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Sun is shining but I have had a terrible day.

I know I posted the other day that I can't post about work but I've already had enough.....

After putting up with three weeks of this one fo the chaps that's working at this start up ad agency as a so called 'Creative Director', and mate of the boss, I flounced today.

The guy just hasn't produced one bit of work and i feel like I've been carrying him for weeks. So much so that I have been coming up with lots of creative ideas for a current project only for him to piss all over. Today the Boss was in in Boston and the Creative Cock comes in after noon and I say what do you think of my new xyz idea for the concept for the project that's already three weeks late. He says he can't understand it and maybe because he can't get his head around a 'Media Sales Presentation' (i.e. the job we've been hired to do on the back of some branding work). I say, well my concept is the sort
of thing we've been looking from him to deliver - he pisses on idea again. I walk out muttering something like I'm not going to work with him any more, bollocks.

Went out, bought myself a couple of shirts, wondered the streets of SoHo for a couple of hours. Realised that my cell phone was on my desk. Came in and he goes, "are you ok?" I flounce again, "It's all over, I'll talk to the Boss about leaving"

I pick up various odds and ends and flee the scene. Walk home, leave message on the boss' voicemail that I'm not going to work with such a useless so and so.

Of course, feel like a twat for blowing out like that but the boss just gave me a call and said he's fine with what I did - that we'll all get together and talk it through - good ole Yanks. The Lady has told me that when this happens that I am not allowed to really tell the Creatvie Director what I really think of him. Calling people c*nts doesn't go down well here supposedly. I think the word is reserved for using against women or something. How very American.

Went for a run down the river like Sebastian Coe, got dehydrated, went to El Sombrero on Stanton with some Brits, where everybody dismissed the new interior and how they missed the cockroaches on the floor, and had a few pints and a game of pool (English rules) in the soon-to-be-closed Luna Bar on Ludlow.

Ended in Mekong in Prince Street boring the ear off a guy who's given up his job to be a screenwriter. "From my experience mate. Don't bother," I say.

April 15, 2004 in Diary | Permalink


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