Incidents With Increments

Incidents With Increments
29th April 2005

This one is a postscript to Upraisals, Upheavals.

We got our increment letters yesterday.

I was sitting with Silent Assassin in his cabin, discussing a pitch we’ve been working on. In the middle of an engrossed discussion, he got up to meet Cobra’s secretary. And came back in with a handful of official-looking documents.

Hearken back to Upraisals, Upheavals. Where I had, to my surprise, received a pretty good appraisal from Suspicious and Scary.

And now hearken forward to the time after my return from Malaysia.

I’d come back charged up, ready to kick some advertising ass. Ready to crack one award-worthy idea a day. With Amma’s blessings and my own hopes and dreams resurgent in my mind.

And I come back and find myself writing product tags. That too, without a brief.

How does one write bad copy? Simple. A product tag with no brief is a great way to get mediocre.

So I slumped again. Shoulders sagged, spirits drooped. I spent most of my time flirting with the multitude of cute women in the office.

Ha ha.

I even told Silent Assassin of what I was feeling. He understood. Told me to relax, that I’d do some great work, that it was only a matter of time before I cracked another good ad.

So I threw myself back into work. Slogged over a recent campaign, got kudos from Scary and client for a heart-warming long-copy ad.

Then there was no more work. And back I went to flirting, fighting with servicing, and writing mediocre product tags.

Had a chat with Seniorita a few days ago. She told me that average increments were in the area of 20 to 30%. So I said, okay, I’m expecting about 30%.

Now fast-forward back to the present. Me sitting in Silent Assassin’s cabin. He’s handing me my letter.

It took me a few moments to comprehend what I was seeing.

A 50% hike.

As I told Silent Assassin, I didn’t expect this much. That I’d expected more from myself in the previous year. He just smiled, said, "Nothing like that." Then he shooed me away so that he could hand out the remaining letters.

Money-wise, my salary was raised by the same amount as last year. Which, as I found out, was far more than what others were getting.

All around me were sad faces. Whether it was SFX, or any of my colleagues. Everyone was disappointed with their increments, and it took a lot of straight-faced talking for me to hide my joy.

The value of my raise, I only found out today.

SFX is a copywriter two years senior to me. He joined Lowe a few months after I did. He told me his raise was around 15-20%. And, surprisingly, that Silent Assassin had fought for our (his and mine) increments last year.

Talking to Seniorita again today, I learned that my new package is only Rs. 40,000 shy of SFX’s new package.

What in bloody blazes!??!?

Just when I’d been thinking of moving, here’s proof that I’m growing at Lowe. If I’m being paid this much, it’s proof that my superiors feel I’m worth it.

Am I being fast-tracked? I don’t know. I hope so.

Maybe I should chat with Scary. What position am I at, where does she see me going in a few years. Life, the universe and everything.

This year’s increment may help get me into gear again. It may be too early to tell, but suddenly I’m feeling a whole lot better about myself. Suddenly I’m feeling like I might be motivated again.

Suddenly I want to work on that pitch at home tomorrow. On a Saturday.

My best friend had advised me to hang in there till September. Now Seniorita, herself quitting, is telling me the same too.

I think I have some (more) thinking to do. The old wheels seem to be getting a real workout.
And now that they’re working, I think I’ve figured what got me my raise.

Scary had threatened twice to cut my increment if I didn’t get drunk at a couple of parties.

At that last office I got smashed off my feet, outta my skull. More than obeyed her command.

Moral of the story?

Drink beer.

Upraisals, Upheavals

Upraisals, Upheavals
18th February 2005

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It’s that time of year again. The time when junior-assistant-deputy-trainee-vice-additional copywriters (read, yours truly) look back at the year that was and pick five pieces of work. The time when they sit down and reflect on how best to impress their bosses, who aren’t impressed easily. The time when more senior people plan a mass exodus which may or may never happen. Yes, people. Appraisal season is here.

Let me rewind a bit here to explain the hierarchy that functions at the ad agency where I work. At the very top of the creative pecking (biting? stinging?) ladder is Cobra. The boss. Who’s intensity and withering comments can make a grown advertising or marketing professional quake in his boots.

