“It’s just a numbers game” - the past week at work

Monday began with Ian and Alan (the two Directors in charge of our floor) calling a staff meeting in the Conference Room. The room isn’t particularly large so everyone was crammed in, standing round the long table (no-one sat down apart from Sheila the Office Manager). Slices of pizza were available, together with white wine and orange juice served in plastic cups.

Ian made a rambling speech saying that our floor (the marketing side of the agency) was not making enough money and there was not likely to be a profit-share this year. He did not make eye-contact with anyone while he was speaking. No-one asked him any questions.

Later, when Ian and Alan were out and Sheila was upstairs, the floor erupted with condemnations of the meeting. Everyone was furious about the lack of profit-sharing (everyone except me, as being new to the company I do not qualify for profit-sharing in my first year). Kate (New Business Executive) was fuming, her long blonde tresses shaking with indignation, her mouth (bright red lipstick) almost howling.

“It’s those two bastards who are not pulling their weight” she said, nodding towards Ian and Alan’s empty desks. “I know how much new business I’m bringing into the company. You know how much money your clients are making…” (nodding in my direction) “…you know how much money your clients are making…” (nodding to Angela, who as well as being Ian’s PA handles three very lucrative clients) “…we’re all way ahead of our targets!”

Later Kate off-loaded onto me a huge number of records and half-finished job-bags (I have taken over her client list to allow her to focus on new business presentations). As if I don’t have enough to do. I wondered where I would store all the paper.

The problem of storage was solved on Tuesday when there was a general reorganisation of our floor and my desk was moved to a more central position over against the side windows, with Pete (the office junior) opposite. From my new position I can look out the window into some back yards, one of which is almost entirely filled by a large copper beech tree. The new set up is supposed to help me delegate work to Pete, but there is a limit to the things he can do - despite having A-levels he can’t write and certainly can’t spell.



Above: Our new business drive is handled by Kate. She is very effective (I helped her work out the strategy but I could never sell the way she does). We bought lists of companies with a turnover of more than £10 million (the lists came from Electric Marketing - excellent quality) and sent them the agency brochure (very poor) and a letter. She then rings them up, and on average gets an appointment for every twenty calls she makes (“It’s just a numbers game”). She concentrates on companies more than fifty miles from London as there is less competition (“Most of them are flattered a London agency is taking an interest in them”). At the appointments we take the prospect through the agency presentation and then ask for the business (Kate is very upfront). We tell them we are not cheap (we stumbled on this tactic by accident, but it sort of goads the prospective client into giving us work, whereas we originally genuinely wanted to warn them that the prices would be high). Every five presentations we do results in two new clients. Kate then hands the new client over to either Ian or myself (she never gives work to Alan).

On Wednesday I had a trip out to Yorkshire to see another new client Kate has brought in. I went there with Ben (Ian’s son) from the photographic studio with his assistant Iain. Pete came along for the ride. We are producing a twenty-page colour brochure for the new client as well as redoing their website and running some ads. My objective for the day was to take the copywriting brief (I will write the copy myself). Ben and Iain had to get fifteen images. We left the agency at eight o’clock (no-one on our floor was in). We went there in Ben’s Escort Estate, which he drove up the A1 at maniac speeds. We were there by late morning.

We arrived at the factory which was a sprawling complex of mostly utilitarian structures. The Head Office was in the middle of the site, a Victorian building that had a grim sort of beauty in the late morning mist, moisture dripping from a few late roses in the flowerbeds at the front. We met the Managing Director and he took us on a tour which took nearly an hour.

The factory was ultra-modern in some parts, archaic and dirty in others. We went along cinder paths that had potholes filled with muddy water. Some of the buildings were packed with staff (standing at benches) who stared at us as we walked past.

The MD was very proud of his company and made comments as we walked around:

“That lad’s a bloody hard grafter… lots of the lads live in Paper Mill Lane and go to the Working Men’s Club… we believe in looking after our people…”

At the canteen we stopped for an early lunch of fried food. The MD waved us through the till. “There’s no such thing as a free lunch” I said to myself as I loaded my plate with bacon, sausages, fried egg, fried bread(!), black pudding and grilled tomato.

After the lunch Ben, Iain and Pete went off to take the photographs. I went with the MD into the Board Room, a cold room that had a melancholy and unused air. I made notes while he told me what he wanted in the brochure. We spent over two hours talking. He was very affable and often we digressed onto other topics (the war in Iraq, the botched election announcement, the progress of England in the Rugby World Cup). I got the impression he was lonely.

Late afternoon we left the factory and drove back down the A1, Ben going so fast that the car was juddering (“This car’s thrashed” Iain said excitedly). We got back to the agency just as the last person (Angela) was leaving. Pete told me quietly that he had been frightened by Ben’s driving.

On Thursday Ben took my photograph for a new agency brochure (the existing one is really awful, which is not good news for a marketing company!). Normally I hate being photographed, but I was pleased with this image. It showed me surrounded by moody shadows, reading a copy of BRAD (lists every publication with advertising rates and deadlines).

Friday I had another meeting with freelance designer Joey. We have to use freelances because we have so much work on at the moment that Tony and Paul (our in-house designers) can’t cope. When I first met Joey I had been quite off-hand and dismissive (actually rude, I am ashamed to say). This was because I had been told to use him when I wanted to put the work with a slightly more expensive freelance (I hate being leaned-on to use particular suppliers). My hostility turned to genuine admiration when I saw the work he had done. I knew immediately that the client would love it.

“To be honest, there was a lot of burning the midnight oil” Joey said (I had given him a needlessly short deadline).

Kate came over to look at the designs. She had handled the client in the past and knew how difficult they could be. She was enthusiastic about Joey’s work (“BQW have never done anything this creative before!”).

Joey smiled back at us. He was a typical south Londoner, aged about twenty-five, wearing very good quality casual clothes. There seemed no guile about him. You could almost see his mind working (he would stop in the middle of his professional patter, and you knew a thought had just occurred to him). He is very talented, but doesn’t really know the value of his work (he could double his prices and they would still be good value). He was obviously very impressed with Kate.