Monday, December 20, 2004
Company Men and the Company Line
I'm standing at a storefront window looking at a blown-up makeup ad featuring Eva Longoria, who may currently be the most beautiful woman on the planet. I'm looking past the airbrushing, extra foundation, and glitter in search of evidence she's human. A blemish, scar, freckle, anything. The woman is gorgeous. Each decade has one, maybe two women who people point to as the most beautiful of their time: The 50s and 60s had Claudia Cardinale and Sophia Loren, the 70s Farrah Fawcett and Cheryl Tiegs, while the 80s ushered in Christie Brinkley and the 90s Elizabeth Hurley, and now we are into the 21st century with Eva. I can't imagine seeing her in the flesh; I'd expect to see some angelic glow about her, as if she's been annointed a super-human, better than the rest of us.
I'm admiring Eva because guys notice these things even in makeup ads, and because I am killing time until our two department interns, Craig and Nina, come out to meet me. Every six or so months we get a slew of interns and they are divided up among departments, where they learn the ropes of the advertising world and more importantly, if they've chosen the right career path and the realities of the field match what they've encountered in the classroom. Craig and Nina have been with us for just past five months, and generally at this point somebody in the department will take them to lunch, critique their performance, and give pointers in case the interns are looking to continue on their path. This time around I've been volunteered by my boss, much against my wishes. He pulled me into his office last week and told me the responsibility this time would be mine because the two seem to have a good rapport with me and would take criticism from me in stride. It's funny how some mistake eager-to-please people and kiss-ass attitudes for examples of chemistry and good rapport. Nina tries to work her way in by recklessly flirting with any man who looks like he'd have a remote chance of hooking her up with a job. Craig is a piece of work himself. Craig sees the chemistry I have with many of the women in our office - it bounces between flirty and professional - and has decided that as a fellow lover of women, I will delight in hearing about his woman exploits. Actually there is only one such exploit: He's managed to land himself a 29 year-old woman. For any 21 year-old like Craig this is a major coup. But I regularly date older women so I while I think his feat is commendable, I don't think it's that big a deal. But Craig walks around the office braggadociously, figuratively swinging his dick because he thinks he's topped the Mt. Everest of dating. Both Nina and Craig are talented, and could have a future in advertising. They just need polishing.
I have a table reserved at Houston's; nothing fancy, they are interns after all and the company doesn't want me blowing that much on them. "Dont go over $150 or I'll kill you," were my boss's last words as he pulled out the company Amex card and waved it around for added effect. "I mean it, you cross $150 and the balance comes out of your pocket," he said as he handed the card over.
We take our seats at the table and immediately a cocktail waitress comes over for our drink order. The interns are a little reserved. I know they both want to booze up but they aren't going to unless I tell them it's okay, or order for the three of us. So I take the initiative.
"Are you both vodka drinkers?"
Nina and Craig both look at each other for a short moment, as if something in their appearance they don't notice gives it away before looking back at me and replying with a sheepish "yes."
"Good." Then turning to the waitress, a late 20s okay-looking woman, likely the mother of a young one as her hips are a little wider than they should be for her size, I say "three Ketel One Martinis please. And make mine dirty if you would." I give a childish smirk as I say this.
"Three martinis, one dirty," she repeats back. Her tag reads Dawn. "You like 'em dirty?" she asks, with a smirk to match mine.
I lean forward a bit and let me arms open up. "Yeah, dirty never hurt anyone." The interns are looking at me with amazement. Craig's mouth is open like he's trapping flies. Dawn giggles and takes our order back to the bar.
After a pause, Craig snaps to and says, "Dude, you were totally picking up on her."
Nina chimes in with, "and she's not even good looking."
"That wasn't picking up," I reply, "that was just making sure we'd have good service today. Figure out what you want to order, we're not here to learn how to pick up on women. Their salmon filet is pretty good."
