Finally back to the Ads business scenarios! A bit of fun here.
Scene: A conference room, ultra modern, a lot of people in suits at a table and an ornamental bimbo standing looking awestruck near the head of the table. One suit is standing by the window, speaking loudly.
Speaker: Growth, growth, growth! We must be more dynamic in the way we do our business! Cost effectiveness is the soul of profit! We have to modernize!
(Pauses; a static silence from all the others. Speaker resumes).
Speaker: Ah…by the way, Fred, what’s the name of this company again? (Freeze)
Voiceover: If you’re an idiot, we can help you…(1 sec). But we won’t….(1 sec.) We train people that do real business, not just talk about it.
Scene: Bimbo throws speaker out window. Suits cheer.
Voiceover: Talk to us when you’re serious about doing business.
Logo, phone, email on screen ULTRA BUSINESS AUSTRALIA EXECUTIVE EMPLOYMENT. Sub logo: No idiots allowed.
“You’d be surprised how many offers we got to go to industry lunches after that,” said the youngish female copy writer.
“No I wouldn’t,” said Al, grinning.
“That’s what we need; a comprehensive Moron Eradication Program,” added Bill.
“If we’d had one of those in the States, Enron might never have happened. How did the campaign go, though?”
“Surprisingly well. UBA were very happy with the response. Apparently we intimidated the sort of clients they were trying to avoid.”
“That’s encouraging. A lot of people don’t know who not to market for. Everybody and his canary isn’t necessarily a good demographic.” Al had feelings on the subject. He went on,
“Why did you leave Chattels?”
“They said I was too aggressive. Their new business manager wants to be upmarket, he says. Didn’t pay any attention to the work, just the in-your-face element.”
“You mean the guy’s a jerk?”
“Yeah.”
“O’Riordan….you’re Irish?”
“Fourth generation. Killarney.”
“County Clare. The Hickeys were a family of affectionate Irish vampires. Really it was just a way of getting alcohol without paying. Then the Famine came; no blood. So in a fit of either remorse or teetotalism, we emigrated to a place where there was no alcohol. The States. Then I emigrated to another dry country…. The Irish are everywhere……”
“Interesting families, the Irish,” interjected Bill. “The O’Flahertys, the O’Dendrons, particularly Phil and Rod…… the O’Godnos…….”
“He’s a closet Scot. Don’t tell anyone,” explained Al.
“The Mackenzies are a wee bit Scottish on clear days. (Heavily over accented) We used to make brrrrrroths of childrrrrren that toooold people they didn’t knooow hoooow to make porrrrrridge, larrrrgely to imprrrooooove the level of the converrsation. And for the prrrrooooteeeein.”
“I have a secret; one of my family was English,” said Felicity, breathlessly, also overdoing it terribly.
“Therrrre gooooes the neighborrrrrhood,” sighed Bill, still overplaying.
“I’m sure you’ll live it down,” said Al.
“Live down being English? All that democracy must have affected your mind,” said Bill, reverting to Australian. “Just think of all those poor little Busbies, un-avenged. The foisting of fish and chips on a defenceless world. The terrible global soap shortage they could cause at any moment. BBC sets…Cockney “loves” running Lloyds…. Too horrible to contemplate.”
“You’re right. We’ll declare war immediately.”
“Actually, she doesn’t look very English,” pointed out Bill.
“True. She’s a biped, to start with.”
“And the face seems to be mammalian.”
“A mutant, perhaps,” suggested Felicity.
“Or an alien. In which case you’re overqualified. Where did you hear about us?”
“I saw the Sally’s ad. Didn’t take long to find out who did it.”
“Who did you ask?”
“Sally. Knew her in school. She said you were good to work with.”
“That’s one thing I can’t get over about Australia. Everybody knows everyone, they just don’t seem to network when it matters.”
“Ah….Al, she just did, without trying.”
“Egad……well, it proves my point……I think…. Do you know Carla Jones, then, by any chance?” asked Al, who’d heard the stealthy sound of Carla arriving after a shopping binge.
“Yes, but I haven’t seen her for years.”
Carla scuttled in, with the Secret Lunch Al had asked her to subtly force the local restaurant to make for them. Some red wine had been added to the menu, apparently. One look between Felicity and Carla was enough to start a three minute potted mutual history. Evidently they’d been good friends, separated by living. Al noticed that all the supposed girl talk left out anything remotely extraneous. He hadn’t noticed that before. Well, intelligent women might not really want to bore each other to death……he mused, cursing himself for having put it that way.
While talking everyone frantically unsheathed the Secret Lunch. Peking Duck, with innumerable side dishes. The smell attracted Joe, who slithered in deliberately looking like a graphic artist. Felicity was introduced, and conversation took a turn for the practical.
“Red?” asked Joe.
“A good red. Some of those whites are pretty bloody ordinary.”
“Not to say undrinkable.”
“It is a bit absurd to drink something because you have to drink it with a meal,” agreed Bill, who’d cornered some spring rolls.