It's raining

Today I'd like to revisit an old Pet Peeve of mine. This is hardly new to readers of this blog. I often rehash old Pet Peeves. That's why they're Pet Peeves and not one time annoyances.

Readers will recall my many, many rants about Planners, FFDKK™-- Frivolous Fuckwadian digital Knick Knacks and The Long Table of Mediocrity™.

Today I bring up the notion of Time. And how we're paid for it. More accurately, how we are NOT paid it. My friend George Tannenbaum, recently released from the mental and physical bondage of big agency employment, has touched on this topic. As well as many others. And his torching of the bridge that connected him to the big holding companies is nothing, if not genius.

There's a certain liberation that takes place when you reach a certain age in your career. And have a sufficient financial cushion in your portfolio. It's not Fuck You money, by any means, but it is "You're-Not-Gonna-Fuck-Me-Anymore Money."

And make no mistake that what big agencies do.

They start with with some meaningless Title Seduction. You're a Creative Director now. Or you're a Group Creative Director now. Ore you're an Executive Creative Director, whoopee. They will literally say anything to get in your ego pants.

Mind you, that prestigious title entitles you to nothing.

You don't get an office. You don't get more money. And you don't even get the final say on what creative product goes out the door. What you do get is the expectation that you will be on call 24 hours a day, 366 days a year.

And this where the fucking you begins.

Because your previous 40 or 45 or, who are we kidding, it's advertising, 50 hour work weeks will be a thing of the past. Replaced by the standard 60, 70 and 80 hour work weeks.

Allow me to torch a bridge of my own. When I was freelancing at a certain agency in Santa Monica, an outpost of a once famous shop in Boulder, Colorado, an assistant used to come around every night about 6 PM. She had a stack of menus in one hand and a notepad in the other.

"We're taking dinner orders. Where do you want to eat tonight?"

"I want to eat at home. Good night"

This. Was. Everyday.

And while you're putting in that extra time, because you're a big bad executive with a fancy title, don't expect that lost labor to ever be recouped. It won't. There'll be no bumps. No raises. No compensation of any kind.

It is, like so much that is wrong with business and this country, mind numbingly Trumpian in its hypocrisy.

Why? Because agencies, once paid on retainer or the dreamy 15% commission, now bill the clients by Time. And you can be sure that if the agency works 50 hours or 5 hours or 5 minutes over scope, they, unlike you, are going to charge the client for every goddamned second of it.

Meaning you are not the Mr. or Ms. Senior Vice President Group Creative Director, North America, you are merely a profit center.

My shtetl ancestors, no strangers to getting screwed, had a colorful phrase for this:

"tsi nit pi aoyf meyn tsurik aun zogn mir az es regn"   

Translation: Don't pee on my back and tell me it's raining!