I’ve been entertaining the idea of going to portfolio school so one night I was on the Creative Circus website. At like 1:03 am on a Friday morning I was filling out my name, address and phone number assuming that in a few days I would receive some superbly designed and interestingly packaged brochures.
Well, the next thing I know it’s 12:59pm the following afternoon, there’s drool hanging out of my mouth and I’m in the middle of a dream where I’m Parker Posey in Dazed and Confused. I’m screaming “AIR RAID” at the top of my hateful lungs to a bunch of girls lying on the ground covered in condiments. All of a sudden the fear of God strikes me when this unbelievably loud ringing comes out of nowhere. It’s unbearable. I crouch down, cover my head and start to think that maybe I should stop being such an evil bitch, but before I’m 100 percent convinced that’s a good idea, I wake up and realize that it was just the phone ringing.
My eyes are not quite yet open so I paw for the phone and hope that my morning voice isn’t too scary. Magically, I open my mouth to say hello and it sounds like songbirds! At first I’m surprised. I must still be dreaming. Then I remember how a person as perfect and awesome as myself doesn’t suffer from the banal affliction of “morning voice”.
The person on the other end of the line greets me politely and introduces himself as Matt from the Creative Circus. I think to myself “I guess they don’t waste any time”. Matt fuels my desire to become the world’s greatest copywriter. He is leading me to believe that I will be able to do this without having to order a hit on Skyler Dobin, which is good because paying the assassin AND tuition would force me to come up with a side hustle while at the Circus. Matt advises against that. I mean, I’m there to focus on building a portfolio. He’s right. Anyways, I hang up the phone and gears are whizzing in my head. I walk over to the refrigerator, start to think about what kind of sandwich to make, while wondering if they’re still going to send me some brochures.
