T H E    A G E N C Y
The team at Sage Island

Mike Duncan
Chief Executive Officer
Certified Google™ Advertising Professional
Yahoo! Ambassador

Each workday begins with eggs benedict and black coffee, followed by a shiatsu massage and 15 minutes of mantra and solitude. He then slides into the dark, finely knit and spit-shined trappings of a figurehead in corporate marketing — a colorful bow tie added as a tasteful expression of character. As the staff arrives, the rich fragrance of his morning cigar lets us know the honored captain is at the helm.

The truth:
Instinct… Humor… Likes old cars... Casual, but with excellent business decorum.

...........................................................................................

Mike Kujawski
Chief Technical Officer

Years of passion and savant-like performance in professional soccer have left the body in shambles, but the mind is exquisitely sharp. The daily programming work is pleasant exercise for the King, but the long evenings of String Theory are pure self indulgence, despite the benefit they’ll surely afford mankind. Called the King because of his clear mental superiority.

The truth:
Intelligence… Sarcasm… Kindness… Likes soccer because the interconnecting pentagons are “pretty”.

..........................................................................................

Ron Staton
Chief Financial Officer

With the musculature and bulky frame of a future football star, he was told at the age of 14 to suppress his growing interest in dance. Time and nature would soon make it clear to him that ballet was the sustenance of his soul and it could not be denied. By his early twenties and after endless hours of unguided study in the basement of his childhood home, he was moving his stout limbs with a measure of grace and expression never before achieved by the slighter men of dance. For 12 years, his ethereal performances thrilled ballet audiences around the globe and exploded the popularity of the art form. In 1993, he tragically leaped beyond the stage and shattered all ten metatarsals during a performance of “Daisies Alighted in Spring.” He would never dance again. Happily, a secondary talent for finance enabled him to parlay his dance earnings into a fortune that continues to multiply. Patronizing dance helps fill the void.

The truth:
Masculine… Married… Sharp southern businessman. Did I mention Masculine?

..........................................................................................

Adrienne Belk
Accounts Director
Certified Google™ Advertising Professional
910-509-7475 ext 1023

Adrienne is smart, and she dresses the part. Smart is her appearance, as she confidently sashays her way through the production area and into her glass office at the start of each day. Tall, slender and elegant, perhaps in an ash-grey linen business ensemble, with the precise crease of her long pant legs knifing silently through the imminent atmosphere of the office, minutes before the phones begin to ring. Everything is in place... her hair, the sharp line of her lipstick, a perfectly sized and coordinated bracelet, the printed labels on each perfectly organized client folder.

The day is a controlled whirlwind of strategic consultation, expertly crafted communications, client collaboration and ultimately, progressive marketing. It ends at 6:00.

The drive home is consumed with more strategic thought. “Do I run the single slicks or the double-rim slicks this weekend?” “If I take the sponsorship from Peterbilt, the chassis is light, but we’ll have to rework all the fiberglass on the body.” “But, we can always increase the boost pressure on the turbo waste gate.”

You would do well to put your money on her this weekend. Something rises within her when the pedal goes down, the baffle bursts open on the exhaust stack, and the giant turbo diesel engine turns hard rubber to hot black glue. Whether in a Kenworth or a Peterbilt, and with her little Chihuahua, Chi Chi by her side, she will be first across that line.

The truth:
Absolutely kind… Supportive… and really tall.

...........................................................................................

Amanda Rue
Account Executive
Certified Google™ Advertising Professional
910-509-7475 ext 1024

From their distance, the crowd can’t see the reflection of the ring of fire as it dances on the dark visor of her helmet. If they could, then they could focus past it and just barely make out the flames flickering in her pupils and the fierce grin across her face. She was human to them when She rode long wheelies before stands, helmet visor up. Now, visor down, throating the bike’s engine, poised before the ramp and the school buses and the ring of fire with her white patent leather costume reflecting yellow flames, she’s not a woman. She is a god. And because she knows she’s a god, she pops the clutch. She lifts and flies before them, the focal point of thousands of panning eyes, streaking through the summer night air, over thirty-five buses, passing through fire, landing in grace and glory, thrilling all.

The truth:
Gifted… Intelligent...plays a good game of golf.

...........................................................................................

Candace Hutchinson
Account Executive
Certified Google™ Advertising Professional
910-509-7475 ext 1014

The “hair band” days were wild. The hoarseness now in her voice betrays the true strain behind a record 563 “babies” screeched throughout the collected recordings of “Love Stallion.” The breakup of the band, an early mid-life crisis and growing concern for the plight of endangered animals led to an unprecedented transition into politics. Won the praise of scoffers and critics by creating a supernova of a state economy as Governor of Idaho. Also preserved hundreds of acres of critical breeding ground for the rare and endangered Banded Idaho Muskrat, directly leading to an amazing rebound in their population. Disappointed many by foregoing a second term, moving to North Carolina and joining the staff at Sage Island.

