“MAD MEN” meets the Greeting Card Industry
Excerpts:
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Exerpted from Chapter Twenty-four Tinker's Downtown Pub
Tinker’s big high-ceilinged front room was dark and dirty, a relic from an old western. Here, everybody knew everybody and nobody at the same time. Every flubbed pick-up line, every spilled drink, every pointless insult just drifted away into the smoke and noise and disappeared with no one the wiser. People got lost at Tinker’s all the time. Friday after work was the perfect antidote for a week spent in the antiseptic office towers of downtown St. Louis. Tonight, a larger than normal contingent of Heartlanders swelled the crowd. They were here to celebrate Mary Beth Herrmann’s promotion and escape from the Greeting Card division. Several tables and a couple dozen battered metal folding chairs had been dragged together along one wall. The wall was covered with a random scattering of old photos, beer promotion signs and one dusty stuffed moose head named Gus (after Augustus Busch, of course). The tables were covered with beer bottles and empty glasses and the revelers had to shout to be heard over the happy din of Tinker’s on a Friday night. The chairs were all occupied and several artists stood along the tables, beers in hand, happy faces reflecting their fondness for Mary Beth as well as the fact that it was Friday and the end of the workweek. Mary Beth sat half way down the line of tables surrounded by a small crowd of artists who had been in the same New Artists Class with her when they’d all come to Heartland. The group had bonded over the shared experience of those scary first few months, far from their families and art school friends, gone from being the star of the class to a raw recruit in an army of dazzlingly talented artists. They were thrilled with, and a little jealous of, Mary Beth’s advancement. At the far end of the table, Squeek, Tommy and Sandy were leaning close to each other so they could be heard. “This is my third party today,” said Squeek. “At least they’re not shoving donuts at us here,” Tommy replied. “If I see another donut I’m going to throw myself off my drawing board.” “I know,” Sandy said, “we produce more donut parties than greeting cards. “It’s like we’re calves,” said Tommy, “they keep us comfortable in our pens and feed us donuts until we’re stupefied. Then when we’re plump enough, they lead us into Committee and steal our souls.” Sandy said, “Of course the rest of the company thinks we’re treated like spoiled children.” She laughed, “You know, no rules, allowed to put things up on the walls of our booths, two hour lunches, wear anything we want to work, halter tops!” “Of course they don’t know we’re all suicidal.” Tommy snorted, “Is my art any good? Am I any good?” Squeek jumped in, “If they only knew what it’s like to be an artist at this place: you have some stupid juvenile ticket or something and Bobbi approves the layout, and she says, ‘You’re a genius.’ Then a few days later you bring it in to Committee again and sitting in the chair is some Ice Bitch Goddess in Spiked Heels, Mary Paterson or Donna or any of ‘em, and she’s on the rag, and she’s saying, ‘This bunny has three-inch ears. Don’t you know what that implies? I know Bobbi approved it, and I don’t want to go against what Bobbi said, but after seeing it, it just doesn’t work.’” Tommy laughed, “Bulik’s the absolute worst.” “Unless, of course, you’ve got long legs,” Squeek said, “All the women on his staff have long legs.” “Except for Bobbi.” Squeek shook her head, “Hey, she used to have great legs. I’ve seen old pictures, she used to be hot. Those legs are probably still in there somewhere.” “Bulik can’t help it,” Tommy chuckled, “his wife has legs like fence posts. Whenever he sees a pair of long legs he starts imagining things.” Squeek grinned, “His problem is he made a bad career move in fourth grade: he stopped growing.” “God, Squeek, remember when he told you that he’d had a wet dream about you, and you said, ‘Well, I hope I was on top.’” All three laughed. “He’s an asshole,” Tommy said. “He was a great artist at one time, I’ll give him that, but bottom line, he’s an asshole.” Sandy said, “You know, the problem with this place is that everybody’s running scared, all the way to the top.” Tommy said, “Except for Cyrus, of course. The only thing he’s scared of is that they’ll take away his subscription to Playboy.” “But the rest of them, they’re all scared.” Sandy took a sip of her beer and went on, “Take the bunny card example. Bobbi likes bunnies with three-inch ears. Mary agrees but she knows that Bulik thinks three-inch ears are threatening. So she’s afraid to sign off on it. The reason Bulik’s afraid to let a bunny with three-inch ears out of the department is because he’s afraid he’s going to be walking through Proof Review some day with Clark Parsons and Clark’s going to chew him out for letting a bunny with three-inch ears out into the world where it might scare old people. Three-inch ears don’t scare Clark but he knows that he’s going to have to go through the same review a day later with Charlie Burton and maybe even Cyrus himself so he’s watching his ass. Of course, Charlie Burton doesn’t know a goddamn thing about greeting cards, he just knows that pointy objects are threatening, three-inch ears are ugly, a moose without clothes is naked, and a bunch of other danger signals that Cyrus told him about twenty years ago. “Of course, Cyrus is different,” Sandy said. “He invented greeting cards.” Tommy said, “Only now he’s so goddamn old he can barely remember what they’re for.” “I’ll tell you one thing,” said Squeek, “if the old man was thirty years younger, he’d be here at this party looking for a couple of young things to play sandwich with.” Tommy pointed his finger at Squeek, “Sounds like your kind of guy.” Sandy cut in, “I really think Heartland is more of a Peyton Place than other companies.” Squeek nodded, “I agree, think about it, how many affairs that you know of are going on right this minute at Heartland?” Tommy said, “Sex makes Heartland go ‘round.”
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