Last week, the PR lady and I had to come up with an ad campaign and promotional items for about 60 000 young people. No problem, she ordered 60 000 of those stress noodle thingamabobs and I wrote the promotional insert inside the pack.
She orders them and after an exorbitant amount of money, we get them delivered to our office. I look over it, and pleased with my work, take it to my big boss to see. First mistake. Boss spots a spelling mistake that none of us saw even after checking it six times. Of course, it’s my fault and I’m in huge shit.
The only thing we could do is get them reprinted at a huge cost, plus get people to refold the 60 000 new inserts for five solid days. We even thought of just printing a sticker and putting it over the mistake. (No. Too patchworky). We even suggested that we all go to one house, grab a couple of bottles of gin, have a party and fold the inserts ourselves. All VERY unappealing and totally not cost-effective. We worked out that to fold one insert would have to take 10 seconds, so that it took five solid days to finish. That's a lot of folding.
Then Larry, our promo guy came up with an ingenious plan. We admit the mistake, run a competition campaign along the lines of , “Find-the-mistake and Win” and get a sponsor to throw in a prize. We just have to put a sticker on these 60 000 little boxes to explain the competition. The people would read the inserts for sure and fill in a slip and our database suddenly increases as well! Easy and cheap! (We'd save almost R90 000/8 000 quid) So, we thought of asking Coke to sponsor Coke for a month, or a CD player or Red Bull….until Michelle, the PR lady, has got…wait for it…VW to sponsor a Polo Playa to the winner.
Get out?!!! With that kind of motivation I would’ve totally found that error!
So we pitched the idea to my big boss yesterday and she’s bought it. She loves me again. Thank god, and thank you Larry.
On a more depressing note, it’s been four days since Steve and I conversed. I come home, exercise, feed Mason, take a bath and then curl up with a book. In the spare room. I have no life. (At least the book is half-entertaining: The Exploded View) He woke up early this morning and I confronted him saying that if he loved me he would’ve apologised for his behaviour by now. He swore at me again. I am so tired of being taken for granted. I realise now that he just doesn’t love me enough. He calls me names, and I get mad, so I fight back and say bad things. But he goes one level lower, like criticising my career, my values, my fucking driving. I never go that low. I know I can be horrible, but why does he have to put me down?
I don’t think I have ever been loved enough. This is all just too heartbreaking.
Each boyfriend I have had is the same: they are less than nice. They are successful, ambitious, good looking, tall and charismatic. And they are assholes to me. Maybe I ask for it/don’t gain enough respect/am too soft/too hard, who knows – but they somehow always say the horriblest things to me. After three serious boyfriends, surely this has GOT to mean there is something wrong with me?
Honestly, why do I put up with this? If this fails, I am seriously never going to pursue another relationship again. It’s really not worth it. I’ll never let anything get serious again, and I definitely would never move in with a man again for as long as I live. I’ve loved and lost, so why do it over and over and over again? I can’t make somebody love me. Perhaps I’ve learnt a valuable lesson through all this with Steve and with Richard as well: I'm better off being on my own.