Scary Stories for Marketers
The Curse of the 10 PM Slack Message
It seemed like just a normal Thursday evening when Jessica gently pressed the sheet mask to her face and sipped her 750th milliliter of Vinho Verde. That’s when she heard it come in: the 10 PM Slack message! Is a client unhappy? Did a task go unfinished? Does she check it now, or (gasp) wait until the morning?
It was 5:03 PM and Jessica had just finished the new website graphics for John Barley’s Corn and Bunion Removal.
She double-checked every image, making sure the corns were the perfect shade of puce, the bunions appropriately jutty, and each task complete.
She powered down her computer and started packing up her purse when she heard footsteps in the hallway.
“Quittin’ time?” Caleb asked as he passed by the design room.
“Yeah! Getting out on-time today. Well, sort of.”
“Do dank work,” Caleb replied, tongue out, left hand making the shaka sign.
Jessica had stayed late all week, pouring herself into her bunion graphics while being pestered with additional tasks. But she was finally finished. It was time to celebrate.
At home, Jessica slipped into a warm bath, her bottle of Vinho Verde safely nearby. She sipped the cool, crisp, mineral wine, her feet hidden beneath a blanket of bubbles so as not to remind her of corns, bunions, or John Barley. She was deep into Glennon Doyle’s Untamed when she heard a sound.
Plink.
“It must be the neighbors,” she told herself. She had set her Slack to “Do Not Disturb” and left her phone in the living room.
But soon after, there it was again.
Plink… Plink.
It was coming from inside the house. Tentatively, Jessica climbed out of the bath.
Plink.
Wrapping her towel around her body, she took a deep breath. Slowly, she made her way to the living room.
PLINK.
There, on the table, her phone glowed eerily in the dark. 7 missed messages. Trembling, Jessica picked up the phone.
“Yo yo, Jessica. Can you mock up a few more corns? Wanna give Brad options. Can this be done by 10 AM?
Yo?
Jessica?
Yo, you there?
Yo?
Yo?
Yo!”
Brad would not receive additional corn options. For Jessica had died.
The Pitch That Broke Her
Sam thought it was a good idea: who doesn’t love dogs in suits? But as steely silence befell the room, only to be broken by the client’s incredulous “huh?”, Sam realized it was, in fact, a bad idea. Haunted by the “huh?”, Sam has never been the same.
Sam thought it was a good idea: who doesn’t love dogs in suits? But as steely silence befell the room, only to be broken by the client’s incredulous “huh?”, Sam realized it was, in fact, a bad idea. Haunted by the “huh?”, Sam has never been the same.
Sam was amped up for the big pitch she had been preparing for all week for her marketing agency’s newest personal injury client, Preston Tyson’s Tragedy Profitiers. Inspired by their attire, Sam thought a dog in a suit would be the perfect choice of mascot to add a fun face to their brand.
The moment of the pitch arrived and Sam took a deep breath.
“You’ve got this,” she reassured herself. “Your idea is going to knock ‘em dead.”
As she walked Preston Tyson and the Tragedy Profitiers through the key components of her doggie character, Patrick the Personal Injury Pomeranian, and why four paws and a furry face are the ideal way to lure in clients haunted by loss, a steely silence befell the room.
Sam was thrown by their blank stares. Was there something in her teeth?
As she stuttered her way through the rest of the pitch, finally arriving at a rambling conclusion about slip-and-fall injuries and vegan dog treats, one of the Tragedy Profitiers managed to emit a confused, “Huh?”
Unable to regain her composure, Sam unraveled. She had been so sure of her idea. Everything she knew to be true was a lie.
Preston Tyson, et al. looked on in horror as Sam’s pent-up existential dread was exorcised from her chest. A tidal wave of grief emerged from the depths of her psyche and a guttural wail conveyed her overwhelming sense of failure before finally stopping her heart.
Sam learned that day that dying inside can actually lead to real, physical death. She was pronounced dead at 5:03 PM as her coworkers left for happy hour.
In a chilling turn of events, while sipping top-shelf Balvenie, Preston Tyson and the Tragedy Profiteers accepted Sam’s posthumus pitch and went on to achieve great success in the wrongful death industry, with Patrick the Personal Injury Pomeranian as the face of their lucrative empire.
The Zoom Mic That Went Unmuted
It was a day like any other: Michael was working from home, meeting with clients over Zoom, when suddenly that morning’s coffee decided it was time for him to go. He thought he could be discreet and stay alert to the meeting. But his mic had other plans…
Michael liked working from home. Struggling with self-diagnosed social anxiety after learning about it in a #Wellness TikTok rabbit hole, Michael felt that working from home made interactions with others easier. Plus, he got to wear his soft pants and start each day with a hearty breakfast and a leisurely pour-over coffee or two.
