Monday
Probably shouldn't have taken Sunday off. Today is fraught, even by typical Armadillo & Pounce standards. Our preez for Du Rite Industrial Plastics Group is jammed in the Production Department all day (advice to Nancy Nebraska — buy these people chocolates, suck up, grovel, fetch them iced mochas, tell them their kiddy pictures look cute, but whatever you do, never stand on a photocopier and make motivational speeches about the importance of this document because they just don't care, Nancy, they really couldn't give a hoot).
Inevitable rush hour mad dash for a cab, clogged arteries through Boston, pleading our way onto the 737, overhead bins full — just the same as it always is. We never learn; in fact, perhaps we thrive on this chaos? (Note to self: Idea for book?)
Ken Armadillo is along for the ride, evidence of the importance of Du Rite to the firm. We own the first class cabin to Wilmington every Monday night. Ken uses the flight to hammer out emails so I'm left to run through the slides in my head, wincing as every new typo jumps out. (Ken even spots the utterly moronic competitive "banister" — instead of "advantage" — how on earth did that get through?)
Tuesday
Very nervous. Can't sleep. Up at five to jog, swim laps when the pool opens at six, dress in my most sober suit, battle my hair to minimize wave action, run through slides in front of mirror with pot of coffee, breakfast with team (more coffee), then fleet of three cabs to the client's big brick edifice, Ken and myself in the rear car, like presidents. Ken asks how I want him to play things! Hilarious. Pointless requesting anything since Ken always hijacks meetings with his own (usually brilliant) ideas. Just hope for the best.
Inside we introduce glitzy Ken to the gritty Plastics execs, then I'm up. Feel the caffeine buzzing in my arteries and try to slow a little, work the room, but this isn't a day for any foolin'. Power ahead to Situation Analysis: trends — mostly bleak, competitive threats — myriad, Du Rite competitive banister ("It's very important that your banisters are highly competitive!" No one smiles. "Funny what those PC gremlins come up with!" No one smiles. See Ken in the corner making throat-slitting gestures, move on, move on.) Your competitive advantage — eroding, but salvageable. Long (possibly over-long?) review of customer feedback by chirpy Nancy to ram home the unavoidable conclusion that Du Rite polymers have stodgy marketplace perception despite being technically superior. (Watch-tapping from Ken.)
At last, So Whats. Bullet one: re-invigorate the Du Rite brand value proposition. Client VP of Marketing acts all snitty. Meaning what, he demands. Why can't we talk in English, etc?. Ken, predictably, parachutes in, guns blazing. Rayne's being diplomatic, he says. (I am?) We think you should fire the ad agency. (Uh-oh. Virgin territory here. Never been discussed. Don't even know if Du Rite bothers with an agency for its thermo-plastics unit.) VP tries to respond but Ken's on his feet, circling the podium. It's time for bold moves. Enough strength averaging. Time you seized the high ground. Grab 'em with some sexy new creative.
Ken, I want to shriek, we're not at Proctor & Gamble (though that is where he's going tomorrow, I remember). I picture those dweeby polymer purchasing managers in their windowless basement offices with naked light bulbs swinging in the clammy Midwest heat, flat horizon, rows of corn. Sexy polymers?
But you know what? Our client loves this concept. Adores it. Fire the agency (if there is one), instant gratification. A sustainable competitive banister! Makes me wonder why I spend six months on rigorous analysis, salvage the client relationship from John Bonanza's dot-com chicanery, only for super-Ken-doll to fly in for my big day, invent a preposterous left-field suggestion and get it endorsed through sheer force of personality and arm-flapping. Is that why his name's on the letterhead?
Evening celebratory meal at Benihana, flying knives being our analysts' idea of post-preez relaxation. Ken wows the team with sarcastic stories of dumb advertising blunders. (What's he been reading?) I nurse my Diet Sprite and shrug when I catch the eye of our poor cook, who's annoyed because the team is ignoring his dramatic show. Note to self: Consulting still is ninety percent perspiration, ten percent inspiration, plus a bonus ten percent for showing up with lunatic ideas. But I still want to know who was responsible for "banister."
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