A guy comes to take our orders, and as if a competition, Nina tries some of her flirty tricks on our waiter to prove she can do a thing or two. He's not having it - the guy is clearly 15 years older than Nina, and with this restaurant in mid-Wilshire, he's likely seen a dozen women prettier than Nina just today. Flirting is a waste of this guy's time. Lunch is his busiest time and the more our waiter can move tables, the more he stands to make in tips. Nina doesn't realize this. She isn't much of a big picture kind of girl.
The waiter disappears with our orders and Dawn replaces him with drinks in tow. She put mine in front of me last with a big smile and tells us to give her a holler if we need anything else.
"We will. Thanks Dawn," I say.
"Oh, you know my name."
"Yeah...it's on the tag. Unless you're wearing somebody else's today?"
Dawn feels above her left breast and realizes her name tag is on. "Oh, duh," she giggles, "the name tag." She starts blushing.
"Ahh, it's okay, I've done it before myself." Dawn smiles again and leaves.
Craig and Nina are already a few sips deep into their martinis, and I look the two over as they do, appraising their appearance. Both have sensible fashion sense and dress the role of company men well enough. Craig, looking conservative in his navy blue suit and starched cotton shirt, accented with a silverish tie giving away a dash of color to complement the package. No doubt there is a mannequin at Men's Warehouse dressed in the very same ensemble. Nina is similarly dressed: Striped gray power suit with skirt ending mid-thigh, a creamy blouse whose top button lands mid breast plate. It's unbuttoned, so a peak of cleavage comes through, while her tanned neck shows off a strand of smallish pearls. There's a slight vibration I feel in the table and when I look down I notice it's because Nina has her legs crossed high over one thigh and she's bouncing her foot while the heel side of her pumps slip on and off. Patent leather, nothing fancy. Probably Nine West. She catches me watching and stops immediately.
Over drinks I tell the interns why we're here, the purpose behind bringing them out for a lunch and review-to-date of their work, accomplishments, and needed areas of improvement. I point out their professional conduct in the office and how they dress the part of the company man. To both assessments they reply to with rapt smiles, as if finding out they've won a weekend at the Ritz.
"That's the good news. There are some areas where you can both improve. For instance, neither of you apply yourselves very well. Sure, you show enthusiasm and an eagerness to please," I turn my focus to Nina, "even to the point where it seems borderline-sexual, but you don't demonstrate any of the knowledge you are picking up. You don't transform what you've learned into results. You pull your weight, but anybody can do that. You are not going the extra yard, and that is what distinguishes a potential staff member from just another intern."
Craig and Nina look a little confused, a little let down. I've let the air out of their balloon, but that's the whole point of this meal. They need constructive feedback if they plan to go anywhere with this.
Our meals arrive, and Dawn quickly follows asking about refills. She doesn't even acknowledge Craig and Nina. I'm her world at this sitting. Craig immediately speaks up, calling for another, and I join. Nina switches to Pellegrino.
"Go ahead, eat," I urge, "and listen. Nobody's knocking you down here, so please don't think of it as that. The point of this is to ensure you know what you have to do to take yourselves to the next step. If you think this is for you after all, that the work you've done in school and the real-world experience has added up to something you want to make a career of, then you can't sit back and hope that someone notices you. You have to make people notice, and you do that through intiative, attitude, and networking." I pause and take a couple bites of penne. I don't want them to finish too far ahead of me. I really hate it when people sit at the table watching you eat because you've been talking too much during the meal.
"Nina, you have the right idea when it comes to networking, but entirely the wrong execution. You've got to turn down the vamping. You're not here to pick up on anybody, and more importantly, to become somebody's little fuck toy, excuse my French."
Nina acts surprised by my comment, while Craig chuckles softly at the validation of what he's known for some time.
"What you may not know Nina is that in another three months a whole slew of people are going to intern with us and they will all be hoping to come out of it with a job. Many will be women. Some as pretty as you...some even more. Anybody around here who wanted to succumb to your flirtations could have already had you and spat you out. Why keep you around when a new crop is coming in just a few months from now, ripe for the fucking? So you've got to quit it. Please. I know you see people like Melinda and Kristi torturing men left and right with flirty passes and double-entendres, but they are not the example to follow. Do you understand what I am trying to get through to you?"