Michael’s favorite client was Randy’s Razor Scooters and Shaving Razors As Well, in part because he had a big crush on Randy Razor, Randy’s Razor Scooters and Shaving Razors As Well’s Founder, President, CEO, and sole employee.
Michael’s last meeting of the day was with Randy Razor and, though he knew he had consumed one too many pour-over coffees and was pushing it, he couldn’t resist looking at Randy’s beautiful face any chance he got.
As he logged onto their scheduled Zoom call at 5:03 PM, he felt a flutter in his tummy. He hoped it was just butterflies.
The meeting commenced, but as Michael ran through Randy’s Razor Scooters and Shaving Razors As Well’s social and website analytics, something began running through him, too. A loud clap of thunder shook the house, a harbinger of what was to come.
“I have to duck out for a minute. Left my car windows open!”
Michael hated lying to his crush and client, Randy Razor, but he couldn’t possibly tell him the truth. Michael shut off his camera and muted his mic.
But little did Michael know, the mic wasn’t muted.
Michael brought his computer into the bathroom with him, unable to tear his eyes away from Randy Razor. With his camera and mic muted, he could privately enjoy Randy’s face as his homemade McGriddle, enraged by his premium Columbian pour-over, fell out of him in a hellstorm of his own making.
“Beautiful,” Michael remarked once the storm had finally subsided, still staring at Randy’s face.
“Michael, is that you?” asked Randy. “Are you okay? That sounded terrible. I can almost smell the sound.”
“Oh my god,” Michael whispered.
But little did Michael know, he didn’t whisper “oh my god” at all. He had already died.
Fatal Grammer
Jamie really wanted to please his fast-food client who needed a last-minute billboard ad for their kids’ meal promotion. Neglecting to go through the usual checks and balances, everyone driving by soon read the ad that was missing an important comma.
Jamie was desperately trying to prove himself. After the “100% Anus Beef” fiasco, he was in hot water with both his marketing agency’s fast-food client, Greasy Greg’s, and his copy editor, Gretchen. Now, Greasy Greg’s was in urgent need of a billboard advertising their new kids’ meal promotion that would go up tomorrow on Elm Street.
Jamie didn’t care much for Gretchen. She was always correcting him and bleeding the humor out of his writing, he thought. This time, he vowed to both redeem himself in the eyes of the client and sidestep Gretchen’s arbitrary authority by writing the billboard copy himself without going through the usual checks and balances.
He wrote carefully and deliberately, taking the time to ensure each word was spelled correctly. He read his work over until he was satisfied that there were no errors. Who needs a copy editor anyway when you’re already brilliant?
The next day, Jamie drove past the billboard displaying his masterful work. “Let’s Eat Kids!” the billboard read. He smiled to himself and walked into work with renewed swagger.
When he arrived, he could sense something was wrong. People kept giving him weird looks and whispering behind his back. Or was he just being paranoid?
When Gretchen confronted him about the error and his failure to follow procedure, he felt his face flush with rage. “Who cares about a missing comma?” he yelled while throwing a mug across the room, startling Gretchen and the team.
Jamie was promptly removed from his position as copywriter and a public apology was issued regarding the billboard.
Jamie went to a nearby cafe to apply for a new job. The misspelled wifi sign at the register read “free wife”.
“Where can I pick up my free wife?” he asked the barista. She cringed. Jamie felt his face flush again, this time with embarrassment. The typo was not his own, and yet, he was affected by it. He finally recognized how a grammatical error could ruin everything, including his chances with a cute barista.
That evening, he took a can of spray paint and made the treacherous climb up to the billboard on Elm Street. He painted in the missing comma, finally understanding the error of his ways.
Just then, a gust of breeze caught him off-guard and he lost his balance.
Jamie fell to his death at approximately 5:03 PM and serves as a stark reminder of the fatality of improper grammar.
The Dead Link
Click the link to learn more, she said.
But the link that she linked to was dead.
Click the link to learn more, she said
But the link that she linked to was dead
You should have made sure that it wasn’t a dud
Now the client will bathe in your blood
Click the link to learn more, she said
But the link that she linked to was dead
“Please don’t make me pay with my life!
Please, I’m somebody’s mother and wife!”
Click the link to learn more, she said
But the link that she linked to was dead
And though the marketer plead and plead
The client insisted on having her head
Learn this lesson and learn it well:
A dead URL links you straight to Hell!
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