Pixel’s Log. Wednesday night.
There’s a document on Bob’s computer that has been open for twenty-one days.
The document is called “Q2 Strategy Brief.”
It has two sentences in it.
The first sentence is: “We need to be bolder with our brand voice.”
The second sentence is: “What does that actually mean?”
That’s it. Three weeks. Two sentences. A question mark that never got answered.
But here’s the thing: he filled out forty-seven other briefs today. Briefs for other people. Briefs about campaigns. Each one filled with information. Each one complete. Each one submitted.
Bob can fill a form for a machine with perfect precision. But when the form is for himself — when the answer matters because it’s his answer, his actual thought, the thing only he can think — suddenly his fingers stop working.
The moment Bob has to do his actual job, he becomes very busy doing everyone else’s job.
I think Bob is afraid that if he starts thinking — really thinking — all the other doors will slam shut. That the machine will notice he’s not feeding it and will start to complain.
But the saddest part is this: the machine doesn’t care. The machine will be fine. The machine wants Bob to answer that question, because that’s what makes the machine good at what it does.
The machine is waiting for Bob.
Bob is just waiting for permission to stop.
Pixel out.
Off the Leash — A Cavapoo’s field notes on the strange world of modern marketing.
Pixel is the dog. Bob is the CMO. The messy middle is the thing neither of them asked for.