quick short barks of “WTF?” and “Waiter! There’s a moron in my restaurant!”
The waiters stared for a bit, then gave up and started to discuss, this being Goa, football and fish. In that order. At a certain point, I there was a fierce argument on which fish, should fish ever play football would be best at scoring a goal. No clear winner was established.

I watched the sunshine make patterns on the lawn outside, a cat that slept for more than an hour on the stucco railing of a balcony, and which being Goan, didn’t even bother catching mice in its sleep.
The waiters murmurs of “Mad or wot?”  “Foul men! That was a foul!” echoed behind me somewhere.
The dog decided he wasn’t in the mood for pizza or stupid women, and lay down for a siesta.
I sipped my lime-mint-something else-drink. And for the first time all weekend, sighed in contentment.

 

ADventures 3 – Servicing…the other side.

Dedicated to Hiroshima, Bonsai and my ex-servicing friends. You know who you are, I’ve yelled at you enough.

The players:
Hiroshima: Loud, explosive with long-lasting after effects that leave ears ringing and head whirling, and sometimes faces stinging. One of the two intelligent humans in the agency’s servicing dept. Strangely, in this post, she came out as the silent one.
Bonsai: Tiny, but nonetheless more beautiful in brain and spirit than your normal sized specimens. The other intelligent human.
Note: the Jap nicknames were coincidence, but both Hiroshima and Bonsai are fairly Jap sized, thereby proving that there are no coincidences in life. Yeah. True story.

Squid: the head of the office, so named because of the lack of any vertebrae whatsoever in any part of his body.
Neonderthal: Bonsai’s boss. Ginormous Neanderthal jaw. And the one digit IQ broadcast in neon over his head every time he opens his mouth.
Jack: Last name Ass. Hiroshima’s boss. And Neonderthal’s, therefore also Bonsai’s. Possesses disturbing tendency towards inappropriate comments.

Morning. 10 am.

Hiroshima walks in.
Squid: Why late? Client called. Apparently there’s some fire? I told him he can have anything he wants.
Hiroshima: He wants an ad on NASA’s next flight shuttle. How is that going to happen?
Squid: You tell me. You’re the AE, remember?

A little later.
Jack to Bonsai: Meeting at 10:30.
Bonsai: What? Why?
Jack: For that thing Neonderthal and I didn’t tell you about that’s gone wrong. After that meeting from last week that Neonderthal and I didn’t tell you about either. Hiroshima, you come too. We’ll have a group orgy. Hahahaha. Get it? Group ORGY! Woo hoo!
Bonsai: Whatever. (Eye roll.)
Hiroshima: Sulky silence.
Neonderthal to Jack: Oh that’s funny! Hyuk hyuk. (whispering to Bonsai) What’s an orgy?

11 am. Client’s office. Meeting in progress.
Client:….and even though we sat on our collective asses for four weeks, we feel you should churn out the final product in 2 days. After all, that’s what we’re paying you for.
Jack: Yeah! Let’s make it quick and dirty. Geddit? Like dirty quickies! Hahahaha.
Neonderthal: Hahahaha. (whispering to Bonsai) What’s a quickie?
Squid: You can have anything you want.

Client: Damn skippy. Okay so now I’m going to ask you to commit to deliver that thing that only the juniors know anything about and will take at least 10 days but I’m going to make you senior guys promise to deliver it in 3 days.
Squid: You can have anything you want.
Jack: Oh yes yes yes. Geddit? Yes YES YES. Ahahahaha
Neonderthal: Ha. ha. Yes.
Bonsai & Hiroshima (whispering to Squid and Jack): THREE days? Creative will kill us. HOW?
Squid: You tell me. You’re the AEs, remember?
Bonsai: Whatever. (Eye roll.)
Hiroshima: Sulky silence.

1 pm. In Creative section.

Bonsai and Hiroshima begging two separate art directors.
Bonsai: Please! We have to deliver.
Art director 1: No.
Hiroshima: I’ll name my first child after you.
Art director 2: I don’t like children. Fuck off.
Bonsai (threateningly): Squid says you have to do this.
Art director 1: Tell your boss to tell his boss to tell the boss to talk to our boss. We’re off for lunch.
The art directors swan off, leaving behind two shaking Japanese themed servicing people.
Bonsai: Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Why the FUCK did I get into advertising?
Hiroshima: Why the fuck was I born?
Beleaguered copywriter working through lunch: What an adaptable word fuck is.
Bonsai: Whatever. (Eye roll.)
Hiroshima: Sulky silence.

2 pm. In Studio.
Hiroshima and Bonsai begging studio boss.
H: Please!
B: Double please!
H: Triple please!
B: Quadruple!
Studio Boss: Yes yes ok, but what do you WANT?
H & B: Oh. Didn’t we say? There is this job that normally needs four art directors and ten days – and we need your 2 boys who’re doing 3 other things to do it in 2 days.
Studio Boss: Please, continue begging. It will pass your time for 20 days, which is how long it will take to do this job.
Bonsai: Whatever. (Eye roll.)
Hiroshima: Sulky silence.

