Confessions of a Copywriter

My dream is to get a job in advertising as a creative. This is how I pictured it would be:

I would show up to work 5 minutes early and stay 10 minutes late. For lunch I would eat sushi and gluten-free noodles. My choice of music would be similar to Indie-Rock or Folk and I'd refuse to buy an iPod because everyone would have one, and I'm not a sheep.

I would wear clothes that were black and brown and pair tall boots with just about anything. My make-up (if I would even apply it that day) would involve purple eyeliner and something with the title 'Rockstar Eyes.' I'd hope to hell that I wouldn't have the same look as that emo-wanna-be, Kevin, who sits near the breakroom.

I'd reference the latest social networking sites, but pray to God that no one calls me on it because I honestly have no idea what any of it is.

When I would win an award, I'd thank my co-workers for their equal effort on the project and write them a note later that week just to thank them again.

Young writers would idolize me and wish they could get where I am. I'm guilty because I make it look so easy and glamorous and secretly wish they would give up and go corporate just so I wouldn't have any competition.

I'd never take a day for granted. And I'd thank my luck stars that I decided against that career in Customer Service at Wells Fargo. No one said the road was going to be easy, but with a little dumb luck and a lot of post-it notes, I'd be just fine.