The Burned Out AE Confers
Dear Hack Suit:
I am an account supervisor who has eaten at all the best restaurants in town. But behind my back, the creatives are always calling me a bag carrier. I am insulted by this talk and wonder, should I buy a new bag or just stop carrying one altogether?
Well-Suited
Dear Well-Suited:
Please, step into my office. That’s close enough. Actually this isn’t technically “my office” yet. It belonged to the Manager of Account Services until yesterday, when he defenestrated himself in a fatal fashion, as I’ve told investigators repeatedly under unusually bright lights. It’s a tragedy, really; we’ve lost a source of vision and clarity, and it won’t be easy for our organization to replace such a unique and important window. Yet even in these darkest of days, we can take solace in the fact that his landing destroyed only his own car.
You are concerned that creatives call you a “bag carrier,” and let me say that I am, too — deeply concerned. If you were doing your job, they would be calling you a laundry list of insulting names, and they would do so to your face, at which point you would snicker wickedly, then abruptly adopt an expression of intense menace before turning on your heels with a flourish of your black cape, a weapon whose hem is adorned with razor blades — nuclear razor blades. Also, they’re rusty. God help me, I do love a good cape flourish. Even the most uninspired creative types can churn out some memorable insults when properly motivated. Just last week I was called: Shit Sherpa, Weasel Wonka, Briefboy, Hagar the Hollow, Golf Spaniel, Jello in Wingtips, and Machiasmelli.
You need to seize supremacy in the relationship, Well-Suited, and yes, we can start with the bag. Get a bigger bag, a much bigger bag, one large enough for you to lounge in comfortably with all your presentation materials and a mini bar. Then insist that if your creative teams want their brilliant ideas to reach the client, they must carry the bag to the meetings, and with minimal jostling. Once you’re in the habit of taking control, it will be easy for you to walk into your supervisor’s office one day and throw him out the window. By the way, this conversation never happened, which goes without saying — as it must, I suppose, by definition. Anyway, just nod. Very well.