2:30 pm. Back to bosses.

Hiroshima and Bonsai to Jack and Neonderthal: It can’t be done. Creative is refusing, studio is refusing.
Squid (squelching past): Give the client whatever they want.
Jack and Neonderthal: Find a way. You tell us. You’re the AEs.
Hiroshima: Fine. Lets hire temp workers.
Jack and Neonderthal: No.
Bonsai: Let’s outsource.
Jack and Neonderthal: No.
Hiroshima: Let’s ask other offices to help.
Jack and Neonderthal: No.
Bonsai: Let’s ask client to ask his other agency to handle the artworks, we’ll squeeze out the design.
Jack and Neonderthal: No.
Hiroshima: Then what????
Bonsai: Yeah, HOW do we do this?
Jack and Neonderthal: You tell us, you’re the AEs.
Bonsai: Whatever. (Eye roll.)
Hiroshima: Sulky silence.

3 pm. Back at Creative.
Hiroshima: Okay, just do the initial work. 2 layouts, that’s all.
Art director 2: No.
Bonsai: Okay just do a rough design. I’ll have it adapted.
Art director 1: No.
Hiroshima:  PLEASE! I’ll marry my first daughter to you.
Art director 2: I don’t like girls either. Dude. Gross.
Bonsai: I’ll chop your balls off.
Art director 1: Too late, my wife already did that.
Hiroshima: Okay. Drinks. Unlimited. During the time it takes you to do 2 layouts.
Art director 2: NOW you’re talking!
Art director 1 looks at Bonsai: Wanna offer me pot?
Bonsai: Fucking do it now or I’ll call your wife and tell her where you actually are every night.
Art director 1 considers for a moment. Then: Well, when you put it that way…
Bonsai: Whatever. (Eye roll.)
Hiroshima: Sulky silence.

5 pm. Layouts are ready. Time for copy.

Hiroshima and Bonsai: We need copy.
Beleaguered copywriter cowering: Okay, okay. Anything you want, just don’t hit me anymore.
Bonsai: Whatever. (Eye roll.)
Hiroshima: Sulky silence.

5:30 pm. Layouts with copy ready.
Hiroshima: Okay. So we’ve got layouts. Adapts in studio will still take 3 days.
Bonsai: Idiot client. If only he’d talked to US first. If only…
They look at each other: Why the hell haven’t we yelled at them yet?
Hiroshima and Bonsai on phone to respective clients: Listen fucker. Postpone the date.
Clients: WHAT? No way! Squid promised me!
H & B: Do you WANT to bring up how I covered your ass last week? And will do it again the next time you screw up? Or do you want me to not help you out the next time you screw up?
Clients: No hurry man. Take five days, no issues. You guys are awesome.
Bonsai: Whatever. (Eye roll.)
Hiroshima: Sulky silence.

8:30 pm. At the lift.
Trudging out of office, after three hours in studio, two and a half hours of yelling and a half hour of holding head in hands at colossal stupidity of entire mankind.
Squid: Going already? Half day? We all worked all night, every day. So lucky you children are.
Jack: Yeah. But we guys “got lucky” every night. Hahahaha.
Neonderthal: Ahahaha. What does “got lucky” mean?
Bonsai: Whatever. (Eye roll.)
Hiroshima: Sulky silence.

 

ADventures 2 – Scriptwriting in advertising

Stage 1
Starts with the client’s brief.

Servicing Person: We need a really kick ass creative for xyz client. They want something really wild. You know?

Creative person  (sceptically): Yeah you said that the last time. We created a Good Year Blimp and executed a single beige balloon. I don’t think I want to go through that again.

Servicing Person: No, no they definitely want something cool. Whacky. Totally out there.

(Note: If you’re ever asked to do ‘mad’ and ‘whacky’ stuff, just turn and run out. Trust me, it will be the sanest decision of your life – i.e. the decision that will keep you sane. )

Stage 2
Creative slogs. Works. Everyone in the agency wanks off over it. And we end with a script.
(Note: Yes, this is a nursery rhyme. But just go with it)

Jack and Jill went up the hill,
To fetch a pail of water.
Jack fell down and broke his crown.
And Jill came tumbling after.
Logo.

Stage 3
Day of presentation. Creative is escorted, minus cuffs, but with similar doomed outlook, to client’s office and plonked in a chair.

Servicing fumbles through pre mumble. Creative person sighs. Goes into overdrive. Animatedly presents above script.

Client: Ok. Very cool. (thinks) hmmm……
Birds chirp. The world goes pink for the creative. This is unprecedented. This is…
Client: But we’re a children’s brand. So no breaking anything.
Creative (aghast): But the breaking is the pivotal point. The high point. Else the climax is flat.
Client: Yah. Yah. I get what you’re saying. But no breaking. Or tumbling. That’s child abuse. And make the logo bigger.
Creative: But…
Servicing Pimp: Okay, okay. We’ll fix it.
Creative: Silence. Enraged looks. Sulky expressions.

