Everyone’s got problems

I have a friend named Sanjay. Well actually I don’t have a friend named Sanjay, Ritchie and me kinda made him up. But I’m sure there is someone exactly like Sanjay out there somewhere, however I doubt that very much since we thought him up as having three arms and just the one leg. It’s the funniest thing when he hops around the place. But anyway, my point is that Sanjay bitches and moans like a guy in the holocaust. Actually even dudes in the holocaust had a little more perspective than good old Mr.………..well we never did give him a last name.

For example, Sanjay continually moans about his mother having left him when he was but a child. Of course his actual mother insists that it was a maid who left that cold winter evening and not her. Sanjay still moans and bitches. Fact is that everyone loves to crib and cry about their problems and hassles and they will not be deterred by anyone else’s problems either. In fact they will hold bitching and moaning contests to prove who has the biggest problems.

Sample:

I’m fat

I’m ugly

I’m stupid

I have an abusive boyfriend

I have cancer

I’m Govinda….

Yes, clearly everyone has problems, but must you bitch and moan about them in the presence and vicinity of people who do not care? Just for future reference I’m that guy who doesn’t care. It’s not as if I’m heartless or anything, I just don’t care to hear about how that friend of yours borrowed a pen from you and then gave it to that bitch of an ex-BFF and claimed he lost it, but then you saw the pen with her and you were like ‘Oh my god’ and she was like ‘that’s my pen’ and you were like ‘No bitch that’s my pen’ and then she was like ‘you ain’t all that a bag of chips’ and you were like ‘that makes no sense’ and then both of you got distracted by a shiny ball and Miley Cyrus walked in and totally took her side.

I mean Jesus Christ, just shut up. Next time someone comes up to me talking about some inane little problem that has the all the significance of a broken nail, I will smash you. Yes, physically assault you and then you and I will truly know the meaning of real problems.

(P.S. I understand that I’ve been bitching and moaning throughout this post. Irony’s a motherfucker ain’t it.)

The canteen is trying to kill me

You know that show scrubs, yes of course you do, little sit com about a hospital. Death and medical tragedy have never been funnier. Anyway, there’s one particular character from the show that I can draw a direct reference to in my own work environment. No it’s not Cox, I wish it was Cox. It’s the damn janitor. And I swear I think the entire canteen staff is my own personal tormenting janitor.

Sure they’re real cool about it; they don’t actually make fun of me or harass me in obvious ways. It’s all a bit more subtle really, it’s all very ‘I just forgot your coffee and sandwich, and just happened to remember the bhel puri the guy next to you ordered.’ ‘Sure, happens all the time,’ I responded the first few hundred times that happened, but then I began to realize that there was more to this than just complete stupidity. They have a plan, and I’m not sure why but I’m fairly certain they hate my guts. Actually I know exactly why, I’m quite an ass hole, what I don’t know is how they know I’m an ass hole. That part escapes me. But yes, they are clearly trying to kill me.

That last sentence may have sounded extreme but when you put all the pieces of the puzzle together it becomes blatantly obvious that I will not make it out of here alive. And if they are as smart as I think they are, then my death, no matter how hard I try and evade it, will come very soon. And despite my best efforts to make an impression, I will not be missed. All of this worries me, but know this I will not let Head Canteen Guy (can’t for the life of me remember his name) and his evil henchman get the better of me. I will fight, fight till the last poisoned samosa sabhar and pav bhaji. Till the last cyanide laced Mazaa or coke. And take my last breath fist pointed in the air whilst I choke on lethal grilled sandwich.

Or I’ll just start having lunch at the bar across the street, whichever’s more convenient.

That chimp is eyeing my desk

Not too long ago, lets call it an even year and a half, I gave up on writing. Prior to that, lets say an odd year and three quarters ago, I had a keen interest in writing humour for a living. Then at some point, and I cant figure out when, I realized that I actually may be able to make a living writing for magazines and the like. I could in fact write for anyone who would let me flex my muscles and write extra long sentences with double negatives a plenty. Of course these chaps were few and far between but common enough that I could find a job and be gainfully employed. So whatever happened to writing funny little stories on some A4 glossy for the rest of my life……..fucking Neil French, that’s what happened.

I read a stupendously famous piece of copy written by a stupendously famous man named Neil French. Never heard of him, well unless you are a student of advertising or have seen me rant incessantly about the man after a few drinks, you probably wouldn’t have. But if you have been either of the above (my grave apologies if you’ve been the latter) you probably know what I’m talking about. And you probably know just to what extent I respect and admire the one time creative godfather of WPP. All that aside, at the core of all this hero worship is the idea that I wanted to be just like him, write genius advertising and win more awards than god. (Honestly, even god would have trouble racking up Lions the way this man has) and basically make a career as a copywriter. Like actual, “hey I wrote that line under the Coke logo” type stuff.

So gainful employment aside, I sit here interning at a rather prestigious agency with somewhat prestigious, but entirely dubious, clients to work on. Honest to god, I could build up my job and make myself sound really indispensable, I could make myself sound like the rise or fall of BIG TV rested entirely on my shoulders, like an agency that’s stood for 75 years could just collapse if I took a day off, like the world of advertising is waiting for my next big SMS/notifier/emailer, but in all truth a monkey could do what I do. In fact he’d probably do it with less bitching and moaning than me and might just have better ideas on selling set top boxes. I’m not even debating how much more fun he’d be around the office. But more than anything else, a monkey would bring self satisfaction to every crap piece of work he churns out, this no matter how hard I try, I cannot do. I’m used to having my work looked at; I’m used to showing it off. And I am not used to making excuses. “The client just spit out my better ideas man,” “they just don’t know good work when they see it,” and my personal favourite, “BIG is filled with a bunch of douche bags and shopkeepers.” All of these excuses are fair in some way or another, but I don’t recall ever making any excuses, ever, before I got here.

My work was always been on time and was always some measure of worthwhile. It just isn’t anymore. It’s just sorta done. I finished my work today and came home, that’s what I did today. I finished. And it just doesn’t seem like what I signed up for. I’d like to do good work, work that I can show people without having to make lame excuses for it, I want to be able to say that’s my fault if something’s screwed up. I like things that way.

I’ve spent the last week filling in for Bobo the chimpanzee for sure, but I’ve also taken time just to write. Write random things, like my versions of the Adidas campaign dedicated to my friends or things even more random than that. And I cannot describe how good that felt. Writing just for writing’s sake, with no restrictions and no client and no seniors to say ‘dumb it down.’ In fact no one at all to say shit. I’ve enjoyed that and the worst part is I’ve had that exact work environment at two previous jobs. At the time I loved it, in hind sight I loved it, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why I’m not doing it right now. But alas, I’ve only been at this for a week. Perhaps more time will show me a part of the job that isn’t quite chimpanzee like and more the task of a higher primate.

For now however, I shall have to hope that there isn’t a chimp out there with his own space on blogspot and more interesting views on adverting and the world in general. Aaahhh crap there probably is one. Oh stop being polite and go google him already……