By: Richie

Richie — Mon, 07 Oct 2024 10:12:35 +0000

When I left school the options weren’t great. I could sign up in the army, work for a “leading financial institution” (read insurance salesman) or be an expeditor at a factory. This meant keeping a keen eye on critical inventory and calling suppliers before it was too late. One topic in school was advertising\ copywriting and it fascinated me because the lecturer had an advertising agency guy come to the lecture theatre to screen tv commercials. Even though it was an American agency, most of the spots were from The TV Register and British. I thought it would be great to land a job like that because I loved the crazy ideas but my lecturer said you had to be a university graduate to be a copywriter. I thought it was rubbish until Ogilvy rejected me for the same reason.
When I finally became a copywriter (without going to night class) it was a dream come true. I didn’t mind (at first) that the secretaries were paid more than me. Heck even the receptionist took home a few hundred more a month. Yet
I hung around the agency so much the Media Director once asked if I didn’t have a home to go back to. Sure if freaked me that suits who couldn’t sell water to the Bedouins were paid enough to drive flash cars to posh restaurants and sign off bills with Mont Blanc pens.
But I kept at it because like the guys in Mumbai I didn’t have much else to go to. And like the Mumbai chaps if I saved hard enough I could even buy my folks a washing machine.

Comments on: OUR LIVES ARE THEIR BUCKET LISTS

By: Richie