Crashing bores you say? I hear you, Morrissey!
Right now I am using the power of my mind to make my most troublesome client explode. If you hear a hideous screech and a wet pop from Westchester County, you’ll know I’ve done it for the team. Why is it that the smallest jobs are always the most painful and demanding? It’s like the difference in getting your leg shot off and a papercut, I guess. At least you go into shock with the gunshot.
This breed of client is composed of people who hem and haw, who don’t know a decent font from a hole in their butt, but magically they are qualified art directors. They may take it upon themselves to send you color swatches they made in MSPaint. (Although someone from a Fortune 500 company once did this to me as well.) They follow the legendary clueless Si Newhouse school of thought (oh no, this is going to prevent me from ever working for Conde Nast), glibly tossing off direction like “Can you make it more ‘fall?????'” Each extraneous piece of punctuation is like a knife in my gut. Whatever, this person is SO FIRED. As soon as the invoice comes back paid. It’s like I’m Razorfish, and it’s 1998. Wow, I’m wearing a long sweater coat, and everyone on the train stinks of Gucci Rush. Diddley doo, diddley doo, diddley doo.