Meeting Across The River
Indecisiveness • A Chip on His Shoulder
One Minute Wit
Indecisiveness
I think I suffer from indecisiveness.
But I can’t make up my mind.
Microfiction
A Chip On His Shoulder
Aficionados from around the globe had gathered in New York. The conference was about to start…
“I am calling to order the first annual meeting of The International Potato Chip Historical League.”
A man abruptly rose from his seat and spoke.
“Sorry, mate. You can’t be serious. That mouthful can’t be our name.”
“It seems our brother from the UK objects to the name. Do you have a suggestion?”
“Let’s keep it simple. How about The Crisptorical Society.”
“I realize you call them crisps in the UK, but crisptorical isn’t a word.
“It is now.”
And a society was born.
Thankfully, they didn’t like aluminum.
Story
Meeting Across The River
18 April 1963
London
James Hardheart had been groomed for business since he was a child. His parents sent him to the finest schools. When he graduated, James went to work for the Farley, Cumberbatch, and Brixton advertising agency on Baker Street. He got a small flat and threw himself into his career. James worked long hours and earned a name for himself working on the Regurgent Petrol campaign.
But James was too ambitious to work for someone else and struck out on his own, starting the Goodheart Advertising Agency. James’s parents disapproved of his sir name change, but James knew advertising, and realized Hardheart would not project the right image. James hired a secretary and another young, ambitious ad man, Harry Flinn.
Unwisely, James left Farley, Cumberbatch, and Brixton on bad terms. Strolling in on a Monday morning, saying, “My talents are wasted here. I resign effective today.” Farley, Cumberbatch, and Brixton made it their business to “Put that disloyal scamp in his place.” Any client James managed to sign was quickly wooed away by Farley, Cumberbatch, and Brixton.
Things became desperate for the Goodheart Advertising Agency, and the business was running in the red. James was forced to sack Harry Flinn. Then one day, luck seemed to shine on James.
While walking along the Thames, James ran into the President of the Burnum Suntan Cream Company, Reginald Burnum. Reginald remembered James from Farley, Cumberbatch, and Brixton. Reginald felt Farley, Cumberbatch, and Brixton was too old-fashioned and was shopping for a new ad agency to bring a “younger viewpoint” to his advertising.
The two exchanged business cards, and James talked his way into a meeting the following Thursday to discuss the possibility of working together.
James worked non-stop that week, putting together numerous advertising ideas to pitch. When Thursday arrived, he was ready. He put on his best suit and headed to his meeting, portfolio in hand. The meeting was a relatively short walk to the other side of the Thames. No point in wasting money on a cab.
James had only made it a block when he saw a couple arguing loudly in front of him. He stepped into the street to go around them when the man said, “Oy, mate, can you settle an argument between the missus and me?”
“I don’t have time. I have an important business meeting to attend,” James replied.
The man, who was quite large and imposing, said, “It’ll take but a minute. Come on.”
“Alright. Quickly.”
“Good. The missus says the top of the bus is better because of the view, but I say you can get on and off quicker on the bottom, so it’s better. Who’s right?”
“My good man, it clearly a matter of opinion. You are both correct. Now I really must be going.”
“How we both be correct? Make a choice.”
“Alright, you are correct.”
“See, Mildred? I told you.”
James shook his head and continued his walk.
A few moments later, a woman ran up to James. She had a look of desperation in her eyes.
“Please help me! My son has disappeared, and I am afraid someone has taken him.”
“You should contact the police,” James replied.
“There are none around. Please help me,” the woman said and began to cry.
James looked at his watch and said, “Very well, but I can only help for a few minutes.”
“Bless you! We were walking this way, and I heard a siren. I looked away for just a moment, and he was gone.”
“Well, he can’t have gone far. What is his name?”
“Billy.”
James and the woman each went a different direction down the street. After five minutes of looking, James found Billy sitting on a stoop, petting a kitten. James hurried the boy back to his mother, who scolded the boy for running off.
“Thank you, Sir. You are a kind soul,” the woman said to James.
“It was nothing. I really must be going.”
As James walked away, he thought, I have never been called kind before. After another quick glance at his watch, James decided it would be prudent to take a cab. He hailed one and got in.
The cab pulled into traffic and headed down the street.
No more interruptions, James thought to himself.
Not quite. Another driver ran a light and slammed into the cab. James was shaken but not stirred. He looked at the cabbie, who took the brunt of the crash. He was unconscious, and his arm had a huge gash. Blood was pouring out of the cut.
James took out his handkerchief, placed it on the cut, and applied pressure. A witness to the accident ran up to the cab and said, “Stay with him. I’ll go get help.”
“But I have a meeting I have to attend,” James protested. It was too late. The witness was gone.
Several minutes later, an ambulance arrived and took the cab driver to the hospital. James started walking away when a police officer stopped him and told him he needed a statement. James looked at his watch and began giving his account.