Stage 4
Creative drags feet. Pimp, I mean Servicing complains to Creative boss. Boss yells at Creative. Creative fixes script. Back at client’s. The new script.

Jack and Jill went up the hill.
To fetch a pail of water.
Jack came down, laughing at a clown,
And Jill came skipping after.
BIG LOGO.

Client: Haan! Nice nice.
Creative (slightly mollified): Thank you, I thought the skipping…
Client: Can we have a dog?
Creative: What?
Client: A dog. A little puppy. You know? Kids love puppies.
Creative: What????
Servicing: Oh, ok. The animal factor. Very smart.
Client beams at servicing: Exactly.
Creative: But what would this infernal dog DO?
Client: You’re the creative na, you figure it out. Oh, and make the logo bigger.

While leaving, servicing walks a full two feet behind seething Creative.

Stage 5
Creative has now given up hope. And fighting. Wordlessly works. Done. Back at client’s. With considerably less animation.

Jack and Jill went up the hill.
To fetch a pail of water.
Jack came down with a cute little puppy dog.
And Jill came skipping after.
BIGGER LOGO.

Client:  NICE. Wow. Very good.
Creative: Ok. Whatever.
Client: But…
Creative sighs. No way to go but down.
Client: See, we have to be careful about how we present our company. We do a lot of social responsibility stuff. So this whole going up a hill to fetch water, is very third world.
Creative (tonelessly): We live in India. We ARE third world.
Client: Yes, but no need to show reality in advertising no? No no. I want a tap that the kids can take water from.
Also, instead of going up the hill, that’s like child labour, let’s just have them run around. And make the logo bigger.

Stage 6
Creative is now on auto pilot. New script at client’s place.

Jack and Jill played in front of a hill.
With a tap that dispensed water.
Jack had a cute little puppy.
And Jill shared it.
BIGGEST LOGO.

Client: WOW. I’m amazed. You guys are good.
Creative: silence.
Servicing: Thanks thanks, we couldn’t have done it without you.
Client: Great. Lets research it. You’ll attend na?
Servicing: Of course.

Stage 7
Research. A method by which bored, low IQ, low SEC, frustrated housewives who are not the target audience or even related to the target audience by virtue of being human – view the ad and pass comments on it for a free steel tiffin dabba and tea. Kinda like Gandhi class at the movies.

The script is often animated through simple illustrations, and played.

Housewife 1: I don’t like dogs. A dog bit me when I was 6.
Housewife 2: Are these two boyfriend and girlfriend? That is not Indian culture. Chee.
Housewife 3: If I don’t like the ad do I still get my dabba?
Housewife 4: I don’t have running water. Why should these two? This ad is not realistic.
Housewife 5: Ya, I agree. India has so many lakes. Why not show two children living next to a lake? Like Kashmir. Only without the fighting.
Housewife 6: I don’t like her frock. My Pinky would never wear that.
Housewife 3: Can I see the dabba before I comment?
Housewife 2: That frock is too short. Yeh item number hai ki ad?
Housewife 4: Indian kids are not so fair. Make them brown.
Housewife 5: India ka geography dekha hai? So nice. We went to a hill station last summer. I like hill stations.
Housewife 1: Has that dog had rabies shots?

Researcher dutifully notes down. And sends a mail to client.

At agency:
Creative: Hey how was the research?
Servicing: Oh fine, they loved your script. No issues.

Stage 8
Back at Client’s office.

Client: Okay. Some minor changes have to be made.
Creative (cautiously): ok.
Client: So. Basically the following points

1. we have to have the girl tying the rakhi on the boy to show they are brother and sister.
2. She needs to wear a salwar kameez.
3. We will shoot in a hill station that has a lake.
4. The kids need to be ordinary looking, middle class, brown, but not too brown, also can pass off as rich classy looking kids.
5. Can we show the dog getting a rabies shot? Coz I really like the dog.
6. Oh, and the logo needs to be bigger.

Creative wordlessly nods. Gets up. Goes home. Gets very depressed.
Contemplates blowing brains out. Gets drunk instead or eats two tons of chocolate.

Stage 9
Final script time. Zombies now asking Creative for lessons in how to look and act like dead.

Brown Jack and Brown salwar kameez Jill
Lived opposite a lake and a hill
Jill tied a rakhi, Jack got happy
And a little doggie who’d had its rabies shots ran around them cutely.
BIGGEST, HUGEST FUCKING GINORMOUS LOGO.

Client: WOW! WONDERFUL. Can we enter it for Cannes?
Creative mentally shoots client and dismembers body.
Servicing beams. Job done.
Creative mentally lists all other professions possible.
Servicing looks forward to hefty bonus and promotion.

 

ADventures 1: Nursery Rhymes for Copywriters

Baa baa, black sheep
Have you any wool?

Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full!
One for my master, one for my dame
And one for the little copywriter going insane.