Nina isn't looking at me, her head is facing down, eyes firmly locked on the napkin draped across her lap. "I'm not some kind of whore," she says softly.
"I am not saying you are. I am saying there is a better way to get what you want."
The two look briefly at each other and I can tell from the blank looks they are having a difficult time grasping what I'm saying. Finally Craig breaks the silence. "Can you elaborate? You interned here, right? What did you do to get that 'in' we are after?"
I lean back in my seat and look towards the ceiling. Chiat/Day is the only place in the advertising world I've ever called home, having been hired straight out of school following a 6-month internship in their offices. We had a good group; 6 of us ended up being hired, some straight out of school, others snapped up within the following year. I remember one late night being invited to observe a brainstorming session, where my explicit instructions were to "listen and shut the fuck up" while a group of creatives thought about cool new catchphrases for their client, the Las Vegas tourism and convention board. The city needed a hip, updated way of promoting itself, a simple one-liner to sum up everything about the town. They sat in there for 3-plus hours before revealing two potentials: A variation on the "Vegas, baby!" phrase the Rat Pack made oh so cool, and a lesser, more original one: "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas." I remember them telling me and this other intern, Samir, to try out the phrases in casual conversation to see what comes off the tongue naturally. What ended up happening, also natually, was our impish frat-house college boy smartass attitudes took over. I was never one for the "Vegas baby!" phrase, and we altered the other potential to match whatever the environment called for. If we were talking about something by the cooler in the breakroom, we'd remark "whatever happens at the water cooler stays at the water cooler." If we were around somebody pulling something off the printer, it was "whatever happens in the printer stays in the printer." One time in the bathroom, I even came out of a stall and proclaimed to the people by the row of sinks, "whatever happens in the latrine stays in the latrine." Our idiocy went on for two weeks. I think we engrained that phrase and our bastardizations into the head of every creative director in the office. "What happens in Vegas" was the winner. And now, after two-plus years of that catch phrase dying a very slow death in our culture, it may be the most hated motto ever. And I hated it the most.
I came back to present and suddenly realized why I had been volunteered into this position of lunch with Craig and Nina.I was an intern. I had been there. And I knew what it took to make the next step. I was the success story, so to speak, that the company could parade about.
"Show some interest in the projects, in what we are developing," I offer. "Go that extra mile all the while showing enthusiasm. That goes for both of you." I point and move it radially between the two of them for impact. "Act like whatever you're involved in is the best think you've ever worked on. Apply whatever it is you've picked up in class around the office. Become an asset. Stuff like that."
"That's what you did?" Nina asks.
I nod. "That's what I did. If you want to be a company man and walk the company line, they aren't looking for anything groundbreaking and revolutionary. Not at entry level. They want reliable, capable people who can shoulder the load and be responsible. They can't tell that just from looking at you, so it's up to you to make them aware. And with successful networking around the office then maybe you'll have some additional support in your corner. People willing to throw your name into conversation when open positions come up. They aren't going to do that if all they know about you is that you're a flirt," I nod in Nina's direction, then pause before looking at Craig, "and whatever it is they know about you Craig."
"And that's how we become part of the company line," says Craig in this completative, distant tone.
"No, that's how you become part of the team. Company men towing the company line will only take you so far. At the end of the day you need the support of a team to make it happen. Thus the networking."
Satisfied they understand my message, we finish our meal discussing light-hearted matters: The San Diego Chargers' unbelievable turnaround, Guess jeans vs. Lucky 7s, the most peferred way of making a Long Island Ice Tea. The bill arrives from our waiter, topping out at just over $100. Scribbled next to the bar portion of the bill is a message from Dawn: "You guys were a hoot. Hope to see you at Houston's again." It's got her name underneath, with a smily face in place of the A. Nothing more. Just as well, I wasn't interested in a phone number anyway.
