ADDY in Wonderland : AAF of the Midlands

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American Advertising Federation of the Midlands

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Alice

Just shy of her 30th birthday, Alice is a fledgling art director in modern Wonderland. She is technically proficient and shows flashes of talent and originality; but aside from landing a job at a well-established agency, she has yet to earn the confidence of her colleagues and clients when it comes to high profile projects. Despite producing a number of effective promotions, Alice is convinced that her failure to win a Gold Addy award is at least partly to blame for her stalling career. More likely causes include the unpredictable nature of Alice’s bi-polar disorder and her growing fondness for alcohol and men with whom she has no prior affiliation. When following a strict abstinence program and taking her medications as directed, Alice is capable of going for long stretches without suffering any catastrophic bi-polar episodes or otherwise showing her ass in public. But alas, the righteous path always seems to lead Alice right back where she started. A small success at work leads to a celebratory beer. One beer becomes three, then six. A few Tequila shots and Alice is standing in a booth at Yesterday’s French-kissing the fish tank. By the time word reached the agency’s CEO -- yes, a client and his family were sitting on the other side of the tank -- Alice’s reputation had been solidified, etched in dried pink lipstick. Yes, a Gold Addy or Best of Show might give them something else to talk about.
The Caterpillar

Now that he has settled on the Hookah as the most efficient delivery system, the Caterpillar is scarcely seen without it. Many memorable headlines and clever campaigns have emerged from behind the Caterpillar’s trademark veil of smoke. No one knows for sure what he burns, but neither does anyone care. Without the splendidly dressed Hookah, there would be no Caterpillar; and without the Caterpillar, no agency. Though the Mad Hatter claims all the credit and glory, but never the blame, most major campaigns begin with the Caterpillar. For he is always the first to wrap himself around a marketing situation, borrowing headfirst into the brief, crafting a winning position and spinning the yarns that will draw them in. The rest is clever dramatization and a sprinkle of magic dust. The Caterpillar keeps odd hours and generally keeps to himself. That is not to say, however, that he’s not paying attention. On the contrary, the Caterpillar rarely, if ever, misses a thing.
The Cheshire Cat

Serving at the pleasure of the Red Queen has always been the Cheshire Cat’s highest priority. He gives her exactly what she wants, without question or consideration, which is probably why the agency’s work on the Queen’s behalf sucks so badly. The Cheshire Cat is aware of all this but considers himself a survivor who can withstand anything, including the humiliation that comes with knowingly taking it up the scratching pole in order to keep the money rolling in. There was a time when he was able to rationalize such spineless behavior, and quite convincingly, too. “I’ve got kittens to feed,” he would say. But there is only so much mileage to be squeezed out of the dedicated-family-man excuse. When the last of the litter leaves the cozy bosom of the den, even a Cheshire Cat must account for his conduct and perhaps make a few adjustments, taking clients to the strip club notwithstanding. The Cheshire Cat does seem to be up to something, for lately he has been grinning wider than usual.
The Mad Hatter

Some characters are born mad, with genetic mutations that conspire over time with environmental agents to wage a relentless war on their sanity; others become that way when life puts too much on them at an early age, shorting the circuits and releasing the undeveloped mind on itself. Severe trauma is also thought to be a potent contributor. The Mad Hatter, on the other hand, credits environmental causes for his present level of derangement. Indeed, the Hatter’s brain and nervous system have been exposed to a variety of toxins -- repeatedly and over many, many years -- in whatever environment he happens to be living at the time. Every decade has claimed its own recipe for an expanded experience, and the Hatter has sampled them all. In the 50’s, one might find the Hatter rolling up a shirt sleeve in the back room of a smoky jazz club. A trip to San Francisco in the 60‘s introduced him to Jefferson Airplane, and to his love of hats, especially the colorful, stripy ones. The Hatter spent the much of 70‘s and 80‘s creating great advertising at Ogle and Smather. The Hatter still raves about the 90’s, but now simply goes to the doctor when he senses a drop in blood toxicity. No one really knows how old the Mad Hatter is today -- 70, 80, 100? But one thing is unanimous; the Wonderland’s advertising world’s version of Keith Richards is still a damned good creative director.
The White Rabbit

Driven M-A-D mad by deadlines, material specifications, pesky AE’s, elusive writers, hot-tempered art directors, overly persistent sales people and consultants who are occasionally hired by agency brass to address “process issues,” the White Rabbit finds it easier to stay perpetually in motion rather than slow down and risk having to fully acknowledge the unreasonable scope of her responsibilities. Every detail of any project is coordinated by this jittery, red-eyed lagomorph. On the bright side, since the Rabbit is the only agency employee organized enough to keep track of minutia throughout the life of a project, any cause-effect investigation into what may or may not have resulted in a missed deadline, embarrassing error, process breakdown or other screw-up must start with the Rabbit. If the Rabbit were to find herself at fault, which is not likely, even in the hypothetical realm, she would at least have the choice of whether or not to claim culpability. But seeing as how heads really do have a tendency to roll around here from time to time, thanks to the Red Queen and her perverse legion of dumb bell thrusting stockholders, the Rabbit would be wise to keep any incriminating evidence to herself.
The Red Queen

The Red Queen is President and CEO of the agency's largest client, Wonderland Adventures, a high-end tourism promotions boutique that is also one of the most profitable companies in Wonderland. Known for her demanding and often explosive disposition, the Red Queen gets what she wants, from both her partners and her ad agency. And this, she believes, is why her company is so successful. She is, however, uniformly hated by everyone with whom she has any direct contact, including her agency account team. Those with an accommodating nature and a doormat mentality -- you know, the ones who believe in giving clients everything they ask for instead of what they really need -- fare best with the Red Queen, at least in the short term. After a while she inevitably loses respect for them and issues an urgent request for new blood -- along with an order to spill the old blood, guillotine style.

