Our business is infested with idiots who try to impress by using

Host: The office lights hummed — white, sterile, and unforgiving. The clock ticked, echoing through the open floor of cubicles and glass partitions, where the smell of coffee, paper, and digital fatigue hung like static in the air.

It was late evening in a marketing firm downtown, and the city below glowed in grids of amber — a machine of ambition, never sleeping, only recharging in neon.

Jack sat at a conference table, his tie loosened, sleeves rolled, laptop open, the blue light painting his face in shades of irony. Jeeny, seated opposite, had a pen behind her ear, her notebook half-filled with scribbles and sarcasm.

The TV screen on the wall still displayed the marketing deck from the day’s meeting, frozen on a slide that read in bold Helvetica:
“Leveraging Synergistic Paradigms for Holistic Brand Momentum.”

Jeeny: (dryly) “You know, David Ogilvy once said, ‘Our business is infested with idiots who try to impress by using pretentious jargon.’”

Jack: (without looking up) “He was being generous. I’d replace ‘infested’ with ‘possessed.’”

Jeeny: “Possessed by what?”

Jack: “By the ghost of corporate nonsense. Every time someone says ‘optimize the user journey,’ I feel my soul buffering.”

Jeeny: “It’s the language of survival, Jack. You have to sound smarter than you feel, or you’ll be eaten by the people who sound dumber than they think.”

Jack: “That sentence belongs on our next slide.”

Jeeny: “Don’t tempt me. I can already hear the boss saying, ‘It needs more synergy.’”

Host: The air conditioner hummed, papers rustled, and somewhere down the hall a printer groaned, spitting out more buzzwords disguised as ideas. The office after hours was a graveyard of jargon — echoes of words that meant nothing but cost millions.

Jack: “You know what gets me? They talk about authenticity, then bury it under vocabulary that sounds like a TED Talk written by a malfunctioning AI.”

Jeeny: “Says the man who once described a logo as ‘semantically fluid and emotionally resonant.’”

Jack: “That was sarcasm.”

Jeeny: “They didn’t know that.”

Jack: “That’s the problem. Nobody knows anything anymore — they just sound like they do.”

Jeeny: “You can’t blame them entirely. Words are the armor. If you sound confident enough, no one notices you’re terrified.”

Jack: “That’s not armor. That’s camouflage.”

Jeeny: “Same thing in business.”

Host: The lights flickered briefly, as if the building itself sighed, tired of the rehearsed voices that had echoed through its meeting rooms for years.

Outside, the rain began, tapping against the windows, steady and rhythmic, the sound of the world washing itself clean — a thing this room could never quite manage.

Jack: “Remember today’s presentation? ‘Leveraging consumer empathy to catalyze engagement ecosystems.’ What the hell does that even mean?”

Jeeny: “It means ‘make people like us.’ But you can’t charge a client a hundred grand for that.”

Jack: “So we sell noise instead of meaning.”

Jeeny: “No. We package meaning to look expensive.”

Jack: “Same thing.”

Jeeny: “Not if you want to keep your job.”

Host: Jack leaned back, exhaling smoke from a vape pen he never liked, eyes fixed on the ceiling lights. Jeeny scribbled something in her notebook, tapping her pen against the table — the rhythm of two people trapped in a system they understood too well to believe in.

Jack: “You know, Ogilvy believed in clarity. He said if you can’t explain it to your grandmother, it’s garbage. We’d all be unemployed if that rule still applied.”

Jeeny: “Maybe he never met a modern client. Today’s brief sounds like a philosophy dissertation written during a power outage.”

Jack: “Exactly. They want vision, but they speak in code. And everyone pretends to understand, so no one looks dumb.”

Jeeny: “It’s an economy of fear, Jack. You don’t sell ideas anymore — you sell appearances.”

Jack: “Which is ironic, because the one thing appearance can’t disguise is emptiness.”

Jeeny: “And yet it sells better than truth.”

Host: The rain outside grew heavier, beating against the glass, like a protest without words. The fluorescent light buzzed above them, casting a sterile halo around the two of them — warriors in a war of words that meant nothing and everything at once.

Jeeny: “Do you ever feel guilty? Selling language like perfume?”

Jack: “No. Perfume at least smells like something.”

Jeeny: “You’re impossible.”

Jack: “I’m consistent.”

Jeeny: “That’s worse.”

Jack: “Maybe. But at least I don’t pretend words like ‘innovative’ or ‘transformational’ still mean anything. They’ve been used so often, they’ve died of exhaustion.”

Jeeny: “Then why stay?”

Jack: “Because even if the language is fake, the intent behind it sometimes isn’t. Every now and then, someone in this mess still wants to make something that matters.”

Jeeny: “And that’s enough for you?”

Jack: “It’s enough to not quit.”

Host: For a moment, the office went quiet — just the rain, the faint hum of servers, and the weight of two people realizing that disillusionment was not the end of caring, but its last defense.

Jeeny: “You know what I miss? Simplicity. When ads made you feel something instead of decode something.”

Jack: “Yeah. Like the old Volkswagen one — ‘Think small.’ Four letters. Changed everything.”

Jeeny: “Now it’d be ‘Optimizing the compact driving experience for value-oriented consumers.’”

Jack: “That should be illegal.”

Jeeny: “So should half our clients’ slogans.”

Jack: “Don’t remind me.”

Host: Jeeny laughed, the kind of laugh that comes from recognizing absurdity and refusing to cry over it. Jack smiled faintly, his eyes softer now, tired but alive.

The city lights outside flickered, reflected in the glass walls, as if the night itself were mocking their industry of illusions.

Jack: “You know, maybe Ogilvy wasn’t just angry about the words. Maybe he was mourning what we lost — honesty.”

Jeeny: “Maybe honesty can’t survive in an economy built on persuasion.”

Jack: “Then maybe it’s time persuasion learned to be honest again.”

Jeeny: “You think people would buy that?”

Jack: “Only if we say it with the right font.”

Jeeny: “Helvetica?”

Jack: “Helvetica Neue Bold.”

Host: They both laughed, their voices cutting through the cold hum of fluorescent light, the sound warm, real, rebellious in its simplicity.

The laughter faded, but the truth lingered — that beneath all the jargon, branding, and strategy decks, there still beat the hearts of two people who wanted to communicate, not just sell.

Host: The camera pulled back, showing the empty office, the screens still glowing, the slide still frozen on meaningless brilliance:
“Leveraging Synergistic Paradigms for Holistic Brand Momentum.”

As the rain softened outside, Ogilvy’s words seemed to echo through the room, like an old ghost reminding new fools of what had been lost:

“Our business is infested with idiots who try to impress by using pretentious jargon.”

Host: And there, beneath the hum of screens and fluorescent honesty, Jack and Jeeny sat —
two souls in the ruins of communication,
speaking plainly,
and finally,
meaning it.