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Aux Larmes Citoyens

The advertising agency is the ultimate capitalit enterprise.

200-1It makes money by helping clients make money and is therefor a gun for hire, ready to do whatever it takes so their clients are happy and appeased, their happiness and appeasement depending on sales and profits and such.

Arguably, everything that the agency does that’s related to the client’s business is centered on this objective.

200So, it came as a major surprise when a group of agency employees drafted and circulated a petition complaining to management that they had not been invited to go on one client-agency outing to a luxury spa.

They were unaware that the reason behind the event was to appease an increasingly unhappy client.

200-2They were also unaware that they entire thing was staged and that all the fun, games, gifts, everything would make this the trip to and from hell.

So during the 3 days that half of the agency was out, led by a frustrated Creative Director, a petition circulated denouncing the grievance, demanding justice.

The Creative Director then lobbied one-on-one for it to be signed.

The name of each signer was leveraged to get another one.

A handfull steadfastly refused to sign. They were pressure unrelentlessly.

The plan was to march Monday on to the General Manager’s office and deliver it. A 60s-style march with signs and banners that they put together.

200-4Came Monday morning, however, and everyone but the two key instigators chickened out.

The signs were quietly destroyed  and all was forgotten.

Or was it? Every now and then a cruel co-worker would use the word “Petition”. As in, “Does anyone want to sign a petition?” “Should we sign a petition?”

Always around the ingenuous instigators who thought advertising people had any rights.

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TMI — Definitely T.M.I.

Everyone has to take a dump and that’s just the way it is.

Most people try not do to it in the office — in fact manuals have been written on what to do in case you need to take a major one in the office.

giphyThat probably had to go through this expensive Director’s mind when he held an entire shoot for 45 minutes while he did his duty.

The standard procedure during a shoot is to feed crew, agency and client. It is demanded by the Union, expected by the Agency (catering can be pretty fancy) and a good way to catch up, socialize with the Client.

And so it was that one particular day, right after lunch that the Director’s bowels could no longer hold their content and he had to excuse himself.

It so happens that the bathroom was located too close for comfort to the set.

And so he went.

And stayed.

And stayed longer.

And even longer.

And people kept looking at each other.

Toilet_DiveAnd everyone knew the man was taking a shit.

Crapping.

Defectating.

Numbertwoing.

Reading.

And he stayed almost 45 minutes.

And when he walked out, a newspaper under his arm, he delivered his instructions to the crew. “Let’s move on to Number 2″.

And a little voice from the exasperated and embarrassed crew said.

“Didn’t you just do that?”

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Amazon Indians vs Ninja Warriors

You don’t have to be an Amazon Indian, a Borneo Aborigene or a Ninja Warrior to use a powerful dart blower.

tumblr_mt2r9hXA541s283tdo1_1280In fact, you can make one yourself with readily available office materials. All you need is an 8 1/2 by 11 piece of thick paper to fashion the gun, rolling into a tube and taping it in position, and a 3 x 6 inch sheet of thin paper, to make the dart.

To make the dart, you hold the sheet vertically, roll the paper diagonally around the lower tip, which you then glue using good old saliva. As with spitballs, saliva and paper are great companions.

You then fit the dart into the gun, trimming excess paper (that which doesn’t fit snug). tumblr_n2v4clElWE1s0m9s7o1_500

And you blow.

It can easily travel 20-25 feet.

That’s how a Creative Brainstorming session became an Amazon vs Ninja battle one long evening. Darts, laughter and some good-old Absolut Vodka got everyone’s creative juices flowing.

It also started a fascination with darts and blowguns and soon the weapons became more sophisticated as people brought metal of fiberglass pipes.

Varying caliber (diameter and length) meant more thrust and that darts could reach from one end of the hallway to another.

And people’s backsides (boys and girls) were favorite targets.

All in jest.

Then someone wondered if a dart could travel across the street.

And it did.

tumblr_ljqj4gTqD61qijfqzo1_r1_250So Creatives in a 25th New York City office floor took aim at the office across the street. And bingo, it went thru the narrowly open window.

Creatives would laugh non stop watching the faces of the people across the street wondering what those were.

Once or twice people were hit.

Startled.

Curiosity.

As all good things come to an end, one day the entire Creative Department, some 15 people (boys and girls, as you can’t call them adults) decided to launch a fusillade to the building across the street.

Curtains were drawn, people took positions.

“On your marks, take aim, fire!”, shouted a Creative Director.

Noone ever got the chance to laugh at the neighbors’s surprise because the event coincided with the Fire Inspection.

A shitload of trouble ensued.

Dartguns, once again, were left to the Amazon Indians, Borneo Aborigenes, and Ninja Warriors.

 

 

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What’s in Your Drawer?

First in and last out, this Creative Director was notorious for gathering the troops late in the afternoon (when everyone’s mind was already at the pub) for “Brainstorming Sessions”, for which she would throw bean bags around her spacious office and asked everyone to sit.

