Is Anyone Out There?

For a long time I've firmly believed that, apart from us advertisers, most people don't really care about advertising. 

Sure, they're only too happy to chat when prompted by drink and free cash in research groups, but day-to-day they just don't notice what we do.

This all probably stems from our first ad to run. 

It was the 1990s; it was exciting; we were on placement at RKCR, we were being paid, there was free beer in the fridge, and we were working on live briefs. 

One of which was a small space campaign for VH1, promoting the virtues of presenters Bob Mills, Clare Grogan and Richard Jobson (former singer of The Skids). After getting our idea past creative directors and client we raced into our first experience of production. 

Jobson: Insufferable.

Back then I was the art director, so I went off to the MTV building to shoot Jobson. Sadly, only with a camera, as a more insufferable prick I'm yet to meet. His most annoying habit was prefacing each facial expression with a helpful description: "Laconic", SNAP, "Quizzical", SNAP, "Informative", SNAP. 

Knob-sweat. SNAP.

Anyway, my first (but sadly not last) experience of the bell-endry of so-called-celebs aside, we soon had three ads we were really pleased with. Parents were called, proofs slotted into folio, and insertion dates circled on calendars. 

Then on the day, I was on the tube and there beside me was someone reading the paper our ad appeared in! I sat and waited; imagining the little chuckle the reader would let out when they saw our clever wordplay, our quirky art direction and our hilarious juxtaposing of popular culture and other things. 

They turned the page. There was our ad. I held my breath…

They turned the page again without even noticing all the work we'd done.

I was gutted.

However, I soon realised this wasn’t personal - the reader was ignoring all the ads in their paper.

And so my long held belief that no one really gives a toss about what we do was born.

Then, last Tuesday, it was sadly taken from this world by the 8.25 to London Liverpool Street. On this train I saw a man taking notice of a poster. A man so moved by an actual advert that he photographed its QR code!

QR Code or CEEFAX Porn?

I was flummoxed. My deep-seated cynicism was sent hither and thither, like a 1970s BBC entertainer after an unexpected knock on the door.

If this man could be arsed to take a photo of a QR code, I mused, maybe others could be persuaded to jot down phone numbers, remember product names, or even visit over/complicated/web/addresses/designed/to/forward-slash/help/tracking!

Like Lazarus awakened from death by Jesus, (although, strictly speaking, much more like a man surprised by another man's interest in the first man's job) I raced into the office.

Because as long as there's a chance that somewhere, someone will hear it, my hilarious elevator-based advertainment™ MUST be written!

So if you'll forgive me, I have important work to do...