The Job Book (1986)

Looking back, I can't imagine was this guy, who I think was in his late-30s, was thinking. I had no business experience, no programming training, and no track record. I had, however, abundant enthusiasm and utter self-confidence although I have no idea why. I had enough success with custom work in Omnis in the prior six months -- people liked what I had done so far -- that I felt I could program ANYTHING. So I got to work.

I can still remember the first visit to the agency. He had an office in a modern high-rise building on Wilshire Blvd. with really expensive parking. The office was as cool and bright as any agency I've seen since, and buzzed with stylish people talking very fast. It was a trip.

He was very generous with his time, spending hours explaining the advertising business. I sketched out his production process, including something inexplicably called "traffic". At the time it all seemed logical and efficient: Whenever a new job was opened, the account executive would tell the production manager, who would then find the Job Book and make an entry. The Job Book was a fat 3-ring binder that logged all of the shop's jobs. Each new job would then get a job jacket, which was a gigantic manilla envelope. On the face of the jacket was a printed form onto which the production and accounting people would write down everything that happened with the job. Inside the jacket would go copies of signed estimates, purchase orders, vendor invoices, and concept drawings.

The production manger jealously guarded the Job Book. It was her Bible. It foretold the work that needed to be done and what work could wait. Every Monday she'd make massive lists on a giant white board in the production department describing the work in progress, which the production staff used to plan their week. But the real information was in the Book.

When a job was ready to bill, the accounting person emptied the jacket's contents onto her desk, sorted through the papers to find all of the receipts, then added up the costs for the invoices. A markup was added to those costs, then typed onto an invoice along with hours billed (compiled by hand from manually-entered time cards). Most times the billing is so late, the bookkeeper explained, because the invoices haven't been received from vendors and no one knows what was spent. So the bookkeeper would make up a billing amount based on the job's estimates and what she thought had been spent, then hoped it was enough to pay the bills.

Fortunately, the agency was popular and cash -- especially from media buys -- was rolling in so it didn't really matter much if one job or another wasn't billed completely. There was a enough work to make up for the difference. As long as there was money in the bank, he explained, the business took care of itself and he focused on the clients.

So I started designing the electronic job jacket. It was easy, and ready within a month. I proudly demonstrated the job jacket, now called a job ticket (I can't remember why), to the production staff and they hated it. They instantly began pointing out everything that the job ticket didn't do, and how there's no way they were going to use it in place of the Job Book and their giant job jackets.

It was a stunning, humbling experience that's still painful to remember today.