So, Deborah’s diatribe against Emory Barnes was not unfounded. You either have a gut feel for the artistic side of this business, or you crunch numbers and write up marketing and media plans for the clients.
Once in a long while, I’ve run up against an account person who could do the analytical side and had instincts for the creative product, too. I was so grateful to not have to linearly explain a radically non-linear advertising concept that I wanted to plant a big wet kiss on him.
OK, forgive this long digression, but it’s vital to the story you are now deciding whether to buy into (and commit another 11 precious hours to), that you “grok” this part, as the California dudes say. Or else dump it in the wastebasket and good riddance
Gregory is all excited about hooking me and Emory up. He’s one creative guy who has found a way to endure the left-brained world of marketing. I told you he was a gentleman.
“Emory, we’ve been discussing the heavy-duty firepower that our competitors are putting against this pitch. I mean, heavy . . .” Gregory says and his eyes get wide for effect.
“There appear to be some interesting surprises in the Southeastern Cellular research that might help your creative strategy development, Will,” Emory says dispassionately. (There is a reason that people who live inside their analytical/rational brains all day are characterized as bloodless)
I try my damnedest to look appreciative and grateful and interested all in one heroic expression, and I can tell by the flat line response on Emory’s face that he thinks I’m full of more bullshit than any creative director he’s ever laid eyes on in his entire life.
“Send me what you got, Emory, and we’ll take a hard look at it,” I say.
Deborah puts her lips together in a wry contortion. She hates the fucker.
“Listen, guys, I’m here to help any way I can, so please, please, don’t hesitate to use me,” Gregory says.
“We wouldn’t think of moving ahead on anything without you,” the ever-faithful Deborah says.