Read Online Truth in Advertising by John Kenney - Free Book Online Page B

and putting in a new empty bag, and there’s this homeless guy sleeping in a corner, by a subway grate. The heat from them, right? This homeless guy is curled into a ball. The cleaning guy walks up to him. I’m sure he’s going to wake him up, tell him to move on. Except . . . he takes his jacket off. This uniform jacket. And puts it over the guy.”
    Phoebe says, “I like that. See, you just have to look. Beauty is everywhere.”
    â€œThank you, Oprah. Now go to sleep.”
    â€œDon’t tell me what to do. Did you call your brother?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYou’re lying.”
    â€œI’ll call him tomorrow.”
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    It’s early the next morning and the office is quiet.
    Someone has put up politically correct holiday decorations, limited—by an agency committee comprised of deeply serious human resources people—to snowflakes, snowpeople, and sleds. Except at Denise Muniari’s desk, which looks like a mini Rockefeller Center around the holidays. She has a small tree in front of her desk with lights and ornaments on it. She also has a miniature manger, with tiny figurines of Mary, Joseph, the three Wise Men, animals, and, of course, the birthday boy. Denise is the creative department’s manager and believes, as she once told me, “It’s Merry fucking Christmas, not Happy fucking Holidays. I have the utmost respect for Jews, Fin. God knows they’ve been through a lot. But don’t rain on my baby Jesus birthday parade.”
    I hear music, faintly. It gets louder the closer I get to my office. I stop outside the office, in the hallway, and listen as Paulie plays the guitar and sings.
    I stand at the door. Paulie looks up and smiles.
    Paulie says, “Fin D. What up, my brother?”
    â€œHey, Paulie.”
    â€œHow was L.A.?”
    â€œDidn’t go. Shot at Silvercup instead.”
    â€œBummer. Who wants to go to Queens in December?”
    â€œWho wants to go to Queens ever?”
    â€œI thought you took the red-eye back. I love the red-eye, Fin D.”
    â€œReally? Can’t stand it myself.”
    â€œNo, man. I love the idea of going to sleep on one coast and waking up on another. Check this out. It took the Donner party five months from Springfield, Illinois, to reach the foot of the Sierra Nevadas. Imagine that. Five months. And yet we traverse the continent, with a nice glass of tomato juice and a magazine, in under six hours.”
    I say, “The modern world is an amazing place, Paulie.”
    â€œI guess,” Paulie says, still smiling. “Mostly it’s just louder and faster.”
    â€œYou’re in early.”
    â€œCan’t sleep lately. Plus I like it here when it’s quiet. So how was Gwyneth?”
    â€œCouldn’t be nicer. Couldn’t be lovelier. She’s rich and beautiful and successful and happy. Like all of us.”
    I turn to leave and Paulie says, “Oh, hey, Fin man, I almost forgot. That NVD spot is up for an award. We found out from the account team.” He chuckles. “You bastards.”
    About a year ago Ian and I helped Paulie and Stefano out with a project. Our group also works on a pharmaceutical account (indigestion pill and depression/anxiety medication). The company had a new drug that helped relieve what the account team referred to in meetings and e-mails as “NVD,” which I soon found out was pharma-speak for the family of symptoms known as nausea-vomiting-diarrhea. So Ian and I thought it would be interesting to personify them. We’d cast guys who looked like they might be nausea or vomiting or diarrhea. The amazing thing was how many actors in New York and Los Angeles actually look like nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea.
    In our imagined commercial, the NVD would stand together, in what looked like a stomach, and talk to the camera about how horrible it was to be them. We’d use