Todd attempts to get in the boss' favor by completing his first ad campaign.
Todd wrote the day off as another failure. Here it was, nearly four in the afternoon, and he still didn’t have the ad copy ready for the new ad campaign. "The boss is going to kill me," he thought.
Yet, Todd mustered up enough courage; he told himself, "You’ve got to keep this together, Todd. Being the new man on the totem pole, your job’s on the line here."
Even so, it still wasn’t easy on Todd. He was given the task of coming up with the new ad campaign two days ago. The idea was to market Amnio Ammunition. But, in an era where the American public was still dealing with the 9/11 tragedy, and the constant bickering over gun control, who in their right mind would want the task of coming up with a new slogan for Amnio Ammunition?
No one did, and that was the problem.
Todd inherited the project primarily because of seniority. He had none. Hired by Swifty Relations two months earlier, Todd Matheson was still the new kid on the block.
He knew he was an excellent writer. Cum laud from Columbia, Todd was the only one from his class to be offered a job months before graduating.
He worked part time until then; yet, despite being pumped up to full-time, he was still seen as being "on probation" for another 45 days.
The Amnio account arrived half way through, along with a memo that layoffs were pending. Sept. 11 was cited.
"Great! Just what I needed," he thought, knowing his employment rested solely on this account.
He continued to stare at the computer screen. An empty page containing no art or even words remained as it had for the past two days.
"Houston, I think we have a problem."
Todd placed his face into the palms of his hands. His fingers traced the tips of his hair, tugging at them in desperation for any creativity. "Uuugh!"
"How’s it going, Todd?" Jason Weatherly stood in the doorway to Todd’s office. He held a cup of steaming coffee in his hand, and a smug smile Todd wanted to wipe clean with that steaming beverage; yet, he remained silent. Jason was the chief writer in the division, not to mention the boss’ son.
Jason hadn’t made it easy on Todd; he kept second-guessing him, even on this project. But Todd kept his cool. He knew Jason had this client before him, but failed. And he knew Jason felt betrayed when his father handed it over to him, even though no one else wanted it.
"Come up with anything yet?" He heard Jason say.
Todd just grinned back. "No. Not yet, but I will. You can count on that, Jason."
"Good," Jason replied and, as he left, added, "Remember, that copy is needed by the end of business tomorrow."
That’s just what Todd needed, to be reminded of the deadline. He felt the burden of pressure now upon him. He never had writer’s block before; he didn’t think it truly existed, until now. It was four o’clock on a Monday, and he still had nothing.
So, he decided to take a break. Grabbing his jacket, Todd knew exactly where he needed to go. Java Joe’s at Fifth and Vine. Jason, with his uptown, uppity cup of coffee, reminded him how much he needed a break.
"Hey, where do you think you’re going," Todd heard Jason call out from his office. "It’s not even five yet."
‘Fuck you, you fuckin’ jackass,’ was what Todd wanted to say. That’s what he heard in his head. Instead, he called back, knowing that Jason had his head peaking out into the hallway. "I’m just running down for some coffee; I’ll be right back."
It was a short walk to Java Joe’s, and Todd was thankful for the opportunity to stretch his legs as well as his mind. It gave him time to think about the ad campaign without Jason’s constant scrutiny. For what it was worth, Todd wanted to play a round of Russian Roulette with Jason. He even considered suggesting it, but knew it wouldn’t have resolved anything.
Yet, Todd felt driven by the experience, even inspired to create, and flew back to his office to do so. He worked feverishly through the night, often laughing at himself for not coming up with the idea before now.
By the time the meeting came the next afternoon, Todd felt more ready than he’d ever be.
“So, what do you have for us, Todd,” his boss asked. “What’s your proposal?”
Smiling, Todd began his presentation. “The country needs to know that life will get better,” he explained. “There is so much hate and anger because of 9/11. Everyone is still mourning, still on this kick for revenge. We can take advantage of that, sir.”
“Go on.” His boss urged. “What do you have in mind, son?”
Todd glanced toward Jason. He squirmed in his seat, rolling his eyes back. Yet, Todd continued to smile, unnerved by Jason’s attempt to taunt him.
“Show the positive side.”
“What?” Jason asked.
“Jason, please. Be quite,” Mr. Weatherly ordered. “You had your hand at this; now let Todd finish.”
“Thank you, sir.” Todd paused a moment, trying to catch his breathe as his excitement rose. “Certainly, Amnio has seen its productivity rise the last few months, partially because of what happened. Everyone’s jumping on the vigilante side of things, wanting to kill anyone who remotely looks Arab. That could be a downer for the company. Bad for business.
“Instead, what Amnio should be doing is show some responsibility. Show that it’s a responsible business, despite the products that it sells.
He brought forth a picture, one that depicted a man in a grenade in front of some bar. There were others, showing the same person in front of where the Twin Towers once stood. Few depicted the horror afterwards, and people hurling grenades at gas station attendants. Each panel had the same message, none the same: “Don’t be caught off guard, and be blown to pieces. Get armed with knowledge. It could save your life."
Jason leaned back in his chair, snorting. “This is a bunch of crap,” he added, directing the comment more toward his father than Todd. “People are not going to be sympathetic. They want to re-act, not some sissy, laid back excuse not to get these sick bastards.”
Mr. Weatherly held up his hand, immediately silencing his son in mid-stream. “Even though you make valid points, my son, but, let me remind you, you had your chance with this account. And you failed. Now, I’m giving Todd a chance.”
“But, Dad!”
Mr. Weatherly looked directly at his son. Todd quivered, not believing what was about to occur. Sure, he had some problems with Jason, but he never imagined Mr. Weatherly turning his back on him, right in front of another employee. Yet, the boss rendered his verdict. “You your chance, son, and you blew it. Now, if you would give Todd and me a moment alone, we’ll get down to business.
“And Jason,” he continued. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”
Jason grumbled, but did as he was instructed, much to Todd’s astonishment.
Todd, though, remained as he was, standing on the other end of the conference room table, staring at the doorway that closed shortly after Jason’s departure. Mr. Weatherly’s voice soon trailed, bringing Todd back to the moment at hand.
“I like you, son. It took a lot of guts, sticking with this project even though you knew how difficult it would be. It took insight, courage. And I like what you presented, even though it might not be exactly what I, or Amnio, originally had in mind. But, I want to give you that chance, and, unfortunately, there’d be some strings attached.”
Todd stood, listening as his boss explained what he wanted done. “I know it won’t be easy. My son, as you know, is the biggest SOB I know. I hate to say that about my own son, but it’s the truth. And it’s now time that he grew up and take responsibility for his own actions.”
“What did you have in mind, sir?” Todd asked, barely above a whisper.
“I’d like you to test market one of your ideas here, using my son, of course, as the poster boy. Do you think you’d be up for the task?”
Todd smiled intently. It was the project he had longed for, and he knew exactly where to market the campaign, the little bar located in the worst part of town. After all, it was the location in his first panel…. and, if that panel had been closer inspected, the face staring out of the grenade would have been clearly recognized as Jason Weatherly…
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