This is the story of how I had the shittiest birthday. I have no one to blame for it but myself. In the interest of telling a good story, I must disclaim that I blame myself, not because I’m full to the brim of empathy. It’s because I did empathy wrong.
How it all began.
It all started in May. The monsoon season brought too much sun and too much rain. The plants on my balcony were gyrating to the tune of the howling winds. I closed the door that leads to the balcony.
The floor was already flooded because the wind brought the rain in through the doors. Even on the 6th floor of a building, you’re not free from floods. “Times are so weird, it’s raining fucking horizontally” I remember telling my wife.
I remember being angry; I loved the rain. I couldn’t enjoy it because outside our apartment, there was a ship full of acid and plastic caught on fire, sinking slowly, releasing all the chemicals on to the shores, maybe 500 metres from where I stay.
Where I stay, is also one of the hardest hit by the 3rd wave of COVID. Young people were dropping dead, and the government was not doing anything.
When you live in a 3rd-world shithole, these should be easy-to-live-with occurrences. But nothing is digestible, when clients don’t pay on time. You’re running a startup, and suddenly you’re responsible for 10 people. And I hadn’t slept decently in a while.
My wife received a call from her best friend. “A gig” she said. It was followed by the nice dopamine hit.
The gig
A 250-page annual report, to be designed in a week. It was for a charity. Most charities, by design, give their management a big ego boost that makes them feel its ok to treat other people like shit.
250-page report. Within a week. At a little less than half the industry rate.
I said no. And they sent me the report they won a bronze award for, in 2020. It was either designed by someone who had just learnt photoshop or someone with Tourette’s.
But of course, design is the lubricant that helps meaning penetrate tight holes. This club had done a lot of good work. They deserved to win Gold. Their choice of designer had blown their chances away. And they wanted to make amends.
I remember seeing this and immediately thinking “I can do better on powerpoint”. And then I agreed to do it.
The first draft will be sent within 7 days of receiving all the content from the client
Mistakes
I was directly liaising with the honourable president of the club. She was full of youthful energy that I knew had started to fade away for me. Eager to win gold and rub it all over the previous president’s face. Eager to show all the boys who’s boss.
She reminded me so much of myself. She was like me, but without needing anti-depressants to preserve the youthfulness.
So, when my client wanted to two options for the theme for no reason, I nodded my head. When the content that was supposed to be finalized before we started designing, was not finalized, I didn’t say anything. When they changed the content only to inform us at the point of previewing, we had no complaints.
Nearly a decade of training to deal with incompetent people, gone to shit thanks to my infatuation with my past self.
And then on the 10th, we were told about a 13th June deadline to submit the damned thing.
Enter Dialog Axiata
Our art director had just lost all connectivity. He’s not one to complain. But he was complaining, and that meant shit was going south. The “couple of hours” the upload was to take had become 14 hours with 2 hours more to go.
And in the middle of the lockdown, I picked him up at his place, brought him to my apartment building, which was already quarantined after they discovered a Covid patient.
The final 24 hours
We set up a war room. 2 designers. Our art director laying out images on what we thought was an approved layout. Myself, as a makeshift designer, working on changes. With every set of changes sent, we get new changes for reasons that included “we decided to change this copy” to “I don’t think it’s nice”.
Our art director, looking for images that weren’t yet uploaded. I was falling asleep on my laptop.
2 black coffees, strong. 9 cans of Redbull and 4 packs of cigarettes.
The final final 24 hours
My prefrontal cortex was done working. The mammalian brain was up, wanting to wipe out civilizations, to attack without provocation.
And our dear client was calling us, or leaving a whatsapp message every hour or so. The main theme of her messages: “I think you guys are lying about the work being done.” The nerve.
48 hours past the “deadline”. And we finished. At 2.30 a.m. on my birthday. I had finished proofreading the document by 3.30. And we upload the file.
At 5.30 a.m. we had uploaded 15% of the files. Fuck you very much, Dialog.
At 5.50 a.m., I receive another seemingly composed message with a condescending undertone. There’s no stopping the inner demon (the inner demon has a fragile ego) now. Not after this message.
Lessons Learnt
Empathy without concern for self, is the fastest way to moral decay.
Cheap work has a way of costing you more than you make off it, one way or the other.
Cheap work doesn’t make clients happy, you will both feel you’re owed something from the other (but you’re not).
If you’re in Sri Lanka, and using Dialog Axiata’s services. Stop.