I've been looking for a writer for us. There comes a time in everyone's life, when they must stop their depraved pursuit of renegade punctuation in the verbiage of people who went to B-school and forgot what Ms. Chanda taught them in English class.
Well, there comes such a time in my life.
Sick of exclamation marks in excess, misplaced apostrophes and sms spelling in offishall dokumentz, I'm just about ready to savagely uproot the eyebrows of the next idiot who dares show me an ill-composed piece of writing.
And so, burning with zeal and purpose, I carefully composed an ad and R, the client-managing stalwart of our workshop posted it on a dotcom of inspiring repute, thinking one ad, and we're going to be swamped with CVs from wordsmiths of admirable calibre; because after all we are who we are, small, but cutting edge and all.
They did come. The CVs; describing wonders I hadn't ever thought could exist.
One hot stud of a creative director, down from unnameable country for 'personal reasons', came along for an interview ensconced in a viscous cloud of expensive cologne and a crisp white shirt. He had the sort of Grecian good looks that immortalise urns. But pretty faces with fat salary expectations don't run a firm. He was clearly given to spending the amount I earn in a month on a week's ration of parfum pour homme. It was apparent that we weren't suited for one another quite early into the meeting, but he insisted on taking us through ALL his work, explaining every clever turn of phrase with patronising patience. At some point, his leg brushed past mine, and when I looked up to apologise, unsure of whose fault it was, he dimpled a deeply meaningful smile, allowed his gaze to linger just a moment too long, and then continued nonchalantly with his monologue. Bumfarkin'confoundedness! Do people think they can get away with anything, just because they're terribly awfully bloody good looking and their diction's perfect? [um, something tells me, the answer to that could easily be yes.] I mean, I should've been the one, if at all, being lewd. Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't he on MY TURF? I hate being cheated of my rights, especially when it involves becoming flustered, looking an ace idiot and not being able to smell properly for half a day.
Another fellow shimmied in, telling us he "would write, of course! But I wouldn't like to edit copy, as I'd rather spend my time envisioning things of greater importance for the company". Thank you very much, mister, we HAVE a business development team, and rather a lot more vision than we'd care to outsource. It would be nice, perhaps, if you'd evince an interest in the job we've advertised for. Later it emerged that he also planned, between his writings and visions to squeeze in a few plump freelance assignments. His parting shot was "Umm, even if you don't hire me, could I moonlight with you?"
The most priceless so far, though, has been this little toad, a fledgling junior writer at some arse-hammered nondescript agency, I had the pleasure of calling.
H [in my crispest telephone voice]: "Hi, am I speaking with X?"
YA? What is farkin' YA?
H [maintaining telephone charm]: "I'm calling about your CV which you posted in response to our ad for a writer?"
Toad [disinterested to the degree of almost suggesting that I was calling about a tax poll]: "Ya?"
H [ignoring the urge to pop a vein, giving nonchalance a good name]: "Er, did you or did you not?"
Toad: "Ya ya."
H [losing control of vein and nonchalance]: "Er, X, you seem to be responding only in 'Ya's, Sounds like you're very busy?"
Toad: "Ha ha. Ya."
Oh. And. If another copy-cowboy even utters the word "anyways" I'm going to do a serious arse-razing [MS Word insisted it should be raising] earth shattering Rumpelstiltskin.
What's with 'anyways'? Hanh? What IS 'anyways', anyway?
In my very limited and archaic view of the world, it sounds suspiciously like something that calls for the careful de-hirsuting of eyebrows AND some, with a single-hair-pinch-and-pluck epilator with a jerky battery and rusty pincers.
But, this is just my opinion.
I'm exhausted now; 'tis bad for my nerves – such raw excitement.