Nobody's first, and you're next

'Don't take it too seriously', cautions text message from Eugene on Thursday.

'It's not real'. 

'In fact', (he'd continue later, with a grin on his face) 

'It's probably one of the worst things that could ever happen to you...'

I remember being an intern at DDB Melbourne, flicking through 'the Work' - a book compiling advertisements from around asia and australia - and spotting an ad I helped make at my internship and Ogilvy Singapore a year before. 

I felt my heart leap a little as I gleefully ran over to my mentor at the time, hand wedged between the heavy book's pages. He politely looked over the campaign, squinting at the details, and patiently trying to read the body copy. 

Grinning, he looks up and slowly punctuates 'So! Adrian, Chan : Art director - you must be on the list!' 'The list?' I gasp (heart obviously still in throat), 'Yep, the rankings' he says flipping through the pages of a magazine called 'Campaign Brief'. And sure enough, I was listed there, somewhere near the back, on stripe of red, no more than 4 millimeters high, #700-n-something, a place I shared with about 20 other people. 

 

A wow coursed through my shuddering body. 

I was listed! I am in advertising! Yes. yes! YES?

In the years to come, I'd casually follow the Campaign Brief rankings, looking out for familiar names and faces of the men and women some of whom would eventually become my mentors, peers, and friends. We'd laugh about the rankings, making them out to be these absurd abstractions of ourselves. (which they are, right?) ...700+, 168, 24. Who's keeping track right. 

right? 

I'm standing in the corner of a club called 'Zirca' on wednesday night, trying to keep the horrible free-flow house whiskey down, while anxiously waiting for Datarock to come on stage when a cryptic SMS flashes. 'Congratulations! you're number one!' it says. 

It's from Troy. 

And I'm not sure how to interpret this, as Troy (once my partner) has been known to make cheesy puns, and I was trying to figure this one out. But then comes another this time from Ash. And another and then I'm texting back, clarifying, and then I'm getting piping the cruddy whiskey through my system and then I'm hammered and hugging people, beating down the ground with my feet to Datarock... fa-fa-fa fafafa-fafa. 

it's not real! 

So. totally. not real. 

yay?