Hanging up, I take a moment to lean back in my chair and contemplate my office. Running an ad agency is non-stop work and running the premier advertising agency in NYC is a bucket of stress with a dumpster fire piled on top. But I love it, and I’m good at it. Ligne NYC is the top advertising agency in New York City, and I take a moment to savor my success.
Sometimes it’s still hard for me to believe I started this company in a crappy studio apartment with nothing but a beat-up laptop and a raging desire to succeed. I chuckle, remembering those days. My laptop was worse for the wear, and I often had to wipe pizza stains from the keyboard after another all-nighter. Meanwhile, my current office is about two thousand square feet, a luxurious aerie in the sky. I’m pretty sure my desk and the leather chair I’m sitting in cost more than a month’s rent at my old place, and the view? I get up and walk over to the wall of windows on the far side of my office. Below, people scurry to and fro as yellow cabs swerve around traffic, but ahead of me is the gray gleaming steel of the Empire State building, and that’s all I need.
Suddenly, the phone on my desk rings and I frown before picking up. It’s my assistant. “Hey, Jan. What’s up?”
“Sir, your two o’clock is here,” she chirps.
“Who is it again?” I ask idly.
Her voice goes a bit quiet. “It’s one of the junior associates, Ronald Putnam. You know, the one who sits on the fifth floor in the common cubicle area? After he requested a meeting with you for the twentieth time, you told me to just book it so he’d stop.”
“Fuck.” I pinch the bridge of my nose as pain flares behind my eyes. “I remember now.”
The last thing I want to do today, or any day, is meet with this Ronald guy. In fact, I only have a faint memory of him, but then again, I couldn’t let him harass my secretary forever. As a result, I acceded to the meeting just to get him out of Jan’s hair.
But this next half hour is going to be fucking painful. Junior associates often think they’re bright young things, but the fact is that advertising is about more than great ideas. Advertising is also about impeccable execution, outstanding client service, and long-standing relationships. As a result, the associates often overestimate their worth to the firm. I appreciate these Young Turks for their youth and energy, but there’s no substitute for experience and discretion.
“Mr. Neuwirth, would you like me to stall?” Jan asks in a quiet tone. “I could say you’ve been called away unexpectedly?”
“No, it’s fine,” I snort derisively. “Send Mr. Putnam in.”
I sit back down behind my Italian crafted Passerini desk and lock my computer screen. Then, I lean back and school my expression into neutrality. Sure enough, there’s a knock at my office door, but before I can say anything, it swings open and in swaggers a young man wearing an expensive suit that hangs off his narrow frame. In one look I’ve already got him pegged. His hair is slicked back as if he’s Gordon Gecko from the movie Wall Street, and incredibly, I even see yellow suspenders flash from beneath his blazer. He’s reedy and thin, and takes the seat across from my desk without it being offered. Then, to my surprise, he leans forward with a closed fist outstretched.
“Hey Malcolm, my man. What’s up with your secretary, huh? I told her we had an important meeting, but she acted like she was clueless. You’ve got to train your subordinates, bro! You can’t let people like that run your private offices.” I stare at his fist until he drops it to his side with a snigger. “Oh, you’ve never done a fist bump? Hardy har har, it’s the latest thing. That’s why you need me, my man. I’m a Millennial whereas you’re what? A baby boomer? You’ve got to stay current on the times, my brother! It’s important in our business.”
Holy fuck. Has this boy already insulted not only my habits, but also my age, my generation, and my familiarity with our industry? I’m tempted to fire him and kick him out on the spot, but instead, merely smile in a cold, harsh manner.
“Jan is more than qualified as my executive assistant, and she’s been with Ligne nearly as long as I have. What was your name again?”
Instead of being cowed, the boy merely sniggers.
“Ronald. Ronald Putnam. I sit on the fifth floor and work in creative.”
I nod.
“Great. I’m Malcolm Neuwirth, CEO. How can I help you today?”
The boy smiles and sits forward, his eyes gleaming at the opportunity.
“So listen, bud,” he says, “I know you’ve got someone already on the energy drink campaign, but I saw what they put together, and Ligne could do so much better.”