The Right Question
From JR’s ergonomic desk chair he had a clear view of three people. Directly behind him and about two feet to the left was the desk of Rahid. Rahid was deaf in his left ear. He hated for people to repeat things, but rarely responded to any address. JR generally tried to avoid conversation with Rahid as to avoid the confusion. Across the brightly lit open room JR could see Kevin. Kevin was an awkward-pauser. He would often trick people into thinking that he was finished talking just before springing the second half of a sentence on them. JR always thought it was what Christopher Walken would sound like slowed down. Then, to the left of Kevin, was the office of Greg Johns. Mr. Johns was what JR called a name guy. Mr. Johns liked to try to make you feel important by repeating your name at every opportunity in a conversation—something JR noticed in his interview for this job.
“Tell me, Jesse, what is your strongest quality,” Mr. Johns asked. JR hated to be called Jesse, that’s why he went by JR.
“I’m a hard worker and I am creative,” JR said, just as he had practiced.
“That’s outstanding Jesse.”
“JR.”
“Excuse me?” Mr. John’s asked.
“I go by JR.”
“Apologies JR,” Mr. Johns said. “I was just going by what’s here on your resumé. You see JR, what I’m really after is to get to know you. Who are you? Who is JR?” Mr. Johns leaned over his large desk toward JR, lowering his head as if he were telling a secret. “Because, you see JR, I have hard workers and I have creative thinkers, but can you convince me that I need a JR?”
JR was slightly caught off guard by the question, partly because he had never really prepared for the ‘who are you’ interview question, but mostly because he had been keeping track of how many times Mr. Johns had said his name. Six so far.
“Who am I?” JR said, asking himself more than Mr. Johns.
“Who are you?”
By the end Mr. Johns had said JR’s name 28 times—impressive for a 40-minute interview. JR impressed Mr. Johns enough with whatever he made up on the spot because he got the job. The next Monday JR found his desk, introduced himself to Rahid twice, found out that Rahid hated when people repeated things, and then had his first confusing conversation with Kevin.
JR had graduated from a small private college and moved to Cincinnati to get a job. He didn’t necessarily want to live in the Nasty Nati, as he called it, for the rest of his life, but it was where he found Newton Advertising. JR was impressed with the city when he first arrived. Coming into Cincinnati on I-71 North left a good first impression on him. Paul Brown Stadium, where the Bengals play, rested down by the Ohio River as the skyline, which JR would later find had its own chili named after it, rose jagged behind. The Carew Tower and PNC Tower proved worthy monument in the tough gray city. JR felt the subdued potential just under the surface as he gazed through traffic down onto the river city. His connection to the place was immediate. He could feel himself becoming a part of the place and joining the personality of the mid-west. There was something very real to JR about the quiet confidence Cincinnati had in hard work. Yet, there was also something very drawing about the isolation of a city left to simmer in its own caged swagger. It didn’t have the noise of the east coast. It didn’t have the size of the south. It didn’t have the luxury of the west coast. It had something more real—something unique. Something about Cincinnati made JR call it home.
In his fist full week of work JR couldn’t stop thinking about Mr. Johns’ question, “who are you?”
“Did he ask you that?” JR asked Rahid at lunch as Kevin sat across from them. Rahid didn’t answer. “Rahid, did Mr. Johns ask you who you are?”
“I heard you the first time,” Rahid said. “Of course he asked me who I was. I didn’t have an interview scheduled when I came in.”
“What do you mean?” asked Kevin.
“I mean I just came in with my resumé and walked into his office for an interview,” Rahid said, then sipped a bit of his strange smelling soup.
“And he hired you?” JR asked. Rahid didn’t answer. He just fixed a blank stare on JR. JR raised his voice. “And he hi…”
“I heard you the first time. Your question was just too stupid to answer. Obviously he hired me, dumb ass.”
Kevin snickered. JR sneered.
“Well, what did you say?” JR asked.
“I don’t know,” Rahid said. “I made something up. Something like, ‘I am the mind this company is craving.’”
JR went back to munching on the plain turkey sandwich that he made in his bland little kitchen in his empty apartment boxed by white walls. He wiggled his toes in his flip-flops. It was No-Shoes Tuesday and JR couldn’t imagine walking around an advertizing agency without shoes on like Kevin, so he wore his flippy-floppies, which weren’t technically shoes, so that counted.
