Four weeks ago, the agency I work for lost a designer.
While in the middle of a client meeting – explaining to a rep from Kraft Foods why fourteen pages of text cannot fit on the back of 320mL jar label – Simon stood, stated, “I can’t do this anymore,” and left.
His dramatic exit scene was diminished somewhat when, despite having opened and closed the boardroom door hundreds of times, he pulled and shook the handle for several seconds yelling, “what the fuck is wrong with this door?” before remembering it swung outwards. (…)
Simon’ father came in to collect his personal belongings a few days later and when I asked how Simon was doing, he replied, “He’ll be fine, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”
Which isn’t always true as I know someone who contracted Ross River Virus several years ago and he needs to be pushed around in a wheel-chair, moaning the whole time about his joints and inadequate ramp access. I visited him in his ground-floor apartment once but it was a miserable and forced conversation so I told him I had a present for him in the car and went to get it. Then drove home.
