Someone hit me with a monkey wrench.
Sep|23|2008
I’ve worked hard to earn my reputation as an, “extremely organized person.” I’ve “traffic” in my blood. Even when I was a child, I organized my toys, straightened the bookcase and frequently enlisted Grammy to help straighten up my room.
This morning, someone hit me with a monkey wrench.
I was scheduled to be in Atlanta, GA for the Second Wind Network seminar at 7 a.m.; breakfast with attendees at 7:30, opening session at 8 a.m.
At 4:30 a.m., as I was walking out the door to catch my flight, my three-year-old son awoke and wanted to change clothes. My eight-year-old, bleary-eyed, wanted a hug and kiss. The dog wanted to eat and the cat couldn’t believe my audacity, having moved her from the foot of the bed. My husband awoke, wandered into the hall, and asked what all the fuss was about — So much for slipping out of the house undetected.
I arrived at the airport at 5:04 a.m.; boarding closed at 5:05 a.m. I made the flight by, literally, one minute. I flew through security and ran down the corridor. Then I heard it.
“Will the young lady who left her jewelry at the security counter please return to claim it?”
At the end of the moving sidewalk (apparently, jumping over the side rail while in motion rouses suspicion), I did an about-face and ran back to security. A guard met me halfway with a bowl of jewelry, a smile and reassurance I’d make it on time. I never thought I’d write this, but thank goodness I was in boarding group eight.
Safely on the plane, I settled in and we landed 55 minutes later in Atlanta. My cab driver, apparently with no place in particular to be today, took me to the hotel. Believe it or not, I still made the seminar in time for Tony to introduce me.
The point of this story, you ask?
No matter how organized you think you may be in your home or workplace, there’ll always be monkey wrenches.
Even if you’ve devised the perfect project timeline, your copywriter will be out sick, the Client will change her mind (again), your principal will send you on a press check in the middle of the day. You can’t expect everything to go as planned, 100% of the time. You must be flexible and level-headed. Take a step back and assess the situation; make accommodations. If all else fails, duck.
More flies with honey than vinegar.
Sep|13|2008
Have you ever heard the saying, “You can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar?”
The American Heritage® New Dictionary of Cultural Literacy interprets the adage as meaning, “You can win people to your side more easily by gentle persuasion and flattery than by hostile confrontation.”
This is, in my opinion, a fundamental traffic principle.
Traffic isn’t just about deadlines and project specs, it’s much more. It’s about building relationships with the people involved in the “process” of traffic; getting to know the folks you’re asking to stay late, to fit just one more ad revision into their day, to load the artwork on disk “really quickly…”
When I was a Traffic Manager, I made it a point to know what was going on in my peers’ lives. My art director was reading a good book – I asked him about it. My proofreader was due to have her second child – I chatted about baby names and nursery themes. My account executive was feeling the pressure of managing several large clients – I bought flowers to brighten her desk.
At another agency I “trafficked,” I introduced a “prize closet.” If my account executive put his meeting notes in the system right away, I sent an e-mail to the entire team praising him. And, he “won” a bag of candy. The creative director of the agency even gave me a monthly prize budget ($25). Over the course of the month, I’d pick up items here and there with each employee in mind – a cool pen set, notebook, toy, or vase.
Another means of gathering traffic prizes stemmed from our client base – a hip new bowling ball used in a photo shoot, gift cards for food items, etc. I even used certificates we’d designed in-house.
As a Traffic Manager, you’re in a very unique position. You’re, dare I say, the honey that holds the hive together!
“You’re so anal-retentive!”
Sep|3|2008
As a Traffic Manger, I’ve often been described as, “anal-retentive.” I’ve always accepted this to simply mean that I’m “overly attentive to detail,” in a good way.
A quick on line search has revealed that being anal-retentive is far more.
According to Wikipedia, “The term anal-retentive (or anally retentive, anal retentive), commonly abbreviated to ‘anal,’ is used conversationally to describe a person with such attention to detail that the obsession becomes an annoyance to others, and can be carried out to the detriment of the anal-retentive person.”
The American Heritage Dictionary defines the phenomenon as a, “Psychology indicating personality traits, such as meticulousness, avarice, and obstinacy, originating in habits, attitudes, or values associated with infantile pleasure in retention of feces.”
Let’s break these definitions down, shall we?
“… the obsession becomes an annoyance to others…”
So, you’re bothered that I know the exact due date for the project AND the quantity we’ll be printing, without looking at my notes?
“… to the detriment of the anal-retentive person…”
Alright, I’ll give you this one. The night does get long when I can’t sleep until all overdue Tasks have either been moved forward or the reason for their being late thoroughly documented. E-mail In box… empty; Sent folder… empty. Time to sleep.
“… meticulousness, avarice, and obstinacy…”
Project timelines are meticulously organized and monitored; nearly revered. Obstinacy, however, isn’t something I associate with being an anal-retentive Traffic Manager -– inflexibility and un-cooperativeness aren’t options.
“… originating in habits, attitudes, or values…”
Yes, everything on my desk is intentionally placed and dusted frequently. But, I bet if you lay a job jacket on the corner I can find it two minutes later.
“… infantile pleasure in retention of feces…”
I’m not going near this one.
So, all in all, I suppose I am a bit anal-retentive. I just wish the descriptor were a bit more appealing. Thanks, Sigmund Freud.