Cobra has under him a line of Group Creative Directors. My particular GCD is somebody I’ll call Silent Assassin. Rarely praises (which makes his appreciation all the more valuable), rarely reacts to work. It’s sheer hell for creatives to present work to him, knowing he’ll just sit there staring at you for eternity, until you start doubting your work and start crying because you feel you let him down. Then he’ll pick your work apart, and the reasons will always be bang on. Unless he’s having a rare bad day, of course, when your work will be approved with no changes.

The Silent Assassin has two teams under him. One team is led by Picasso, Silent Assassin’s long-time art partner and close friend. The other team is headed by Scary (art) and Suspicious (copy). Scary and Silent Assassin used to be a team, until the latter got promoted. It was the two of them who hired me, and I’m sure they occasionally wonder whether it was the right thing to do.

Let me explain my relationship with my bosses. I hero-worship Silent Assassin, who approaches work with one eye looking at the brand, the other at an award. Scary is great to work with, she’s taught me a hell of a lot, she’s good fun, lots of keeda, tweaking her work to death. Suspicious I’ve worked with for only about six months, and he’s a nice guy, clearly focused on creating advertising that works. It helps that his wife was one of my mentors during my internship. I’ll call her Fox. She’s now working elsewhere, with my other mentor, Hipshaker, who’s moved on to National Creative Director at that agency.

Last year, my salary was doubled. Like Silent Assassin had told me, he judged me on my potential rather than output. He appreciated the fact that I took on much more responsibility than was due to me. He told me he wanted award-winning work from me this year. I was pumped up, ready to go.
Then, last year, the mess with Sweetie happened. And something happened to me.

I lost my focus.

It’s like Austin Powers losing his mojo. I’ve been driving myself towards a great career for God-knows how long now. Enjoying the thrill of creating my next ad. Smoothly riding over the frustrations of rejections and lack of releases. Then everything took a turn for the worse.

It started to pile up. The work I was so sure would make me famous, the work I wanted to show off to the world, was just sitting there. I wasn’t enjoying myself. There were too many other things bugging me. I was finding it more and more difficult to actually concentrate hard enough to create an ad. I began to call myself jinxed.

Truth is, I’ve done some of my better work over the last year. Three films, one of which was great (in my opinion). A kick-ass print and TV idea on one of our showcase brands, which if all goes well will release this year. A cutting-edge catalogue. A quirky, radical press campaign for an office furniture company. The list goes on.

Then came scam time. The agency decided to do some scam work to send to the awards. None of my work was judged good enough. Even though some absolute crap was being released, paid for by the agency. More frustration. I wasn’t meeting Silent Assassin’s expectations, and that was killing me.

I reached a point where I expected to be pulled up. I thought I deserved it. I still am not satisfied with the year that was.

Then one morning, Scary gives me my appraisal form to fill out. I examined it in great detail. Took it home over the weekend. Filled it out in a rough first draft. It involved picking out my five best pieces of work, marking areas where I thought I needed improvement and describing my career aspirations for the next few years.

A week passes. Then two. Yet no sign of the much-awaited appraisal session. I begin to secretly wonder if the bosses have decided that I’m not worthy of an appraisal.

Then, suddenly, Scary tells me and the rest of the group to hang around. It’s appraisal time.
(I believe they only held the appraisal session when they did because the deadlines were approaching. They’d rather have gone drinking, I think. How typical of creative folks.)

I’m the first one in, the sacrificial lamb to the slaughter. As my bosses summon me in, I look heavenwards for help, and enter the den. Where Scary and Suspicious await me.

And I walk out half an hour later, dazed.

They have no issues with me. They’re happy with my work, I’m progressing well. They’ve given me some advice I intend to take. But they have absolutely no problems with me.

Suddenly I’m feeling a whole lot better about myself. Ready, once again to tackle the career I’ve chosen. Feeling like there’s a chance that I’ll be the great ad guy I want to be. All motivated. All pumped up.

Only one regret.

What a waste of perfectly good worrying.