January 19, 2011

Nantucket, MA. July, 2009

When I lived in New Jersey, figuring I could go to the Statue of Liberty any old time, I never went. Now I live in Massachusetts, and I figure I can go to Nantucket any old time. You know the rest. So when I was working not that long ago on some copy to describe the benefits of new noise-reduction headsets engineered for pilots, my client suggested I might want to fly with the product and experience it firsthand. Good idea. Even better idea: When we took off in the small, luxurious plane from Mansfield Airport, our pilot floated the possibility of flying to Nantucket for lunch. All in favor? Everyone. And even though we ate at the airport restaurant, it was the best reuben I’ve ever had, owing mostly to the company, the view and the spectacular approach, seen here. When we all returned to the mainland and I, sadly, to my office, colleagues asked me where I had been most of the day. “Oh,” I said, “doing some product research with a client.” Thanks again, Matt.

1 comment:

  1. Epilogue: A few minutes before 5PM, one of his more observant co-workers noticed something on the floor beside Sandy's desk. It was a brightly-colored swizzle stick from the Mansfield Airport Bar; unmistakable evidence that the lackadaisical copywriter had once again attempted to skip out on his job responsibilities and cover it up with a lie about "doing product research with a client". News of the distressing discovery spread fast. In a darkened supply room next to the janitor's closet, his colleagues gathered in secret council.

    They had good reason to be particularly upset. Quarterly performance reports had come out that morning, and their department's low productivity score had resulted in savage punishment from their charismatic but sadistic boss. While Sandy had been joyfully sipping dry martinis, they'd been scrubbing toilet stalls with moistened Q-Tips.

    Payback came swiftly and without remorse. When one of the females asked him for help moving something in the supply room, Sandy never suspected he'd end up pinned against a cinder block wall as several colleagues took turns hitting him with a 2 x 4. Just before losing consciousness he recalled his day in Nantucket; the incomparable aerial vistas, the subtly spiced mustard of the reuben, the midday sun glinting off the mirrored surface of the water. He vowed to return to the island someday and experience these splendors once again. Just not during working hours.