Alice stormed into the Tea Room. “That hedgehogging tart drives me utterly mad!”

“Watch your tongue, young lady,” said the Mad Hatter. “The Red Queen is the greatest client in all of Wonderland.”

“Well she can greatestly kiss it,” said Alice as she poured a scotch from the cupboard.

“She certainly can!” came a voice from nowhere. No one had noticed the Cheshire Cat’s appearance at their cockeyed gathering. “I have a meeting with Her Majesty sooooooon,” cooed the Cat through his toothy smile.

“It’s about TIME you showed up,” popped the White Rabbit to the Cheshire Cat, holding up her clock. “You are ten point six minutes late!”

“I resemble that!” blurted the Mad Hatter.

But from a puff of smoke came a calm voice, “Easy on the nose quimbling, Rabbit. {puff} Consider the mushroom.”

Of course, smoking a hookah in the office was strictly forbidden, but the Caterpillar was a wordsmith of genius, so they all tolerated this slight breach of protocol.

“Did he actually say something?” quibbled Alice, finishing off her scotch. “All I know is, every design I slave over is torn to cabbage by that pepper-mouthed, fire-haired, pretentious sauce of a Queen who can never, ever be pleased!”

By that time, the Mad Hatter, a creative guru of sorts and veteran of rubber cement and denatured alcohol, had laid-out a bountiful spread of tea, crumpets, biscuits, wine and cosmopolitans.
“And brandy,” chimed the Door Mouse.

Alice, one-eyeing the Mouse, exhorted, “Aren’t you supposed to be mounting art, or something?”

As the Hatter had made a most exotic setting for his team’s gathering, they set out to once and for all appease that sultry stack of money, the Red Queen.

“Oh my, Hatter,” perked Alice, “Thank you, for such a stupendous table!”

****

“SHE’S HERE!” shouted the Rabbit, dropping her clock.

“The Queen?” gasped the Mad Hatter, hiding into his hat.

“Oh, hedgehog,” said Alice.

“What HAVE you?!” the Red Queen boomed. “I want to see something astounding in THREE DAYS — no more!”

“Ah, the lovely Red Queen.” Everyone looked around for the origin of this voice. The Cheshire Cat appeared beside the Queen, grinning as if all was right in Wonderland. “Say ‘hello’ to your majesty.”

Alice glared out the window, then turned and curtseyed, “Most excellent to see you.”

“Great to have been and are in and one would like to think possibly likely to be near and yet a short distance from but on the same day oh I’ll have more tea please thank you,” said Hatter.

“{Puff}” nodded Caterpillar.

The Door Mouse puked in the trash can.

The Queen took a tea and crumpet from the table. “Let it be KNOWN!” she declared (she always liked to speak with exclamation points), “You have THREE DAYS to come up with a CAMPAIGN that will WIN me a GOLD — ADDY!”

“I will assure it, Your Majesty,” doted Cheshire Cat.

“As you all know,” the Queen said dryly, turning up her nose at the teacup, “I have never won a GOLD — ADDY before.”

“(Probably because you executed all your other agencies?)” whispered the Dodo to himself.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY?!” shouted the Red Queen. “OFF with his HEAD!” And her minions escorted away the Dodo as he sighed, “But we’re extinct...”

“THREE DAYS!” repeated the Red Queen before sauntering from the Tea Room.

The Cheshire Cat, having disappeared during this altercation, smiled widely upon his return and said to them all, “You heard her. Three days. Ta-ta.” And he followed her down the hall.

“Uh, Cat,” stammered the Door Mouse. “Did you drop this two dollar bill? {hiccup}”

“Huh? — ” blurted Hatter, “We had a Dodo working here?!”

The Wonderland team silently picked at biscuits and beverages for some time, bestruck by how curiouser and curiouser their meeting had become.

****

“Are we done yet?” yelled the White Rabbit, thrusting her clock toward anyone who’d care. “We have to get to work most immediately — no time to haste!”

Alice gulped the remains of her drink. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a traffic meeting elsewhere?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be slung-up in a bar?” jabbed the Rabbit.

Alice threw her glass onto the motley tea room table and paced. She snatched another cosmo, sloshing it thoughtlessly. “To create anything with which the Red Queen would be pleased, you’d have to be stark raving MAD!”

The following silence fell quite queerly upon the young art director. “WHAT?” she yelled, spilling her drink.

But through a ring of smoke, and a slowlean-in of two bulbous glazed eyes, the Caterpillar intoned, “Well, Miss Alice {puff} How mad — are — YOU?”