I'm admiring Eva because guys notice these things even in makeup ads, and because I am killing time until our two department interns, Craig and Nina, come out to meet me. Every six or so months we get a slew of interns and they are divided up among departments, where they learn the ropes of the advertising world and more importantly, if they've chosen the right career path and the realities of the field match what they've encountered in the classroom. Craig and Nina have been with us for just past five months, and generally at this point somebody in the department will take them to lunch, critique their performance, and give pointers in case the interns are looking to continue on their path. This time around I've been volunteered by my boss, much against my wishes. He pulled me into his office last week and told me the responsibility this time would be mine because the two seem to have a good rapport with me and would take criticism from me in stride. It's funny how some mistake eager-to-please people and kiss-ass attitudes for examples of chemistry and good rapport. Nina tries to work her way in by recklessly flirting with any man who looks like he'd have a remote chance of hooking her up with a job. Craig is a piece of work himself. Craig sees the chemistry I have with many of the women in our office - it bounces between flirty and professional - and has decided that as a fellow lover of women, I will delight in hearing about his woman exploits. Actually there is only one such exploit: He's managed to land himself a 29 year-old woman. For any 21 year-old like Craig this is a major coup. But I regularly date older women so I while I think his feat is commendable, I don't think it's that big a deal. But Craig walks around the office braggadociously, figuratively swinging his dick because he thinks he's topped the Mt. Everest of dating. Both Nina and Craig are talented, and could have a future in advertising. They just need polishing.
I have a table reserved at Houston's; nothing fancy, they are interns after all and the company doesn't want me blowing that much on them. "Dont go over $150 or I'll kill you," were my boss's last words as he pulled out the company Amex card and waved it around for added effect. "I mean it, you cross $150 and the balance comes out of your pocket," he said as he handed the card over.
We take our seats at the table and immediately a cocktail waitress comes over for our drink order. The interns are a little reserved. I know they both want to booze up but they aren't going to unless I tell them it's okay, or order for the three of us. So I take the initiative.
"Are you both vodka drinkers?"
Nina and Craig both look at each other for a short moment, as if something in their appearance they don't notice gives it away before looking back at me and replying with a sheepish "yes."
"Good." Then turning to the waitress, a late 20s okay-looking woman, likely the mother of a young one as her hips are a little wider than they should be for her size, I say "three Ketel One Martinis please. And make mine dirty if you would." I give a childish smirk as I say this.
"Three martinis, one dirty," she repeats back. Her tag reads Dawn. "You like 'em dirty?" she asks, with a smirk to match mine.
I lean forward a bit and let me arms open up. "Yeah, dirty never hurt anyone." The interns are looking at me with amazement. Craig's mouth is open like he's trapping flies. Dawn giggles and takes our order back to the bar.
After a pause, Craig snaps to and says, "Dude, you were totally picking up on her."
Nina chimes in with, "and she's not even good looking."
"That wasn't picking up," I reply, "that was just making sure we'd have good service today. Figure out what you want to order, we're not here to learn how to pick up on women. Their salmon filet is pretty good."
A guy comes to take our orders, and as if a competition, Nina tries some of her flirty tricks on our waiter to prove she can do a thing or two. He's not having it - the guy is clearly 15 years older than Nina, and with this restaurant in mid-Wilshire, he's likely seen a dozen women prettier than Nina just today. Flirting is a waste of this guy's time. Lunch is his busiest time and the more our waiter can move tables, the more he stands to make in tips. Nina doesn't realize this. She isn't much of a big picture kind of girl.
The waiter disappears with our orders and Dawn replaces him with drinks in tow. She put mine in front of me last with a big smile and tells us to give her a holler if we need anything else.
"We will. Thanks Dawn," I say.
"Oh, you know my name."
"Yeah...it's on the tag. Unless you're wearing somebody else's today?"
Dawn feels above her left breast and realizes her name tag is on. "Oh, duh," she giggles, "the name tag." She starts blushing.
"Ahh, it's okay, I've done it before myself." Dawn smiles again and leaves.
