The title of this is a partially summation of my thoughts on a number of subjects, especially myself. To begin with, I like me — I like being who I am — and there are no apologies for that. I do have a few qualms, though.
For starters, I continue to amaze myself how I let some types of people drift into my life. That shouldn’t happen because I’ve been on the planet long enough to avoid the types I have in mind. There are people that are takers, with no thought of returning even the smallest concession. These are the same people that will steal money from the church fund, or even mug a girl scout for her cookie stash. They are ‘air’ junkies. They consume you and every thing around you until that life endangering moment when they are sucking the air out of you. Maybe some don’t know they are doing it, but I’m afraid they wouldn’t give a care if they did.
Some of these people that have worked for me. They smiled in my face and made absolutely no contribution to the business. They dog you behind your back from anything ranging from that suit you like wearing, to their salaries. They want transparency — I want you to get the fuck back to work. I once had plans for an open house (lost my best intern and possible director of marketing for my agency in the process) but the know-it-alls in charge of the project didn’t know how to address an envelop — every damn invitation was returned by the Post Office. I spent close to a grand, and no one, not a single prospective client showed up. Talk about feeling air junkies sucking the life from you.
Hell, that came close to putting me into therapy.
The other thing I have been battering my brain over is why do I hesitate about firing people? Those knuckleheads should have gotten the booth. Letting them hang around only prolongs the agony and the bullshit.
As a man I find myself (despite the grey fur on my head and being not in the best of shape) being approached by younger women whenever I have the chance to interview them. Most are showing cleavage. One girl even hovered my desk to ‘show me something’ on her resume. Turns out it was her boobs, which slipped out of her blouse fitting, low cut blouse. With a tiny smile, she said: “Now, how did those get there?” I was sitting gaping at a well formed pair as nature intended. If it was only that one time, it would have been a mishap. Men, especially those behind the interview desk, dare not say anything because it may lead to a lawsuit — or worse — a cop knocking on your door.
Ever try to interview a woman that shows up wearing a negligee or lion-clothe skirt?
Hey, sweetie. Sexual harassment works both ways. Don’t start, lady. Okay? Go home to your boyfriend or husband or German Sheppard. No. That’s not a gun in my pocket — stop looking! Women like the ones I’ve described are more plentiful than other some care to admit. We live in a sexually charged environment — ad agencies are a continuous Mad Men episode.
One way to stop it is to have a woman do the hiring and firing. Or, I can ask my wife to perform an emergency Lorena Bobbitt-dectomy on me.
This brings to what I’m struggling to say. As my agency re-brands and goes into full operations mode, I want to be free to
build my agency into something heretofore confined to my dreams. I don’t want the thought to invade my mind of allowing myself to be distracted. The fact that I have let it happen in the past, for whatever reason, bothers me.
Catch you later,
Bernard Alexander McNealy