the time I almost Met Tom Petty

The first time I worked for Andy, I swore, “I will NEVER work for Andy again!”

The second time I worked for Andy, I swore, “I will NEVER work for Andy again!”

Summer of 2000, my future wife, Penny, and I returned from 4th of July in New York City to visit my sister Annie, her husband Ruben, and the twins. I was unemployed after TKO lost the Universal Studios Florida account. We barely got in the door when the phone rang. Maybe a job.

“Hello? Andy? What do you want? Glenn got shot? By his mother-in-law?” A brief pause. “Who’s Glenn? Oh. Tomorrow? Okay.”

I shared the bad news with Penny. “Yeah. I’m going back to Andy’s.”

Working for Andy looked good on paper. He was a genius graphic designer. Did the Bruce Springsteen Born to Run album cover. That level genius. His name’s on stuff you’ve seen. He went to art school and was fluent with all the traditional tools. The only reason he needed guys like me and Glenn was because we knew how to use a computer, which Andy didn’t. We were his hands, and nothing more.

Lucky for all of us, Glenn survived, and a few weeks later, he returned to Andy’s. I thought that meant I could leave. But Andy still wanted me there. I don’t know why. He never liked me. I never liked him. He used to mutter under his breath whenever I did anything wrong. And then I would say “what was that, Andy?” Followed by silence. I hated working for him. But it was a job, and it was the only one I had. No prospects on the horizon. I had a house payment, and a soon-to-be bride.

Time crawled forward, slowly of course, and one day Andy said, “hey, would you mind dropping off this mock-up at Tom Petty’s house on your way home?” I wasn’t an obsessive Petty fan like I am now, but I said “sure.” I called Penny, who was now my wife, to let her know I’d be home a little late.

“I need to drop something off at Tom Petty’s house. Sure, I’ll tell him you said ‘hi.’ You know him? How well? Oh, you DON’T know him. Okay!”

Andy said he’d call me on the way, just to confirm. I fired up the Guzzi and took the long way down to Malibu, over Topanga Canyon. When I reached the Pacific Coast Highway, it was night time. Winter time. Probably 48 degrees, which is cold on a motorcycle. No call from Andy. I called him. No answer. I kept riding down PCH towards Tom Petty’s house and gave Andy a call. This time, he picked up. “Thanks, you don’t have to go to Tom Petty’s house after all.”

The next day, I was at my Mac, thinking about how I’d almost met Tom Petty, when I decided to clean up the desktop. I hate a messy desktop. I dragged a lasso around everything, including the CLIENTS folder, and moved it all to the trash. Then I emptied the trash. Then I stopped and thought “holy shit” or something like that. To this day, I’m still not sure why I did it. Distracted by the fact that I didn’t get to go to Tom Petty’s house, and nothing fun ever happens at Andy’s? Who knows.

If only we had a backup.

So now what? The brave thing would be to march up to Andy’s desk and say “Hey Andy, I accidentally deleted the CLIENTS folder.” The worst he could do was fire me. No, that wouldn’t be bad. The worst he could do was make me come in on the weekend for the next ten years and recreate all the work. Or sue me. Or who knows what people do when you delete the CLIENTS folder.

The other thing I could do was just wait at my desk till Andy came over and said “Hey Louis, why are you crying?”

But there was a third thing I just thought of. Glenn was back, but just barely. They had to take out his spleen and completely rewire him. He might think that maybe he deleted the CLIENTS folder.

I marched up to Andy’s desk and said “Hey Andy, I accidentally deleted the CLIENTS folder.” He was hunched over whatever he was up to and didn’t even turn around. All he said was two words. The first one started with an “f” and sounded like “fun,” but not in this context. The second one was “you.” Not the letter “u,” the word “you.” You get my drift.

Turns out Glenn wasn’t as messed up as he seemed. At some point, he’d copied all the jobs to DVD’s. Saved. And the IT guy I called in to try and recover the files set us up with a tape backup system. Win win.

Lucky for me, 9/11 happened, and Andy moved his office up into the Ojai wilderness about 75 miles away. He figured the terrorists would hit LA next, and why be that far from his family? I only saw him a couple of times after that, when he had me ride up to his house so he could show me the right way to glue stars onto the Beauty and the Beast mechanical do-over because the one Penny and I spent all night throwing together was all wrong. I had an epiphany and realized I was having way more fun when the computers were down, so I started an IT business and a family of my own.

Now, nearly 25 years later, I don’t jump when the phone rings. Even if Andy somehow got my new number, I swear I won’t ever work for him again.