A kinder, gentler iMarc V. 2.0 (more on the air horn actually)

It's the dawn of a new era, what we half-jokingly refer to as iMarc 2.0 around here. In the past year we've instituted uniform code and development standards, retooled and upgraded our web hosting infrastructure, hired and integrated some excellent new associates, and we're expanding our offices into the adjacent building even as we speak.

We've also taken our own marketing and brand to a new level, won a bunch of awards for our work, and landed some really excellent projects for some companies You Have Heard Of, and a couple that you will. So things are going really well here. It's a new day.

But that's not what this is about, today. Today is about love, compassion, consideration. Today is about the Golden Rule, and I am not talking about the one where the guy with the gold makes the rule. Today I'm talking about the by-now-dreaded air horn.

The History

Nick is actually the father of the air horn here at iMarc. When we landed a new project we'd go to the window and blow it into the plaza and once in a while scare the bejesus out of a passerby 3 floors below, purely by accident, natch. Somewhere along the line I started blowing it inside. That was marginally OK for the folks that knew it was about to light off, less-so for the folks in the next room. That esclated into ninja-style sneak attacks, tiptoeing up the stairs, pointing it around corners, letting 'er rip. That was funny the first 20 or so times I did it (to me), but in the process the jubilant air horn became a source of fear and dread. The celebration had gone arwry, purely my doing.

First I thought the solution was multiple air horns, to level the playing field with the entire staff, and so I bought one for each room, sprinkled them about. But the horn and the aural carnage it wrought had spread too much fear. In self defense, the developers rounded them all up and hid them in plain site, on the mantle above the fireplace in their room.

The Last Hurrah

We were aware of that fact a couple of weeks ago when Karin, Robert and I were on our way back from a client meeting where we landed a really big, really excellent project. We had the air horn(s) on our minds, let me tell you, and the quandary of how to get them out from under the noses of the 6 developers in the room was an obstacle that had to be overcome. We hatched a plan in the car, involving the worst sort of treachery.

We stopped at the Alden Merrell store on the way home and bought an enormous carrot cake. We put on long faces and trooped up the stairs, said the client was 'still mulling it over' and I made up some story about needing a cheesecake for myself and so I bought a carrot cake for us all to share. Rob lay in wait in my office below the developer room while I lured the developers out of their lair and into the kitchen, with cream cheese icing. Who could resist?

It worked, mostly, although the sharp-eyed Will Bond actually noticed that two of the air horns had suddenly gone missing. We professed ignorance, finished our cake and went back down to my office. The master stroke (and the end of the Air Horn Terrors) was what came next. In a moment of maniacal genius, (if I do say so myself) I got on the intercom to everyone's phone, and blasted the air horn into my phone, while Rob aimed one up the stairs, simultaneously blasting *everyone* right out of their chairs, right through their phones, a foot from their heads, all at the same time. It worked perfectly, I am now ashamed to say.

We had gone a bridge too far. It wasn't funny anymore, and in fact it was making our hard-working crew a little annoyed at the biz dev team. Not a good habit to get into.

Takin' It Back To The Old School

So we've resolved to turn over a new leaf, but not before I Got Mine, when Karin landed yet another project, snuck down the stairs in front of my desk with Rob and gave me a taste of the air horn's mighty wrath. When my adrenaline headache finally subsided and I managed to work my heart back down my throat, it was mutually decided that henceforth we would revert to blowing the horn out the window, only we're going to wait till there are no passerby. No, really.

So it's 6:19 and I am awaiting a signature page from the Museum for African Art, who have awarded us a really cool and interesting project tonight. Thank you folks. As soon as I see that fax, I'm headed for the window, I promise.

This is iMarc, version 2.0. A kinder, gentler iMarc.