..and I keep getting interrupted. Our shop’s waiting to hear if we got a big e-commerce project from a financial institution. It’s huge revenue, 2-year minimum engagement. The client said they’d let us know last Thursday if we got the job. Then they said sometime this weekend. Now, it’s Tuesday. My boss is losing his mind with the waiting:
—–Original Message—–
From: Jonathan
Sent: Sunday, January 27, 2008 12:20 PM
To: Alexandra
Subject: i am…
a fucking wreck.
Jonathan
MD
I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me. I’m at the office this morning and so is our managing partner. He seems to be in a pretty good mood. I haven’t had a bonus in a few months, and in my fairly unstructured contract, I get bonuses whenever my team closes a large amount of new business or adds on existing. I closed a multi-million dollar project with an existing client a couple of weeks ago. So I saunter into his office with my cup of coffee and say, “Can we talk for a sec?” Why I think this sentence ever leads to anything good is beyond me. I actually said the same thing to a friend of mine earlier in the day, and that didn’t turn out as well as I thought, either. So obviously it makes total sense to say the same thing to someone else the next day. Here’s how the conversation with my boss went:
Me: So….remember we got that proposal signed after New Years?
Him: Of course. Good job.
Me: Ummm….so….bonus?
Him: I meant to talk to you people about that before Christmas. I think I’m going to restructure the bonus plans.
Me: But that wouldn’t affect this one, would it? That wouldn’t really be fair.
Him: Actually, yes. I’m trying to make our bottom line look as good as possible for the reporting this month. Sorry about that.
Me: You’re an ass.
I did say that last line. Probably not the best idea, but most things I say are not thought about first. Ugh. Luckily, he’s used to me and didn’t blink an eye. Now I need to step up the job search process (meaning actually start looking again). With how goddamn cold it is, I’m thinking one of those hot interactive shops in Brazil.
At work, that is. I went down the hall to my boss’ office and asked if I could talk to him about that effed up email he sent last night. I closed the door. Sat down. Told him it was crap and that I’m bringing in more clients than the 2 biz dev jokers combined. As usual, he turned almost purple then started shaking uncontrollably. Maybe I shouldn’t have said his email was the “rantings of an insane man”.
Apparently, a sales machine and not what I thought I was. Sales isn’t even remotely in my job description. Wait. I don’t have a job description. Why can’t I be a VP of Strategy? They’re responsible for jack shit. Got this email very late last night from our managing director:
“A couple things about your end of November/December forecast:
1) this is not enough activity.
2) i do not see all your team’s clients represented, which means you are not doing enough to mine current business and look for new
3) my expectation is that you will deliver your forecasted revenue to me, either from the prospect identified or if not closed — your account directors find that revenue elsewhere.”
Damn! I’m gonna have to play the pimp again to my account people. I hate beating them. But I hit because I love.
I’m used to working on the weekends. Hell, sometimes I even enjoy it. Okay, actually never. But usually I come in early and leave early, so I can have plenty of time at whatever bar I decide to grace with my presence. I thought this weekend would be the same. I was wrong.
Boss: Got some family things to do tomorrow. Let’s meet here at 6:30.
Me: 6:30am? On a Saturday?
Boss: No! I would never ask that. 6:30pm.
Me: Oh. Right.
Move over, Tom Cruise. I’m now a leading member of the Church of Interactive Bliss. We had this extremely weird rah-rah lunch meeting with the entire office today. At the end (and I swear to god I’m not joking), everyone started chanting the slogan of our company and then started woohoo-ing. I started laughing uncontrollably, but after a glare from L. Ron our managing partner, I just shoved a chocolate donut in my mouth and shut up. For now.
Yes, that’s how old I’ll be this week. Gaaahh. Ok, reverse the numbers and you might be getting closer. No, that’s the number of emails I got from our managing director by 10am this morning. And then with the slew of reply alls, I think my Blackberry is starting to smoke. However, I think he’s in a fairly good mood, which is rare, so I’m not that irritated by it. One of them actually said, “Great job on turning Client X into an AOR relationship. I really appreciate all the hard work you and your team put in.” That’s the second email this week I’m going to have dipped in gold. Good start to the weekend. Now if I could just shake this headache, I’ll be all set.
We’re having a slow revenue month here. And while my boss never has a problem with the costs of the hotels in which I stay, he just screamed at me for a half hour for staying in a fairly nice hotel (okay, it was a Ritz-Carlton) for a 3 night business trip. He’s never done that before. Now, I’m definitely not a materialistic person – for god’s sake, I’d rather eat dinner at some Mexican dive than a nice restaurant – but my one indulgence is nice hotels. God. The shade of purple he turned makes me think I’ll be staying in Motel 6s from now on. Hope they leave the light on for me.
Can’t say I ever enjoy thinking about going back to work, but I do this weekend. By the beard of Zeus, this weekend can’t end fast enough. I even look forward to seeing my bipolar boss, who I heard had an over the top moment last week and knocked down a bookcase in his office. I wish I would have been there to see that. One of his mass emails on Friday to the entire shop ended with, “and if you don’t like it, come see me.” Priceless. So here’s my Sunday playlist I’m listening to while I figure out which black clothes to wear tomorrow.
I know better to answer my phone on Saturdays. Psycho managing partner says our VP’s going to open a small office in another city and he’d like me to go. Not, “would you consider moving” but plainly, “I’d like you to go”. Jesus. That’s not something I even remotely want to think about on a morning when my head could possibly explode at any moment. I think I’ll go back to bed until tomorrow.
I just knew this morning was going to be a hot mess. Had to come in extra early because I needed to get 2 presentations to Europe before lunchtime. Rounding the corner I hear our managing partner screaming in his office, “200 thousand dollars? That’s what you’re going to fuck me on? Well fuck you!” I have no clue what that was about, but I knew better than to walk past his open door. But he heard my heels. I’m wearing flats from now on. I slink in his office waiting to get slammed for not closing my latest deal. Instead, he starts maniacally laughing about an interactive award we just won for one of my accounts. Later today he’ll probably fire 5 people. I should stop drinking Rockstar now and take a pill.
My phone rings at 6:12 am. It’s my boss, who again forgets that I am far away in another time zone. Asks me about a banner campaign that goes live this afternoon. I am possibly still drunk, but fool him into believing I know what I’m talking about. Ad serving. EyeWonder. It’s all good. I think I used those words. One piece of advice: never drink deeply from an open vitamin water that’s on the desk when you wake up. It could contain an entire mini bottle of Belvedere and that could taste really bad. Also, if you start drinking without eating anything since breakfast, stop talking after your third glass of wine. Oh. Damn. I’m talking about myself.
Agency Tart 