Craig and Nina are already a few sips deep into their martinis, and I look the two over as they do, appraising their appearance. Both have sensible fashion sense and dress the role of company men well enough. Craig, looking conservative in his navy blue suit and starched cotton shirt, accented with a silverish tie giving away a dash of color to complement the package. No doubt there is a mannequin at Men's Warehouse dressed in the very same ensemble. Nina is similarly dressed: Striped gray power suit with skirt ending mid-thigh, a creamy blouse whose top button lands mid breast plate. It's unbuttoned, so a peak of cleavage comes through, while her tanned neck shows off a strand of smallish pearls. There's a slight vibration I feel in the table and when I look down I notice it's because Nina has her legs crossed high over one thigh and she's bouncing her foot while the heel side of her pumps slip on and off. Patent leather, nothing fancy. Probably Nine West. She catches me watching and stops immediately.
Over drinks I tell the interns why we're here, the purpose behind bringing them out for a lunch and review-to-date of their work, accomplishments, and needed areas of improvement. I point out their professional conduct in the office and how they dress the part of the company man. To both assessments they reply to with rapt smiles, as if finding out they've won a weekend at the Ritz.
"That's the good news. There are some areas where you can both improve. For instance, neither of you apply yourselves very well. Sure, you show enthusiasm and an eagerness to please," I turn my focus to Nina, "even to the point where it seems borderline-sexual, but you don't demonstrate any of the knowledge you are picking up. You don't transform what you've learned into results. You pull your weight, but anybody can do that. You are not going the extra yard, and that is what distinguishes a potential staff member from just another intern."
Craig and Nina look a little confused, a little let down. I've let the air out of their balloon, but that's the whole point of this meal. They need constructive feedback if they plan to go anywhere with this.
Our meals arrive, and Dawn quickly follows asking about refills. She doesn't even acknowledge Craig and Nina. I'm her world at this sitting. Craig immediately speaks up, calling for another, and I join. Nina switches to Pellegrino.
"Go ahead, eat," I urge, "and listen. Nobody's knocking you down here, so please don't think of it as that. The point of this is to ensure you know what you have to do to take yourselves to the next step. If you think this is for you after all, that the work you've done in school and the real-world experience has added up to something you want to make a career of, then you can't sit back and hope that someone notices you. You have to make people notice, and you do that through intiative, attitude, and networking." I pause and take a couple bites of penne. I don't want them to finish too far ahead of me. I really hate it when people sit at the table watching you eat because you've been talking too much during the meal.
"Nina, you have the right idea when it comes to networking, but entirely the wrong execution. You've got to turn down the vamping. You're not here to pick up on anybody, and more importantly, to become somebody's little fuck toy, excuse my French."
Nina acts surprised by my comment, while Craig chuckles softly at the validation of what he's known for some time.
"What you may not know Nina is that in another three months a whole slew of people are going to intern with us and they will all be hoping to come out of it with a job. Many will be women. Some as pretty as you...some even more. Anybody around here who wanted to succumb to your flirtations could have already had you and spat you out. Why keep you around when a new crop is coming in just a few months from now, ripe for the fucking? So you've got to quit it. Please. I know you see people like Melinda and Kristi torturing men left and right with flirty passes and double-entendres, but they are not the example to follow. Do you understand what I am trying to get through to you?"
Nina isn't looking at me, her head is facing down, eyes firmly locked on the napkin draped across her lap. "I'm not some kind of whore," she says softly.
"I am not saying you are. I am saying there is a better way to get what you want."
The two look briefly at each other and I can tell from the blank looks they are having a difficult time grasping what I'm saying. Finally Craig breaks the silence. "Can you elaborate? You interned here, right? What did you do to get that 'in' we are after?"