R2_dfb042_372975There was a meditating, guru-like feeling about the entire thing and a lot of people resented it.

They felt it was fake.

Plus it unnecessarily made people stay at work when they could be doing other stuff.

The general feeling was that this Creative Director lacked a social life.

Once that the “Brain Estorming” (as people exaggerating the Spanish accent called it) session was overcrowded someone sat at the Director’s desk watching as ideas were drawn.

At some point, the Creative Director’s marker ran out of ink and asked the person sitting at her desk to hand her one from her top drawer.

Opens the wrong one and finds a dildo.

“Can’t write with this one”, said he holding it with two fingers — perhaps out of as concern for the cooties.

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A Mambo for your Chicken Account

Invited to pitch a major fried chicken account, an agency developed a series of campaigns to the music of Mambo legend Perez-Prado.

giphy-1The Agency presented storyboards.

And they walked the potential Client frame by frame.

It was in the middle of the pitch, a hot mid-afternoon in a room-full of people and right after lunch, that the Creative Director, seeing that he was losing his audience, turned on the music.

Loud.

And even louder.

That prompted a potential Client’s comment of “Wow. That music’s great! How do you dance that?”. giphy

To which the presenter asked the account person leading the pitch to show the room how to Mambo.

No one else joined.

Stoic, or perhaps secretly enjoying it, he danced an entire song.

Agency won the pitch.

Commercial was shot and went on the air.

Account Manager, to this day many chicken meals later, refuses to speak to the Creative.

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Fear of Germs

Pranking coworkers, like long hours and low wages, is part and parcel of an agency’s Creative Department.

It can be fun.

But also, cruel.  And senseless.

Most of the time it’s done for the fun of it. It is not about bullying.

Victims can be the most beloved and esteemed; they can be the new as a means to break the ice; they can be the cocksure, as to bring them down to earth.

Everyone is fair game.

So was our worker, a talented yet somewhat pretencious a bit pricky art director known for agreeing when agreement was needed, observing silence when silence was required, and for getting on some people’s nerves.

Someone pointed out that every agency briefing meeting was followed by a rush to the bathroom.

People took bets: He either shits a lot or he’s a chronic masturbator: During those days someone had circulated an article saying that many guys like to rub one off to release tension.

So people started counting Recency, Frequency and Length of each visit to the Caballeros room.

And then, someone decided that it was time to follow him.

At your own risk, a voice of caution said.

The scout noted that  the fellow wasn’t emptying his gut, or draining the vein, he was simply washing his hands.

Obsesively.

Furiously.

He was the man we’d all heard about: Terrified of Germs.

giphy-1Soon, at every occasion, coworkers started shaking his hand, patting his back, visiting his cubicle, touching things, even leaving stuff on his desk.

He’d run to wash his hands.

And then, once after lunch, someone left a half-eaten sandwich on the poor man’s workstation.

From across the aisle all eyes observed him as he looked for about 10 minutes as if developing a plan of attack.

He walked around it.

Even got close and smelled it.

Then he pulled out a pair rubber gloves from a box in his bag. A surgical mask. Put on the gear, closed the wrapped, and carried keeping it away from his body all the way to the kitchen. He came back with spray and paper towels.

And proceeded to wipe clean the entire cubicle, totally unaware that he had an audience of amazed coworkers in total awe.

And off he went to wash his hands.

 

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El Triquitraque

What happens when Agency creatives get bored?

They do crazy crap.

How do Agency creatives release tension?

They do crazy crap.

How do Agency creatives get their ideas?

By doing crazy crap.

200-1Like the one Fourth of July that a creative took his son shopping for firecrackers to Chinatown and came back to the office with some little noise-making devices that he used to “booby trap” people’s doors, chairs, desk drawers and such.

They were glued  in a way that pulling the object would set off a small blast loud enough to startle the person who would then feel stupid and everyone who could hear would laugh at their expense.

200But then, they decided to get even and to retaliate they rode the subway ride downtown and came back with their own arsenal.

And so began urban warfare in the creative department.

A free for all: Everyone against everyone else!

Soon, everyone in the creative department had at one time on another been blasted.

As the war continued, everyone walked cautiously, specially when coming into the office in the morning, or after lunch (after having a beer or two), as anything and everything could be booby trapped.

In looking back, fear probably exaggerated the amount of firecrackers in the office.

But there were some, and some did blow up and a few people did not take the joke well.

Like our colleague who’d returned after a few weeks off following a major heart attack.  His loud “Fuck!” was followed by a reminder of his condition and his legal connections.

Or the cleaning lady, a Salvadoran immigrant who’d fled a civil war in her country. Unaware that grown men in their 30s and 40s were playing with fire, she attempted to clean up an office right after it had been booby trapped. There followed one blast, then another one and by the third one she was a nervous wreck.

At that point everyone realized that it was time for truce.

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