‘Good morning,’ I say formally to the three people sitting with expectant looks on their faces. ‘I am very pleased to be here today, to pitch you my ideas for your newest campaign.’
‘Excellent!’ Pikky says, clapping his hands together.
‘Divine,’ Winery Smalls agrees.
‘Tarnation,’ Tex remarks.
I’m not sure he understands what that word actually means.
Nevertheless, I have to present to these people, so ignoring their idiosyncrasies is paramount if I’m to get through this. I can’t spend the next ten minutes worrying about why a young man from Lancashire feels the need to dress like a cowboy.
I launch into the presentation as best I can.
To begin with, it seems to be going well. My Google research about Fluidity appears to have paid dividends, as I get a lot of nods and smiles from my audience as I talk about what I think their vision for the company going forward should be, and how my graphic design sensibilities can work for them.
I then show the three of them some sample text images I think would be appropriate for the upcoming campaign’s wording. I’ve created some truly awful fonts for this. All jagged edges and overblown serifs that most people would reject instantly . . . but this lot seem to think are right up their street.
It’s actually going very well, until Winery Smalls drops a bombshell.
‘It’s so nice to see how different people can come up with the same idea,’ she says, interrupting me as I’m trying to explain how the eclectic fonts I’ve created will complement the badger-ravaged clothing they want to sell to poor, unsuspecting members of the Gen Z population.
‘Pardon me?’ I reply, a bit nonplussed.
She leans forward. ‘I just think it’s wonderful how the creative process works.’ Her hands go to her chest. ‘I’m in awe of it. That two people, entirely unrelated, can come up with graphics that look so similar. It really must mean Fluidity has a strong and clear message that you’ve both understood so well.’
‘Both? Similar?’ I say, now completely confused.
‘What Winery means,’ Pikky interjects, ‘is that the work you’re showing us is very similar to the designs Zap Graphics presented us with yesterday.’
My jaw muscles instantly tighten, and I can feel my teeth wanting to clench themselves together. ‘Is it?’
‘Yes!’ Winery crows happily. ‘Isn’t that a wonderful, majestic thing?’
‘Majestic,’ I repeat, barely able to get the word out.
‘It really is quite amazing,’ Pikky continues. ‘A real wonder how you can both provide such similar proposals without having worked together on it.’ Pikky’s eyebrow arches with the last few words, indicating that he doesn’t believe for a second that Zap Graphics and I haven’t colluded on this project.
But that’s not true!
I don’t even know the guy’s bloody name!
The only way we’d have the same kind of work to show off is if one of us had copied the other, and I know for a fact that it wasn’t—
Oh, bloody hell.
Is that it? Has Zap Graphics somehow hacked into my computer and nicked my ideas?!
Yes! That’s it!
The bastard!
My stomach flips as the horror of it envelops me. I have been hacked and ripped off. No doubt about it!
‘Are you going to continue, Andy?’ Pikky says expectantly.
Oh, Christ. Now I have to finish this damn presentation? Knowing that some bastard – whose name I don’t even know – has stolen my work?
‘Yes, yes!’ Winery exclaims, bouncing up and down on the chair and making her shower curtain rustle loudly. ‘Please carry on! I’m so interested in your creative process!’
‘Y’all keep going, y’hear?’ Tex comments, sounding like someone who owns a whippet while looking like someone who owns a cattle ranch.
The world has gone mad.
‘Er . . .’ I say, looking down at my iPad.
I should continue.
Just because they’ve already seen Zap Graphics doesn’t mean his stuff is actually better than mine. I could still win this.
Focus on your goals, as Lucas La Forte would no doubt remind me, if he were here.
Christ, I wish he was here. Winery would probably go and lick his expensive suit, thus taking some of the attention off my shoulders.
‘Er . . . let me move on to what I want to do for the online placements you mentioned in your tender.’
‘Oh, excellent!’ Winery says, far too excited about this whole thing for my liking. ‘I bet that’ll be the same as the other Andy’s work as well!’
‘What?’ I spit, not able to help myself.
‘Why, don’t you know?’ Pikky says with a smile. ‘The man behind Zap Graphics is also an Andy. Andy Roan, I think his name was. Lovely chap. Very handsome. Very talented.’
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
I’m dead in the water here.
I grind my teeth together, sending a sharp stabbing pain up through my right temple.
Just. Get. Through. It. And. Get. Out.
‘So, the online adverts then,’ I say from between gritted teeth. ‘Here’s what I think you should do.’
I flick my iPad screen to reveal the layout I’ve designed.
‘Oh yes! So similar again!’ Winery cries with happiness. ‘Magnificent!’
If I grind my teeth any more, I’m going to turn them to powder.
I don’t look at any of them, instead just concentrating on the two months of work that’s on the TV screen.
‘If you look, you can see that I’ve gone for an eclectic design that really shows just how vigrant and gold I think we can make the campaign.’
Pikky looks confused. ‘Gold? I don’t see any gold in there, Andy.’
‘Nope! No gold on that advert, Andy Number Two!’ Winery agrees.
I didn’t mean gold, though, I meant bold.
‘No, no . . . not gold . . . gold,’ I tell them.
Now Pikky’s look of confusion deepens. ‘There’s no gold in that design, Andy.’
‘Gold! Gold!’ I try to say, but the word isn’t coming out right. The stabbing pain shoots up into my right temple again, and my hand flies to my head to hold it.
‘Are you all right?’ Pikky asks.
‘’Es. I’m fine,’ I reply, lying through my teeth.
I have to lie through my teeth, because I can’t open my mouth.
‘Are you sure?’
‘’Es! No progrem at all!’
Oh, Christ on a bike, I can’t open my jaw! It’s locked tight!
What the hell is wrong with me?
‘Are you OK to continue?’ Pikky says, looking concerned.
Just. Get. Through. It. And. Get. Out.
‘’Es! I can carry on. I’m gerfectly vine!’
I’m clearly not perfectly fine. Far from it.
But, not wanting this crisis to turn into a disaster, I try to ignore the sharp stabs of pain that continue to pulse through my temple, and look back to the TV screen.
‘Der cloves you make are vigrant, gold, exciting and mogern. My gravic designs revlec’ dis.’
Jesus Christ. I sound like a ventriloquist trying to do a Jamaican accent – and failing miserably at it.