We are in Amsterdam, looking out of the window at the canals, writing notes, crossing our eyes and rotating our fingers near our ears. I am sucking biscuits.
"Think Gene Simmons", he continues.
"What, Gene Simmons out of Kiss?", we squeak.
"Yes. Gene Simmons. Is the tongue IN, or is the tongue OUT?"
We fall silent. The call goes on. A horse and carriage trot past the window. I draw in my book.
My thoughts turn idly to the email sent earlier that week, reminding me that now is "a good time to remember the mission we are on...to out-innovate the status quo", and that "we are rising our head above the turret with our stance... It will work for us in the end, but don't be surprised by the rocks thrown by the status quo... They have a lot to protect."
I think of Francis Rossi and a boulder, and draw a bit more in my book.
More time passes. I am to phone someone and make a system and a process. The voice continues.
There is shouting, and talk of biscuits on legs. The carriage passes the window again, this time containing a woman in a hat.
Entire minutes pass; little sense is made. I remember happier times, when entire days passed enhanced by a fez and a small clay pipe, with little to do other than watch squirrels through the window and dream of naked pathologists; when people made sense and conference calls where things that happened to other people.
I sigh a little and stop listening, for by now squeaks and barks are coming out of the phone, and I do not understand. Instead I think about a restaurant - the site of a recent family dinner - and wonder if they need an advertising agency.
9 comments:
Does he really want to know who owns Yes? I could tell him. And recommend a few uses for Jon Anderson that don't include singing.
Just joining up some dots here... didn't I hear recently that Bono has bought Forbes magazine?
Apparently dodgy rock is the LAST place you'd look for a haven from all this! NWM, I think that restaurant is crying out for a monkey in a fez.
Anderson? He can find his way up his own arse, that much we know for sure. Cockend.
Ms B - No. I mean what? What he meant, the man, was "who is the decision maker". I am not joking.
I must go and lie down.
PS the restaurant was full of puffy bread and people from Quebec with little maple leaves on their t-shirts.
Cockmonkey is such a fab word.
Who is the decision maker - this is the question of our times.
The man has identified the problem which is you can only decide once you've decided to decide.
Does a naked pathologist wear a label on his toe?
"Who owns yes?"
That is absolutely priceless. Thank you.
Thank you, a wonderfully funny post, with a rare collection of vacuous management-speak
Hm, so basically I was unravelling the dots. Who owns yes! I LOVE it! I can't WAIT to use it.
Why did I not see that. I wa like, Yes, the group, someone owns them?
Christ. I didn't know this blog was going to start being excellent again. That's me back to being shit in comparison. *sigh*
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