‘We have an AF rule on our Friday nights out.’
I nod, approvingly. ‘You get drunk as fuck? I’ve heard that about ad agencies. One of my friends was at Saatchi’s in the Nineties.’
Floyd and Ramona exchange glances. ‘How old is your friend?’ says Ramona, bouncing quite vigorously now.
‘She’s the same age as…’ I think quickly, ‘…someone in their late forties. I believe in cross-generational friendships. We can learn so much from other age groups.’ This is the first thing I’ve said that they seem to agree with.
Floyd makes eye contact with me at last, if he can see my eyes through my tinted, Rich Aunt glasses.
‘Where do you see yourself in ten years?’ he asks. Holy crap, are they still wheeling that one out?
I say something impressive that I got off their website on the way here about being committed to creating effective, award-winning content for a range of challenger brands. Ramona’s bouncing slows down and Floyd stops picking his nose, which he’s been doing on and off ever since the interview began.
Just as I’m about to add some other nonsense I remember about how I’m ‘not interested in building brands, but inventing worlds they can live in’, the ski hat girl reappears, with two dogs in tow, and tells Ramona and Floyd they’re late for ‘frisbee’. At first, I assume this is the name of a company, and they’re late for a meeting with said company, but then Floyd picks up an actual frisbee from the desk and waves it at me.
‘Up for some frisbee, Erica?’
I try to think of a reply that both gets me out of playing frisbee and ensures they still like me, and plump for ‘I’m actually nursing a frisbee injury, but I’ll be back in training next week.’
I’m not being big-headed or anything, but I’m pretty sure I’ve got the job.
