Guess! Cuz I Can't Tell You

For the most part, I make every effort to stay apolitical in my postings, and I’m actually not going to get political in this one either. But, with all the talk and constant barrage of news regarding the debate between the White House and Congress over tax and spending cuts, I’ve been reminded of an incident from my past. And though it seems a bit silly to change the names since many who read this will have no trouble identifying to whom I am referring, I’m doing it anyway as a courtesy.

During my early tenure as the publications production manager and graphic designer for a New England boarding school, the director of admissions became overwhelmingly enamored with the charismatic creative director of a Boston communications design firm. The firm had been winning the hearts and minds of admission directors throughout Massachusetts, Connecticut, Rhode Island, and New York in a blaze of incomparable marketing genius. Everyone—I mean absolutely EVERYONE—was talking about Dave.

“Have you seen Exeter’s new Viewbook? How about Groton’s? Phillips’s Academy, too! Even Trinity-Pawling for godsake!”

“No? Well, Dave designed it. It’s spectacular!”

The coos, the ahs, the ohs, the wows, the superlative onamonapiatically enthralled responses were cacophonetic. [Yes, I just made up two words, but they further illustrate the over-the-top love that was being thrown in Dave’s direction.] And that’s why our school had to talk to Dave.

So Jess, one of our admission officers, heart racing at the very idea that she may actually get Dave on the phone, dialed his Boston number. His administrative assistant set up an appointment for four weeks in the future. Dave was a busy guy.

The appointed day arrived and Dave, along with his personal assistant, arrived on campus. Jess ushered them into the office of the duly reverent director, Warren, for the much-anticipated discussion about the school’s upcoming marketing efforts. The meeting lasted about an hour. As Dave was departing, Jess and Warren sighed and bowed as the object of their affection left the building.

It was shortly after Jess and Warren had recovered their senses, and had fully digested Dave’s quote for his services, and the impact such a venture would have on the budget, that they called me.

“Dave had the most fabulous idea for a yield piece,” they gushed. I nodded.

Jess reluctantly added, “But, we can’t afford him.” I nodded again.

Warren then said, “So we want you to come up with an idea.” I nodded again.

“The same idea that Dave mentioned in the meeting,” Jess added breathlessly.

“What was the idea?” I asked.

Jess and Warren looked guiltily at one another. Jess finally turned to me and said, “We can’t tell you.”

Wait. What?

“Well,” she further explained, “it was his idea so if we tell you, then . . . well . . . that wouldn’t be right.”

Wait. What?

Jess and Warren then looked at me expectantly.

I felt a little sick to my stomach as I asked, “Are you saying that you want me to come up with the same idea he did so that you can say that it was my original idea, but you’re not going to tell me what the idea was?”

Yes.

As with the current stand-off between the legislative and executive branches of our federal government, I was placed in the position of having to guess what the other party wanted knowing full well that such a guessing game could push our mutual tolerance of such an exercise over the cliff. Never having been very good at being funny when it comes to sarcasm (I always come off as hostile or mean), I hesitated to say what was really going through my head: “What? Do I look like an Oracle? Yea, sure, let me get out my crystal ball or Tarot cards.” Instead I explained as calmly as I could (though I really was annoyed) that such an expectation was beyond reason.

After a few minutes of going back and forth trying to get them to understand the impossibility of their expectations, they finally relented and Jess said, “OK. I’ll tell you.” She then explained in a rush of enthusiasm how Dave had come up with (on the spot!) that the yield piece could be designed around the concept of an old campaign button. “You know,” Jess went on, “like ‘I Like Ike,’ one of those big (and here she gestured with her hands to show me the size) pin-on buttons. Ours would say, ‘I Vote Choate’ and be accompanied with the usual letter of congratulations and encouragement to select our school over any other the recipient may have been accepted to.”

Seriously? A campaign button?

“Exactly how do you suppose mailing fulfillment is going to be accomplished?” I asked without rancor.

Jess and Warren thought for a moment before Warren guessed, “In a box?”

“Uh huh,” I said. “And how do you suppose that box is going to get made?” I further prompted.

“Is that a specialty?” Jess asked.

“Uh huh,” I responded. “And how do you supposed that box then gets labeled, postage applied, and handled through the USPS?”

I could almost see the light dawning on their faces.

“So, you see, this is an idea I would never have. Even in my wildest dreams. Because the manufacturing of such an idea is already too expensive. And I’m not even charging you a design fee.”

Their hopes dashed to pieces because they, too, realized that Dave’s idea was not an affordable option no matter how you sliced it, Jess and Warren and I then discussed some more viable alternatives and settled on one that, in the end, effectively served its purpose.

Dave’s star burned bright in its ascendancy, but only for a very short time. His business was bankrupt within three years.

So here’s my conclusion: Oh wait. Guess! Cuz I can’t tell you.

Copyright by DJ Anderson, 2012