Next in my series on the life forms you'll find in agencies is this walking zero - The Account Director. This chap is in a curious spot. He's reached a senior position, but not the most senior. So he doesn't actually do anything that actually resembles work. And he doesn't have the authority to make anything like big decisions.
That leaves him with the two roles that have come to define him: being shouted at and getting the client smashed.
Yes, when the shit hits the fan, it's too easy to yell at the little people (and the boss obviously isn't going to take the flak) so they wheel out this suited scapegoat and you let him have it. Then, when you've calmed down and he's crawled out from under the boardroom table, he is fully expected to take you to the boozer and pay for anything and everything you want.
In short, then, he is a punchbag with a credit card.
That's why he finds importance in things that define his status. His car, for example, is of such massive consequence that he spends a good percentage of his working week having it serviced, valeted or both.
His phone, too, must be significantly better than those of his team. Same goes for his laptop, despite the fact that he has no idea what the fuck it does.
He also tries to escape the meaningless of his existence by lording it over creative people, believing that because they work in a different field, they might be impressed by the word 'director' in his job title.
They aren't. Nobody is.
I love Account Directors, though. It's their job to bring the beerz - and that's alright with me!
Why? Because I AM THE CLIENT!
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