Thursday, 12 November 2009

I fail chemistry


Dave Knockles done a naughty.

The third chemistry meeting of my hunt for a new agency took place today but I think I may just have ruined it just a teensy little bit a lot.

Here's what happened.

Last night, I got locked in my BMW motor car. Now, ignore that joke bit at the end! Dave Knockles is NOT scared of the dark and he did NOT do a wee because the shadows looked like they were moving and he heard a scraping noise and the trees looked like giant monsters. NO WAY!

Anyway, Shit Alan, the security guard helped me get out. (Shit Alan is called Shit Alan because there are two Alans: Good Alan and Shit Alan. Shit Alan is just a bit...well, shit.)

So, after being locked in my car, I needed a bit of rest and relaxation. Of course, I headed for Delilaz, my favourite lap-dance-based facility. It was Wednesday night, which means it's Five Pints & A Pie Night. You buy five pints and get a free pie. Of the hairy variety. Naturally, I made the most of such a generous offer and when I came out, the morning rush hour was well under way.

Suffice to say, such a night of lavish enjoyment took its toll. I was slightly jaded and in need of a bit of shut eye - which I got when I blacked out while pissing up someone's Vauxhall Vectra.

Now, sleeping under a Vauxhall Vectra isn't as restful as it sounds, so when the owner found me and booted me awake, I was still quite tired. With an important chemistry meeting ahead of me, I did what any time-poor executive would do and bought 24 cans of Red Bull.

Once I'd polished those off, I felt pretty fucking special, so I drove back into work, had a shave, fell asleep on the bog for a bit, woke up, fell asleep in a meeting for a bit, had a couple of inches of scotch to clear my noggin and headed straight for the meeting. In the cab, I may have emptied my hip flask, and I think I stopped on the way for a quick livener (or two) in the Bull & Bush, Dog Bar, God Bar, Radish Bar and the Fallen Angel.

On arrival, it seems, I greeted the account director (a lady) with a full and sincere embrace that, I hear, she didn't much appreciate. I thought I was shaking her hand, turns out I was grabbing her tits.

Some might consider that the high point of the meeting.

I called the planner a cunt, I threw sushi at the creative director, I dry-humped the account execs (all three of them), I stood on the table and tried to piss into a wine bottle ten feet away and I finished lunch by vomiting so copiously that I got puke on people in the next room.

The agency, I am told, were disappointed by my behaviour and considered it unprofessional.

But, fucking hell, come on! It was a chemistry meeting! What did they expect? I thought agencies were supposed to enjoy that sort of thing.

Anyway, the upshot is that there's one less agency on the pitch list - so it's a double win! One less presentation to sit through AND I've set a new record: I've been fired by an agency BEFORE I've started working with them! I call that a result!

Why? Because I AM THE CLIENT!


  1. Dave

    Not sure what the problem is. You’re a genius (i know, you know this) but to me it sounds like you truly tested this potential agencies nerve. How do they react to challenging behaviour? Well now you know.

    Well done for such a professional performance under difficult circumstances. I could learn a lot.


  2. So it's not normal to be greeted with a healthy boob grab? Oops...

  3. Folks, I'm glad you see my side of what was a trying time for all of us. (Well, except me.) But it does raise the whole issue of just what is 'professionalism'? If anyone knows, I'd be delighted to hear.