I miss seeing you around the office and I almost miss how you mispronounced my name. Actually, I totally miss that most of all.
But I got a call from some Republican today who wanted me to work on his media buy and I almost lost it. I mean, I'm a professional, so I took his goddamn call and I took notes and I know what I have to do but I didn't want to do this without your scribbled notes on your yellow pad of paper outlining what the budget was and the flight dates and of course we have to buy local news and Jeoapardy and maybe 60 Minutes if we can afford it. I suppose the demo is adults 55+. And there was no Media Req. (Not that there ever was one with you.)
Anyways, I miss those days. When we worked on political buys and I got to know you. And you bought me lunch from restaurants that were a lot better than Arby's.
You didn't always play by the rules but you knew what it took to get the job done. You didn't give a damn about "procedures", or "what NOT to ask in an interview." I have to say, I liked you from the day I met you, despite the illegal questions about my marital status.
That day I almost quit? I didn't really mean it. After I talked to you, my heart was so full and raw, because I felt like you knew me. KNEW ME. Not completely, but more than most.
You gave me the gift of belonging.
The other day, I was out in my garden and I saw my garlic finally grow into beautiful shoots and I thought of you. We had talked about growing garlic during one of our car trips to a client meeting, and your stance was that garlic is so cheap, what's the point? It made sense to me only slightly. Because I like garlic. And there's poetry in planting what you love.
But I get it. And really, I get you.
Peace out.
