It’s embarrassing to admit. but Cuppy was able to secure real employment before me. Now it is true, I do have two part-time jobs. But I’m not sure either can be considered work.(1) Between you and me, I find the situation difficult to believe.
I mean, seriously, I have a Bachelor’s and Master’s degree. Cuppy? He’s a fucking cup.
But I will give credit where it’s due. Cuppy is an amazing writer.(2) Last week he was accepted into a prestigious internship program as a copywriting intern. Though the ad agency is not well known, even to those in the industry, their clients have national and even global presence. A fact that has already started to affect Cuppy’s relatively demure demeanor.
As long as we’ve known each other, not once has Cuppy ever been called smug. But yesterday, I caught him wearing a Starbucks sleeve. He also stopped wearing his contacts after he had another intern draw dark-rimmed glasses on him. I lol’ed and told him he looked like a paler, rounder version of that chubby guy from Death Cab. Then I pointed out that the pen that drew the glasses were probably not prescription, so although he might look stylish, I assured him he was walking around as blind as Conan’s old masturbating bear.
But things have not been easy for us since we moved north of the Mason-Dixon Line. It’s colder here. Both the weather and people. But the one thing I could always count on was our conversations. They were intellectual. Insightful. I used to relish our middle of the night mental trysts that allowed us to escape, for even a few hours, the physical poverty of living in a small disheveled motel room. Our talks now are compulsory and emotionless.
Now Cuppy only references obscure music groups(3), only wears American Apparel and insists on calling me “Cuz.” Though we are struggling to get by, he tells me he must purchase the latest iPhone tout suite as it is standard modus operandi for anyone who wants to be taken seriously as a creative.
I don’t know much advertising, but I’ve always heard that the creatives at an agency were the biggest babies. That they constantly need attention, care and nurturing. Sadly, I’m starting to see some truth in this stereotype through Cuppy. Now I wouldn’t necessarily call them all attention whores, but if the STI fits.(4)
I’m not sure what to do, but I don’t like the changes I’ve seen in Cuppy over the past two weeks. They’ve been numerous. And they’ve been dramatic. Skinny jeans. Piercings. Tattoos. A penchant for wearing ridiculously ugly 80′s accessories. But most annoyingly, an ambivalence that manifests itself in the one word response Cuppy has taken to answering all my inquiries.
“How was your day?”
“Whateves.”
“Did you sell any work?”
“Whateves.”
“What do you want for dinner?”
“Whateves.”
“Will you please just talk to me? Why are you being such an asshole!?”
“Whateves. Cuz.”
Fed up and pushed to my limit, I posed as a pizza delivery person yesterday and walked into the agency to snoop around. What I saw, horrified me. I’m afraid to say that Cuppy has fallen in with the worst lot: art directors.
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(1) I actually work two part-time jobs. My first job is at a Benji-Hanna, a Japanesertainment restaurant. The chefs prepare exquisite cuisine and amuse guests with their culinary acrobatics. My job title, officially, is “Shrimp Tail Catcher.” I wear a white chef’s hat that is hollow at the top and then move from table to table as the chefs toss discarded shrimp tails atop my head. I am also required to bark and clap like seal as I perform my duties. Not that it needs to be stated, but my social calendar has opened up quite a bit. My second job is working as a temp. At a temp agency.
(2) For someone who is sans arms.
(3) I know for a fact that Cuppy has all of ‘N SYNC’s albums on his iPod.
(4) Creatives yearn to suckle from the teat of glory and recognition. And it is a craving that must be satisfied daily. It’s how they remain creative. I can understand that. It’s why I excel at knitting and am ranked number 2 in the state.
People For The Ethical Treatment of Cups