Frontier: Elite II

Blog postings have been down since I started working last December. I work as a product designer. Product designers are stubborn gits who don't like to be told what to do by people who don't know what they're talking about. The designer is always right, and they'll make sure you know this. Achieving this is sometimes difficult, so I have devised a plan.

Managing directors are stubborn gits who tell people what to do even though they don't know what they're talking about or why they hired you. As a product designer I'm also expected to take on the role of graphic designer, something I haven't been formally trained to do, but something I can throw a reasonably successful hand to due to the broadness of my education.

Recently, the boss decided to set up a store that sells what I would deem junk. Things like Mojave sunglasses and Titanium II knife sets. I've already designed a clever sign for him that opens up rich potential for a quirky brand identity. After all, who buys junk? Idiots and mental patients. So my sign gets those people wondering what's in the shop with its foolish font and laughable tag-line. People will buy shit if it's wrapped in a scented banana leaf.

So the boss is interested in this brand identity thing. Sure he is, he wants people in the doors and spending money. He's got a business to run. So now he needs a mascot. I had logical and clever suggestions. Concepts that aren't too challenging, like rubber chickens and the like. So here's what he wants in his words, not mine:

"Some kind of mad fella with a backwards baseball cap. A cross between Scooby Doo and Fred Flintstone."

So that's what he'll get. One way to show someone why they should listen to you is to give them what they want. I am now going to sketch the most dated, crass, soulless, generation Xer I can think of. If you're lucky I'll even post it up here. If you're even luckier, the boss will change his mind...


...if he ever gets off his Gazelle®.