SPICY CHICKEN

The only way I can do work while at work is to leave work. I go to a coffee shop down the street and that's where I do my concepting. For some reason, sitting in a cubicle with flourescenty lights all around me and account managers talking about sp.icy ch.icken this spi.cy chi.cken that is too distracting.

So during my morning in Caribou coffee some lady walked in...with her own lawn chair. And a butt pillow was taped to it. She put it down, went to the bathroom and walked back out onto the Chicago streets with her green plastic lawnchair. She had mad frizzy hair and was wearing two serongs. One tucked into the back of her pants and the other wrapped around her head. I'm going to put her in an ad.

LOOK AT ME, I'M A REAL LIFE BOY

So I'm all grown up now. Graduated again finally to this exciting world of real work. I'm doing what I've spent all these years working on – something I knew I'd love. Only it doesn't work out so perfectly. There is nothing romantic about work. Even in my profession. A profession that people get into because it's fun. It's fun! I hear all the time. I'm not sure if it's truth slapping me in the face or if it's just a bad first job. Never did I imagine that the creative world of advertising would resemble corporate Cubicle Hell. But it does...all too closely.

But yes, I was naive for expecting anything less. I work for a worldwide company who's more interested in money than creative success. Handjob anyone?

I've lost a little faith and passion for what I do in this short time. I need to get out of here before I start resembling the zombie-like former creatives who walk around with furled-lips and bitterness on their faces.

I'm working on it.