BRIELLE
These are the absolute worst. I throw the mock-ups back down on my desk and hit the intercom button. “Kelly, bring me the marketing department.”
“All of them?” she replies, peeking her head through the door. I nod wordlessly. “Oh, are you going to yell at them?” she asks, her tone gleeful. “If you do, can I watch?”
I laugh. This is why I love my assistant. Her cut-throat attitude always catches me off-guard. With her sweet face, silky blonde hair, and girl-next-door vibe, it’s easy to forget that she grew up in inner-Chicago and throws a left hook like I’ve never seen. Even my kickboxing instructor was intrigued, and he’s not easily impressed.
“Absolutely. I want them here asap. Oh, please call security. Tell them we’re likely to have five terminations, and I need them up here now.”
Kelly nods and bounces out of my office like I told her there’s ice cream in the break room. I stare down at the storyboards and advertising mock-ups the marketing team left on my desk, my molars grinding audibly. This is the final straw. I’ve been patient. I’ve tried to steer them in the right direction, but this is just gross, and I can’t do their job for them anymore.
Mom guilt is real! But with JustCloth denim, there’s one less thing to feel bad about… Carpool is hard, our jeans aren’t… Your husband can have his tools, the only thing you need is JustCloth.
“Sexist bullshit,” I mutter. This campaign is un-fucking-believable. How in god’s name could they think this copy is appropriate for any company, let alone a woman-run company, selling women-made clothes? The graphics are even worse. In one particularly infuriating mockup, they have a cheesy before and after with what I can only describe as lumpy pancake butt, and a wildly over-edited image of an obscenely unrealistic bubble butt.
They’ve been working on this campaign for weeks. How much money did I waste just so they could take our marketing back to 1952? My heart is pounding in my temples, my blood seething. There’s an authoritative knock, and before I even say, ‘come in’, my office door swings open. Kevin, the head of marketing comes swaggering in, a grin on his punchable face. A mother-fucking-grin.
His four employees trail after him, looking slightly less confident, but certainly not as worried as they should be. Kelly scoots in after them, shutting the door. Eyes bright, she takes a seat in one of the armchairs by the floor-to-ceiling windows, a notebook open on her lap and a pen poised to take notes.
Not that we need notes. There will be no more corrections. There will be no more warnings. And, after I’m finished with them, there will be five vacancies in marketing.
“So, this is what you’re presenting? Walk me through it.” I say, my voice intentionally gentle. Curious even, which is really hard to do when I want to rip them each a new asshole.
Kevin gives me a smarmy smile. Maybe it’s residual anger over my ‘date’ last night, but I have had it with guys like this. “Well, we went tongue in cheek. Retro,” he explains like I’m five years old. I don’t say a word, just let him keep talking; let him hang himself with his own rope.
“Market research shows women want to be cared for, pampered. Moms and young to middle aged professionals are our corner demographic, and they’re tired. Exhausted.”
I want to cackle. What does Mr. Ducks-out-after-30-hours-a-week know about exhausted? But the men behind him nod like this is perfectly fine. I pick up the Mom-Guilt ad, tapping my nail against the board it’s mounted on.
“Who came up with this one?” I ask, voice light, face an expressionless mask. Kelly is practically trembling with excitement. She knows what’s coming down the line, and after seeing these boards, I know she’s just as appalled as I am.
One of the guys in the back raises his hand, looking far too proud of himself. “Uh… that was me. My wife is always bitch—er, moaning about how tired she is after watching our four kids all day. Complains about mom-guilt all the time.”
I nod like that wasn’t one of the most disgusting things I’ve ever heard, and pick up the carpool ad. “And this one?” Kevin still looks like a smug shit, but the guys behind him exchange glances, their shoulders dropping ever so slightly.
The guy in the middle, Haden or Kaden, or something like that, raises his hand timidly. I can’t keep the hard, bubbling anger out of my expression any longer. I hold up the carpool storyboard, the one meant to be a video ad for social media. I don’t have to say anything. One by one, I tap on the boards, noting who made what. By the time I’ve gotten through the stack, Kevin’s face has fallen. But instead of looking ashamed, there’s anger in his eyes.
“So let me get this straight, all five of you thought this campaign was a good idea?” No one nods or says a word, but they don’t deny it either.
“The research—“ Kevin blusters, but I interrupt.
“I’ve seen the research, Kevin. I read it front to back. Three times. Something you clearly failed to do. You cherry-picked bits to back up this sexist garbage instead of putting the whole picture together. In fact, you all completely missed the entire point of those reports. Which, I’d like to add, we paid out the nose for. This,” I hold up the pile of storyboards and mockups, making sure they all see it. “This is worse than trash.”
“Now, hang on.” Kevin raises his voice, yelling over me. “It’s a joke. It’s supposed to be funny. You just don’t get it because you’re an uptight bitch!”
Kelly giggles in the corner, knowing what a huge mistake that was. All five of the men glance in her direction, alarmed by her outburst. But I love it. If I could let my guard down right now, I would have laughed at that comment too. Not because it’s funny, but because it really was the single stupidest thing he could have blurted out.
A smile spreads over my face. It’s cold, but it’s what they deserve. Leaning back against my desk, I cross my arms. “I hired you on a recommendation, Kevin. Clearly that was a mistake. As was letting you pick your own staff.” I eye the group of straight, white, middle-aged men. I can’t say it out loud, but he hobbled this team by limiting the voices and perspectives. “The echo-chamber is done. You’re fired.”
Kevin turns beet red, his face going splotchy as the anger visibly colors his skin all the way down to his shirt collar. “You can’t fuck me like that!” He grits out through snarled lips. He takes a step toward me. The hair rises on the back of my neck at the vitriol in his voice. My muscles tense, and I signal Kelly to show security in. They all watch her stand and leave the office.
“Kevin,” I say, forcing a bored tone. “I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last man on earth. Because even then, you’d still be disgusting. Now. Get. Out.”
Seven security guards file into the room, one of them coming to stand between Kevin and I, a stern expression on his face. He gestures for Kevin to leave the room. My former head of marketing mutters a hateful diatribe the whole way out, leaving the four remaining members of the marketing team to gawk at me. Between them, the six guards keeping them in line, and Kelly watching with wide eyes, my airy office has never felt so cramped.
I stare back at the marketing team—the ex-marketing team—but they don’t leave. Then it hits me.
“Oh, I’m sorry, did you think I was just talking to Kevin?” I ask. Their eyes dart between me, security, and each other nervously. “I’ll say it slowly. You’re all fired. Security will escort you to collect your personal belongings.”