As he was close to the Thames now, James decided he would jog the rest of the way. His suit was already covered in blood; a little sweat wouldn’t matter. He would apologize and explain the circumstances.
About halfway across the bridge, James accidentally bumped into a gang of rockers, knocking one down. The rest of the gang grabbed James and held him while the fallen rocker got back up.
“You made a big mistake, Suit Coat,” the rocker said. He gave James a quick jab to the gut.
When James caught his breath again, he said, “It was an accident. I have a meeting across the river I have to get to.”
“Across the river, you say. Well, Lads, let’s help this good man across the river.”
They lifted James up and tossed him over the side of the bridge. James, and his portfolio, splashed into the Thames. He bobbed back up and saw the gang laughing at him from the bridge.
A few seconds later, a boat pulled up beside him. The boat owner took his hand and helped James climb into the boat.
James looked at the boat owner, ready to thank him.
“James?” The boat owner asked.
“Harry?” James said as he realized it Harry Flinn, the employee he had sacked a year earlier.
“You know, I haven’t been able to get a job in the ad business since you fired me. Farley, Cumberbatch, and Brixton made sure of that. I had to go to work for my father. I hate it.”
“I’m sorry, Harry. Thank…”
Harry pushed James back into the river and motored away.
James bobbed up again and swam to the shore. He managed to climb ashore with the help of some other Londoners. James sat down on the ground and hung his head. He looked at his watch, but it had quit working. He struggled to get up and started walking. James was nothing if not determined. He would make the meeting, no matter what.
And he did. He stepped into the Burnum Suntan Cream Company’s office and told the secretary that he was there to meet Reginald Burnum.
“That appointment was over an hour ago, Mr. Goodheart.”
“I ran into some trouble getting here. Can you tell Mr. Burnum I am here?”
“Of course.”
A moment later, James stepped into Reginald Burnum’s office, still soaking wet.
“What happened to you?” Reginald asked.
“It’s a long story. I am sorry to keep you waiting. I would still like to tell you about my ideas for advertising the Burnum Suntan Cream Company.”
“I’m sorry, James. I waited an hour for you. I figured you weren’t serious and gave the contract to another agency.”
James shuffled outside and sat on a bench.
A young woman walked by the bench, took a look at James, and sat down.
“Having a bad day?”
“The worst. I just lost a contract that would have saved my business.”
The woman stared at James for a moment.
“I know what will cheer you up. Meet me here at 6:00. I am taking you to a concert.”
“I’m not really in the mood,” James said.
“You’re English. Chin up. Carry on.”
James couldn’t help himself and laughed. I have been battered and bruised, and my career is over. If a pretty girl wants me to go to a concert with her, why not? James thought.
“You’re absolutely right. What’s your name?” James asked.
“Patty.”
“Hello, Patty. I’m James. I will see you at 6:00.”
“It’s a date,” Patty said and walked away.
James went home, got changed, and managed to get back to the bench in one piece. Patty was waiting for him when he arrived.
“Shall we?” Patty asked.
“Yes, please,” James replied.
They hailed a cab and rode to the Royal Albert Hall. The marquee said, “Swinging Sounds ’63.”
James and Patty found their seats and settled in for the concert. James wasn’t much of a music fan. He was only allowed to listen to classical at school. The show featured several groups — a mixed bag of jazz, skiffle, and pop.
James recognized the vocals of Matt Monroe, although he didn’t know his name. He wasn’t much of a jazz fan, but James listened politely to the BBC Jazz Club All-Stars and Chris Barber. But James did enjoy the pop groups Shane Fenton and The Fentones and Susan Maughan. Their music seemed infectious and young. But his favorite band was a new group called The Beatles. When they played, Patty got up and danced. He liked that. He just wished they had played longer. It seemed like only five or six songs.
After the concert, James escorted Patty home and got her phone number. He promised to call. The following day, James didn’t go to work. Instead, he went to the local music store and bought a guitar.
SWINGING SOUND ’63 Concert Lineup:
The Beatles
The Springfields Rolf Harris
Matt Monro
The Vernons Girls
Kenny Lynch Robin Hall and Jimmie Macgregor George Melly
Susan Maughan
Shane Fenton and The Fentones
Chris Barber and his Band with Ottilie Patterson
Eric Delaney Band
BBC ‘Jazz Club’ All Stars
Here is an example of the advertising business in the 1960s:
Happy Monday. Thanks for reading and responding. You make it fun.
Mark
The Chip Society piece reminds me of Monty Python's Royal Society for Putting Things On Top of Other Things. At least yours has a clear purpose.
"A Chip On His Shoulder": I can see meetings spent arguing things like "Pringles — Are They, Or Aren't They?" with members coming to fisticuffs.
"Meeting Across The River": I feel like there should be more! To Be Continued or Part I or something. The further adventures of the man who keeps getting pushed in front of the karma bus.