I lean back in my seat and look towards the ceiling. Chiat/Day is the only place in the advertising world I've ever called home, having been hired straight out of school following a 6-month internship in their offices. We had a good group; 6 of us ended up being hired, some straight out of school, others snapped up within the following year. I remember one late night being invited to observe a brainstorming session, where my explicit instructions were to "listen and shut the fuck up" while a group of creatives thought about cool new catchphrases for their client, the Las Vegas tourism and convention board. The city needed a hip, updated way of promoting itself, a simple one-liner to sum up everything about the town. They sat in there for 3-plus hours before revealing two potentials: A variation on the "Vegas, baby!" phrase the Rat Pack made oh so cool, and a lesser, more original one: "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas." I remember them telling me and this other intern, Samir, to try out the phrases in casual conversation to see what comes off the tongue naturally. What ended up happening, also natually, was our impish frat-house college boy smartass attitudes took over. I was never one for the "Vegas baby!" phrase, and we altered the other potential to match whatever the environment called for. If we were talking about something by the cooler in the breakroom, we'd remark "whatever happens at the water cooler stays at the water cooler." If we were around somebody pulling something off the printer, it was "whatever happens in the printer stays in the printer." One time in the bathroom, I even came out of a stall and proclaimed to the people by the row of sinks, "whatever happens in the latrine stays in the latrine." Our idiocy went on for two weeks. I think we engrained that phrase and our bastardizations into the head of every creative director in the office. "What happens in Vegas" was the winner. And now, after two-plus years of that catch phrase dying a very slow death in our culture, it may be the most hated motto ever. And I hated it the most.
I came back to present and suddenly realized why I had been volunteered into this position of lunch with Craig and Nina.I was an intern. I had been there. And I knew what it took to make the next step. I was the success story, so to speak, that the company could parade about.
"Show some interest in the projects, in what we are developing," I offer. "Go that extra mile all the while showing enthusiasm. That goes for both of you." I point and move it radially between the two of them for impact. "Act like whatever you're involved in is the best think you've ever worked on. Apply whatever it is you've picked up in class around the office. Become an asset. Stuff like that."
"That's what you did?" Nina asks.
I nod. "That's what I did. If you want to be a company man and walk the company line, they aren't looking for anything groundbreaking and revolutionary. Not at entry level. They want reliable, capable people who can shoulder the load and be responsible. They can't tell that just from looking at you, so it's up to you to make them aware. And with successful networking around the office then maybe you'll have some additional support in your corner. People willing to throw your name into conversation when open positions come up. They aren't going to do that if all they know about you is that you're a flirt," I nod in Nina's direction, then pause before looking at Craig, "and whatever it is they know about you Craig."
"And that's how we become part of the company line," says Craig in this completative, distant tone.
"No, that's how you become part of the team. Company men towing the company line will only take you so far. At the end of the day you need the support of a team to make it happen. Thus the networking."
Satisfied they understand my message, we finish our meal discussing light-hearted matters: The San Diego Chargers' unbelievable turnaround, Guess jeans vs. Lucky 7s, the most peferred way of making a Long Island Ice Tea. The bill arrives from our waiter, topping out at just over $100. Scribbled next to the bar portion of the bill is a message from Dawn: "You guys were a hoot. Hope to see you at Houston's again." It's got her name underneath, with a smily face in place of the A. Nothing more. Just as well, I wasn't interested in a phone number anyway.
1 Comments:
Hey man, thanks for your comment. I never did finish my "novel", although I made the 50K. What happened next is that "Dakota" came down after all and I've had him at home for more than three weeks now, so I never did get around to writing up the rest of November. It was fun, though. Thanks for reading it. :)
I have to say I took the easy way out on that whole NaNoBlogMo deal, because I didn't make up anything. Writing 1,600 words about what happens every day is pretty easy, compared to inventing it. I've been trying ever since to get going on a writing idea that's actual fiction, and I just can't. Partly because it involves 18th-century Ireland and I know nothing about that...
All this to say I have a lot more respect for anyone who wrote fiction, even if they didn't make 50K. I could never figure out whether yours was life or fiction; if it's fiction it's really pretty darn realistic, and it's nice seeing into the mind of a guy. But if it's your life, you're such a dog! (Hey, that's ok. Dakota's mom and I call him a dog all the time and we still love him.)
I you're gonna keep on writing I'll keep reading it. You're doing a good job. :) You can check out my real-life blog if you want, although it's on hiatus until January. http://www.threeravens.nt.ca/HawkOwl/
Later!
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