Monday
I'm starting to like Wendy's food. Never thought I'd say it, and maybe it's just my tendency to become a loyalist for any client's wares, but ol' Dave (RIP) was right: Those big square burgers taste great! Have put on three pounds this month, however, and the missus has become highly amused by my "love handles." She calls them my Dave Juniors. But hey, I put the lo-cal ranch dressing on my side salad and never get Dave's Biggie fries. I'm trying.
We think Wendy's should prioritize Bulgaria. This came out of Heide Vertig's monster model of global food preferences, and I'll admit that I was surprised, too — at first. But Sofia, the capital, is sorely lacking in fast food outlets, we can hit the price points, and the Bulgarians seem to like our kind of nutrition. Coke is huge there, which says something. (Note to self: What? Client will undoubtedly ask at interim preez next week.)
Tuesday
The CIA's Project Secret continues to monopolize our conference room. Mark Wahlberg catches me leafing through their trash can this morning and I only avoid him shopping me to Bonanza by whisking him off for venti mochas with whipped cream. (Q: Why doesn't Wendy's offer espresso-style beverage options?) I can't figure much out, but it looks like they're trying to help the CIA deploy highly invasive data snooping technology so that all Americans can live in fear of Big Brother. Must say that I'm so proud to be an Armadillo & Pouncer, helping demolish our right to privacy, ha ha. Maybe I've got it all backwards, though. Took me ages to re-assemble the shredded papers, and it still wasn't really legible.
Wednesday
Oops. Forget Bulgaria. We had a decimal point problem in the model. Lucky Heide spotted it, or I'd have looked like a lunatic. Actually, it was Jason Wozzle's discovery. He's taken over the basic modeling now that Project Secret doesn't need an RA. Our new top pick: Nigeria. Huge population, improving regime stability, generous development credits available, no competition. Wendy's should blanket Lagos like Starbucks in Manhattan. Think of the economies of scale!
Ken Armadillo makes a rare appearance. It might be his name on the door, but the Big Prickly One has not come along for the ride this time around the block. I get the feeling he's marking time. Notice flecks of gray in his hair. He tells me he's had word that Pat Pounce, whose name is also on the door, but who hasn't been heard of in two years since he stole Rodent Oil and started the Four Pats down in DC, wants to come by "to talk." Ken wants me to sit in. Great — two old enemies spoiling for a fistfight and me as Mills Lane, trying to play referee.
Thursday
Come in to find all the phones have been replaced overnight. The new ones say "Property of U.S. Government" on the back, can't speed-dial anything, require 20-digit codes even for local calls, and are obviously something to do with the CIA. March into Bonanza's office and act outraged. JB holds up his hands and pleads that there was no choice. It's a secure-line system, hard-wired. Then he smiles and points out that I still have three mobile phone accounts from my failed attempt to find us a gig in the cell phone racket. (Q: How does he know?) "Set yourself free, Rayne," he says, reminding me that not so very long ago he was Monk Bonanza in some wacko California cult.
Friday
Well, maybe not Nigeria. The generous development credits are an Internet scam. Wozzle runs the model again and we settle on … Burkina Faso, a/k/a Upper Volta. Enough, enough! If Heide and Wozzle think I'm going to stand before the board of Wendy's and with a straight face advocate that they set sail for Upper Volta (Q: Where is it? On top of Lower Volta, presumably), they had better get their thinking caps on again. "Hey, Rayne, it's just data," says Wozzle, throwing back at me one of my all-time mantras. Bonanza sidles into my office. "Upper Volta," he says. What? How does he know? "Just system-testing, Rayne, old bean," he says. "This office is now bugged like you wouldn't believe. We can know everything. Our power is awesome." Poor Wozzle looks bug-eyed. I ask my nemesis to kindly get the hell out of my office.
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