The sisyphean nature of time
Creative Strategy #42: Learn to say goodbye
After the crash of 2008 I lost my job;
I left a building I had worked in since 1982.
I had the same 8th floor window for 25 years.
Right across the street from the GM Tech Center.
For years after I left, I had variations on one dream:
trying to get back to that building.
There’s traffic and obstacles.
I finally make it to the front door
and everything’s changed.
I mean I recognize none of the architecture.
What’s that three story escalator doing there?
Where’s Norma, Mary & Laura? Where’s Jimmy?
I’m stopped by security.
I try to explain who I am.
I write, I say. I wrote I mean I write copy.
All ads have copy written by copywriters?
The concept seems alien to them.
Hal Blaine played on a song I wrote.
The wrecking crew, a security guy says.
YES!
What were you a Beach Boy?
I point at the green meadow across the street.
The real Beach Boys played right there. Right there!
Mike Love wore one of those silly golf hats
that only make sense if yer in a Guy Ritchie Movie.
And that reminds me I almost met Madonna.
And there I point at the Magnificent GM Tech Center
Eero Saarinen designed that for the GM Hot Rodders in the 50’s.
A new security cop steps up and says I love his work.
Me, too! But get this! I shot commercials with his son.
Eric Saarinen? The guy who shot all of Albert Brooks movies.
Yes! But fuck Brooks. Have you seen this guys nature commercials?
I mean he practically invented a new way to shoot the wonders of the globe, land and sea, he’s a one-man walking National Geographic special.
Eric created cinema experiences that rival any landscape painting ever done.
I am an officer of the company. A Senior Vice President.
Three dreams in; they’re still not buying my ID.
They have no records of anyone named Mr. Turkeylegs McGee.
8 Main. That’s where I’ll go.
I ditch ‘em and make a wild dash backward up the escalator.
Only to lose myself in a totally unfamiliar building.
I don’t even know where the bathroom is.
Where was I? Where did I belong? Why doesn’t anybody recognize me?
The building had changed. My parking spot had changed.
There’s a gigantic white cafeteria flooded with light like the Guggenheim in New York. Pyramids of fresh oranges and the lots of smoothie options.
I recognize nobody.
After weeks of looking I finally find my office.
Nobody knows it but me.
It’s changed. Indescribably changed.
I go to get help and end up sitting in a meeting.
I present a marketing solution and
The guy next to me says:
I’ve got a better idea.
Why don’t we just film our focus panels?
That’s got to be cheaper than hiring actors and directors.
You know, all that Hollywood stuff.
The room is silent until the client says: I like it.
It dawns on me.
I don’t belong here.
I am no longer in advertising.
I am no longer an advertiser.
I am no longer needed.
—Patrick O’Leary