My job is clucking pointless

If you want to feel like your life serves some greater purpose, I don’t recommend becoming an advertising copywriter.

If, however, you have a way with words and don’t mind whoring it out to develop three distinct tones of voice for a chicken burger, it could well be your dream job.

Three different voices. For a chicken burger.

A plain chicken burger. No breadcrumbs. No marinade. No salad. No spice. NO FUCKING FLAVOUR.

It is a measure of how lost I am in what I do that I was proud of myself at the end of the project.

There was the voice that was all about friendly flavour. (It’s too late when they’ve bought the burger and realised it’s essentially tasteless. My work here is done.)

There was the one that was all about speed and convenience.

And there was the one that combined flavour, speed and convenience.

OK. I cheated a bit. But come on. Three different personalities for a plain chicken burger? I did good.

In other news, I might not be depressed any more. It’s hard to tell. I’m still pretty miserable, but it feels within the realms of normally miserable. I’m doing work on the garden, looking forward to things again. It might be OK.

I (quite unintentionally but very pointedly) hurt HWSNBM’s feelings, disparaged and diminished his best business efforts and basically emasculated him to the point where I think it’s safe to say I will never hear from him again. This is a very good thing in the round, though if I was going to mortally offend him, I wish I’d done it on purpose. (Or do I? It’s not really in my nature to be deliberately cruel…)

I was just trying to be helpful. You know when someone’s doing something and it’s all wrong and you could do it a million times better, and they ask your opinion and you don’t lie and you forget to use your nice words in the rush to be all helpful?

Yeah. Bad.

In my defence, I was right. But still.

 

 

 

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