Air Max 90 "Can you believe this kid?" he chuckles. "He thinks

[lee123]

2014 Austin Chronicle Short Story Contest

Nike Air Max Udsalg "Morning, Garven. Big day," Dan Rainey croaks as he enters the elevator. "Those boards ready to review?" Phlegm rattles deep beneath a tufted quilt of bagel sized manboobs and an earthtone layer of Eddie Bauer winter wear. The elevator ride will be the longest Rainey goes without a smoke all day. And yes that includes the shitter.

"Aye aye," I chirp, to the practically audible eye rolling of the creative team standing behind us. See, me and Rainey have this annoyingly cute schtick where I refer to him as Captain, and we speak in nautical terms. Everybody hates it, especially me. But Rainey seems to like it. And Rainey is my creative director so . "Captain" it is.

Nike Air Rainey lights up a cig immediately upon exiting the elevator at the 11th floor, "the graveyard," as we call it final resting place of the agency's oldest and lamest accounts, and to my humiliation, my temporary home while the creative groups are reorganized. As he crosses the lobby, a cloud of crusty Marlboro firsthand smoke wafts two feet behind him. I dutifully follow in his warm gray wake.

Removing his parka Rainey reveals a tragic tableau of fashion whims a decade past their glory. Wake up, dude, it's 1994. What the hell, Rainey is a lifer. Twenty eight years in this joint saw it on a cheesy break bulleting listing everybody's work anniversary, the day each soul was sold to this lame ass relic of an advertising agency. Rainey's leads the 25 plus year category. May my dick shrivel up and fall off if I ever get anywhere near the five year mark. But Rainey's from another era, the wholesome heyday of this overblown nostalgia factory, the Baker Bassett Company. He mindlessly trudges along. Proof that maybe nice guys don't finish last.

"I'll just grab the boards, Cap'n," I say. It's our home in the daringly boring 55 story tower on the edge of the Chicago River. Not the banks of the Chicago River, because the river is actually more like a canal, nothing natural about it. In fact, the city takes great pride in dying it neon green for St. Patrick's Day. Note to self: What the fuck am I doing in this ridiculous town, and not in New York, or London, or Barcelona?

I enter Rainey's smoky office, and place a stack of black poster boards along a chrome wall rail designed specifically for this purpose. Rainey nods. I begin, "It's called 'Museum.' See, girl wanders through a modern art museum in . Amsterdam."

"Or Hawaii," Rainey interjects. It's a supposedly hilarious industry joke to inject exotic locations in your TV storyboards, as if you'll actually shoot some pitiful StarKist Tuna commercial on a beach in Bermuda.

I continue, "It's a gray, depressing day. Nice looking girl, but maybe her hair is a little mussed, like she's hiding something," I point to the second frame of the illustrated storyboard. "She sees this guy, hot guy ."

"Pull back to reveal he's right behind her, looking at the same painting. She turns around, they share a smile. Product shot, Noxzema on clean blue tile counter, then a wave of clear water washes into frame, wiping the tagline: Noxzema. Pure Confidence."

He's hooked. I've got him. Two weeks on this assignment, all creative teams competing, a "gang bang," and I finally nailed it.

Rainey hesitates, but I know he knows we're sitting on the winner. The Creative Review Committee, the CRC, is noon tomorrow. It goes like this: I along with maybe 20 other creatives take turns presenting storyboards, spelling bee style, to a panel of execs. Then we sit silently in the Herman Miller chairs that line the gigantic room as the execs openly deliberate which ideas to present to the client and, more important, which to select as the "recco," the official agency recommendation to produce. Tomorrow "Museum" will be the recco.

"I don't know," Rainey begins.

"Four stars? For that schlocky Nike spot with the 'Instant Karma' soundtrack? Please. They'll bow down to anything Wieden and Kennedy spews out these days. Meanwhile John Lennon is rolling over in his grave, not that you're old enough to even know who he is."

"I know who John Lennon is," I grumble.

"Right. I forgot, you're one of those retro geeks," Lyn says.

"Good morning to you, too. Who the fuck pissed in your cornflakes?"

"Sorry. It's Gleason. The bitch is moving me off McDonald's and on to ."

Billige Nike Air Max 90 A two ton wrecking ball mercilessly pounds my brain as I quickly shower the next morning. I'm hungover. I'm late. Big Noxzema meeting today. Not that I care. At the office I head straight to the mount room, where indentured future art directors, Steve Humble in this case, assemble storyboards with toxic spray adhesive. I launch into a fake conversation about the Smashing Pumpkins, but Steve cuts me off. "Go ahead," he says, nodding to the pile of Noxzema storyboards.

I dive in. Hannon, of course, dick. Same overcranked non sequitur mood boards. Richard Bruch, good for you, duder. Delton's Martha Stewart spoof, surely a straw dog, nice cojones for including that, bossman. And a new spot, "Art Gallery" it's Rainey's.

My jaw drops as I inspect the frames. Girl walks into art gallery, notices a hot dude, he ignores her, she is shy, embarrassed, her skin. Cut to artistic treatment of product, cut to wash sequence, return to gallery it's an opening night party, nice touch, Captain. Girl spots same hot guy, and beckons him with a flirty look. He disappears, she is crestfallen. Until she sees that he has reappeared right behind her. The look of love. Product shot. Tagline. Ho ly. Fuck.

"Haircut appointment, meeting rehearsal, CRC, then ." Rainey's secretary recites as I fume outside Rainey's door. I stomp back to my cube just and lurch toward my beeping phone.

"Welcome to the cesspool, kid," Lyn drones, responding to my barrage of frantic messages.

"I . we have to . what if ." I stammer.

"Happens all the time. Don't get your Dockers in a wad. See you at three. And kiddo . don't be a hero."

I hang up. On cue, Shuster enters my cube with a wad of forged taxi receipts. We dash upstairs to the cashier's office to claim our booty, then hop the el train to the off the track betting lounge uptown. Hold all our calls, please.

She grabs a rum and Diet Coke, slice of lime, plus a round of shots, and the war stories begin. Lyn recounts the focus group highlights: the woman whose baby's diaper fell off while they were on a roller coaster. What the hell was a baby doing on a roller coaster? He was 4, Lyn continues, and shares even raunchier details. Silly, tipsy, punchy, we laugh with obnoxious gusto, like a scene from one of our own ridiculous commercials.

I almost fail to notice Rainey entering Catch with the smug look of victory and a supporting cast of codgers. Almost. The geezers creak toward the bar in a sloppy chevron, with Rainey at the apex. I half expect them to hoist the old dude onto their arthritic shoulders.

Air Max 90 "Can you believe this kid?" he chuckles. "He thinks 'cause he was 'in the room' when I described the spot, it's his." The lifers guffaw. "Look, if it'll make you feel better, kid, I'll let you cover the voiceover session."