No Shoes Tuesday was a part of a weekly schedule of themes that were meant to drive fresh ideas. Monday was Fun-day Monday. Fun-day consisted of carnival-like games set up in the office. Each game was aimed at inspiring random, but creative ideas for whatever client the company was gracing with their services. Why Not Wednesday was a day of acceptance. On Wednesdays the team at Newton would not turn down any ideas for a campaign, no matter how ridiculous it sounded, until a serious flaw was found with the campaign. Mr. Johns told JR that the ‘Why Not’ concept was what the Family Guy writers used to come up with new episodes, so JR went along. Thursday was an employee favorite, because while Thursday was the only work day without a nickname, it was the only day that involved a nap. The creative team met Thursday mornings and engaged in an intense think tank. After the think tank, the team took lunch. After lunch, the lights were turned off and the team napped for 45 minutes. After the nap, the team re-evaluated the ideas from the think tank. Coffee was usually involved. That first week for JR was filled with think tanks, dart throwing, weird campaign ideas, flippy-floppies, and a much-needed nap.
JR’s favorite day, however, was Stupid Question Friday. On Fridays the Newton team asked the dumbest questions they could think of about the product. More times than not, the answers to these questions were what good campaigns were made of. On his first Friday at Newton Ad, JR couldn’t help but think of the interview question—who are you—while his co-workers spouted questions about Stetson cologne. JR couldn’t come up with a stupid question about Stetson other than, “why does it remind me of my grandpa?” JR’s grandpa didn’t even wear Stetson, or any other cologne for that matter.
JR was zoning out while sitting at the oblong table circled by the Newton team all sitting in lime green desk chairs spurting out ridiculous questions at Mr. Johns, who was standing at the head of the table. Mr. Johns always wore suspenders that matched the color of the pen that was resting behind his ear.
“Ah hah,” Mr. Johns said loudly, snapping JR back to reality. “JR, what do you think?”
“About what?”
“About Kevin’s question,” Mr. Johns said. “Kevin asks, ‘what is cologne?’”
JR thought of the interview question again and how he didn’t have the right answer. Rahid had a good answer to the ‘who are you’ question, but having a good answer is different than having the right answer.
“It’s something that makes you smell good,” JR said.
“Right, but soap, shampoo, lotion all do that too,” Mr. Johns said. “Isn’t cologne something more? Isn’t there something just under that smell, JR?”
JR listened as Mr. Johns rambled romantically about the beauty of a smell and the places it takes you. JR found himself becoming irritated by the romanticism. The ambiguity of Mr. Johns’ answers to ‘what is cologne’ fed JR’s anxiety over his inability to find the right answer to ‘who are you?’ There was a strange brooding just beneath JR’s skin. It was something that had always been there. JR had never felt the urge to release it more than on that Stupid Question Friday.
JR stood suddenly. An awkward quiet fell in the conference room. Even the silence held an anxious danger. Something had to happen. Everyone waited for JR’s next move. His first instinct was to walk out of the room and cool down. But he didn’t.
“Why does there have to be more to it? You know what cologne is?” JR’s voice started out with a hint of nervousness, but he was gaining confidence and volume as he went. “Cologne is water, alcohol, C12-15 Alkyl Lactate, Diisopropal Adipate, and Benzophenone-2. It reminds us of loved ones and happy times because scent is the sense most connected to memory. There’s nothing magic about it. We can try to convince people otherwise, but it just isn’t true. It is what it is.”
When JR finished, a general aura of confusion lied on the faces and lime green chairs. There was another silence as people looked at JR, then each other.
“The FDA doesn’t require an ingredient list for cologne, JR,” Mr. Johns said, mainly to break the silence.
JR walked out of the room. It was almost five o’clock, so he just kept walking out of the building. JR walked for a while until the sun started to set on Cincinnati. He wasn’t paying much attention to where he was going. As he walked toward the center of the city, a quiet roar began to arise. It was barely audible at first as JR walked slowly up 5th Street and crossed Elm. The closer he got to Vine Street, the louder the roar got. There was something natural about it. It wasn’t threatening or violent, but the same anxious danger sat just behind the sound. When JR crossed Vine Street, he looked up to see the fountain at City Square Plaza.
The fountain stood about 45 feet tall. A noble-looking woman stood atop the fountain with her arms outstretched and palms facing down. Watering flowed from her palms and fell onto the bottom reliefs of the fountain. JR’s mind went back to the interview question. The sun offered oranges and deep reds for the fountains water to play with. JR remembered when he first saw Cincinnati. He remembered the feeling—the connection—the isolation of a cities quiet confidence. JR closed his eyes and saw himself isolated, quiet, confident, and humble. He saw that Cincinnati wasn’t Stetson cologne. Some things are just the sum of their ingredients, but not this place. Pavement. Concrete. Buildings. Glass. Stadiums. These things only define a place as much as skin, hair, water, and proteins define a human. When JR opened his eyes in City Square Plaza, he felt his heart rate quicken and an anxious excitement. He knew it was just adrenaline, but he smiled anyway. It was still beautiful.
JR fell asleep Stupid Question Friday night knowing the answer to his interview question.