Disaster recovery: Flubs, goofs, and outtakes

Screw-ups are inevitable; it’s the recovery that counts
 
First things first: This is not a “we” story. This is an “I” story. I take full responsibility for every screw-up I’m about to describe.
 
I’m not perfect. I’m human. And while this article is a departure from the usual how-to’s I post here, perhaps it can help. Or give you a laugh. Or start a dialogue. Regardless, let’s dive into the cautionary tales.
 
You did what?!
 
Years ago, I was working long hours at an ad agency, and jumped in to help my artists on production as a print deadline approached. So I was building an ad, including doing the typesetting. I’d intended to help. It was a full-page ad, destined for one of the big New York tabloids, all about “The Sale You Can’t Afford To Miss!” Thing is, I’d inadvertently left off the “’t”. So it became the sale you can afford to miss. (Think of that: “The One Sale You Can Afford To Miss! Ignore it totally! Go shop someplace else! Don’t even read this ad—we know we’re wasting our money on it!”) And since I was also the person who signed off on the copy, I compounded the problem when I missed my own typo. The ad went out the door.
 
Someone discovered the error not long after. I don’t remember if it was me or not; regardless, the chest pains were the same. Fortunately, there was a last-ditch emergency procedure at my disposal; it’s called “pub set.” It means calling the publication (“pub”), and asking them to typeset (“set”) a little patch which they can paste over the offending verbiage. That’s what I did. The production people at the newspaper saved the ad. And the account. And probably my job. I’d have done the same for them, had the situation been reversed.
 
The lesson? Know your emergency procedures in advance. I knew about pub set back then, but never had to use it—like the ejection-seat handle in a fighter jet—until then.
 
You said what?!!
 
Yeah, this one deserves the extra exclamation point.
 
Again, a few years ago (but not long enough ago that the memory isn’t still vivid), I was called in by an ad agency to help them pitch a new account out of state. The account was worth about a million dollars a year—not huge, but a big deal for this small agency.
 
I flew down with two of the agency’s principals, to meet with the CEO of the prospective client, along with maybe four of his top people. We sat in a conference room for what felt like hours. No. It was hours. Hours and hours and hours. And hours.
 
I’m a guy who likes to get stuff done. I go nuts when I see people spin their wheels, or retread the same exact ground over and over again. I also get punchy if you lock me in a conference room for hours on end, doing exactly that.
 
We (the ad agency) pitched ads to the client. They (the client) gave us their feedback. Over and over again. Same stuff. And at one point, eons into the meeting, one of the client lieutenants dug out one of their old ads and showed it to us. He walked us through it, and upon reading us the headline, he said, “These are just our words. I’m sure you have better words you can use.”
 
“Oh, we have lots of words,” I said. “We’re professionals.”
 
The room went silent. Everyone looked at me. Then they looked at the owner of the ad agency. Then they looked at the client CEO. Oh man. I’d really stuck my foot in it. I was here to help the agency land the account, not get booted out the door for making a smartass remark in the middle of--
 
The CEO roared out laughing. “We have lots of words!” he cried. “We’re professionals! Ha-ha-ha-ha!”
 
All his lieutenants looked at him. Taking their cue, they all felt safe to laugh. And they did. It was like a fable. Or a bad movie. I just sat there and swallowed hard and forced a polite smile. The owner of the ad agency laughed, too—probably from relief.
 
The ending? We won the account. The client had us wait in an anteroom while they deliberated, and when they emerged about a half hour later, they gave us the good news, and were still laughing over my asinine quip. They slapped me on the back and welcomed me to the account team.
 
The lesson? Always assume your clients have a great sense of humor. Heck no! That wasn’t the case at all, and that would be horrible advice. I think the lesson here is: Sometimes you’re just lucky. Sure, I’ve since worked harder to rein in my impatience and tendency toward punchiness, but as I said, I’m only human.
 
What did you do?
 
Do you have a screw-up you’re not too humiliated to share? Post it here as a reply. I’d love to hear it. And so, I think, would everyone else reading this.

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