The truth:
Experience… Marketing Savvy… Excellent memory.

..........................................................................................

Kim Lannou
Account Executive
Certified Google™ Advertising Professional
910-509-7475 ext 1019

Wild blackberries as a viable alternative fuel source? Unable to secure support and financial backing for her idea but convinced of its merit, Lannou was forced to pursue it on her own. For many years, her yard was a blackberry farm, her living room a laboratory, and her garage a machine shop operated by her endlessly supportive husband. The press and the scientific community scoffed, leaving them to work in isolation. The rest is history, and now the world enjoys passenger planes, rail systems and large automobiles than can operate for days on the remarkably powerful essence of only a few small berries. The Lannou Farms and Refineries that now dot the globe are paradigms of industry, producing enormous economic and social benefit. Their only by-product is the pleasant, nostalgic scent of homemade blackberry jam.

The truth:
Smart… Organized… Courteous and can really dance!

...........................................................................................

Albert Jones
Senior Web Producer

At night, the jungle becomes like a warm, damp sponge, saturated with heat and musky, suspended drops of humidity. Deep in a cell of its dark center, AJ lay on his belly among the leaves, thinking not of heroism or even patriotism, but only the mission: elude the rebels and retrieve the hostage — alive. He is alone in his mission, and he is light on the ground with only his night-vision goggles, camo and a single blade. It is a mission of stealth and stealth alone. To him, the jungle is noisy… not with the cries of howler monkeys, but with the heavy breathing of unknown beasts and the constant hum of a million insects. His Special Ops training is second nature. At 0315, he makes his move, traveling beneath the subtle droning and respiration of the jungle. The sticks and leaves he treads upon make no sound. He is utterly silent, invisible, and he moves through the darkness like a ghost. The captors never wake. He lifts their captive into his arms and carries her away into the jungle, safe, sleeping.

The truth:
Utterly capable… Macintosh… Pithy… Nice.

..........................................................................................

Isuru Senagama
Graphic Designer

Struck by lightning while sitting atop his lifeguard stand one summer, he astounded witnesses by breaking into uncontrollable laughter. He later said it tickled. A physical examination revealed no internal or external bodily harm, though the clean hole through his right sandal confirmed the grounding of a direct strike. Doctors were amazed and Isuru enjoyed a bit of celebrity from some local press coverage. Later the same year, his carelessness with an electric shaver while taking a bath resulted in only a “nice, warm, fuzzy feeling.” Realizing he had something special, Isuru began a series of dangerous experiments with homemade lightning rods, jumper cables and power cords. They proved his freakish ability to withstand enormous amounts of electricity without consequence. This led to public demonstrations, television specials and fame and fortune under the moniker, “Electrogama.“ After a few years of success as an entertainer, he began to dislike being viewed as abnormal. He gave up his stage name, went to college to study graphic design and eventually joined the staff at Sage Island. He no longer showcases his rare tolerance for electricity in public… only at Sage Island office parties. On his desk, he keeps a small lamp with an empty socket to help “spark” creative design ideas.

The truth:
Talented… Friendly... and not from here.

..........................................................................................

Todd Marcinkiewicz
Graphic Designer

The life of a pro surfer is very similar to the life of a rock star; it’s something Todd and Ben often discuss. The partying, the women, the constant adulation and the over-inflated self-esteem. It ends in much the same way as well: the body no longer looks good in boardshorts or tight leather pants. Confusion and self-doubt set in when the constant adulation and fan worship stop. There is a reckoning with the truth of who you really are. The only thing to do is dig deep, rediscover yourself and make a new life. For Ben, that meant politics. For Todd, it was surfing-related poetry. Now recognized as the Poet Laureate of the surf world, his works poignantly express the exhilaration and the deep meaning in the sport and lifestyle of surfing. Though he earns his living by lending his works to surf advertising, he insists that his best pieces are always written in the sand, only to be washed away by the tides.

The truth:
Versatile... Quiet… Good surfer, but scared of big waves...A New Dad!

..........................................................................................

Jason Dudley
Web Programmer

There’s a Frenchman who’s famous for doing what Jason does. He’s famous because he focuses on huge skyscrapers, but as Jason puts it, “you only have to fall a storey or two to cash in your chips!” Freeclimbing for Jason is about quantity and variety, rather than altitude. His goal is to scale every structure in New Hanover County with only the use of his bare hands, a bag of talc and an array of spandex attire. No ropes, suction cups or carabiners — and no safety nets! Freeclimbing is illegal and, like the Frenchman, Jason has paid his share of fines and spent a few nights in jail. But he argues that there are additional risks involved with his style of climbing… “The businesspeople in skyscrapers are always cheering the French guy on. New Hanover County citizens in their private residences are anything but supportive when they see me climbing outside their windows or hear me dancing on their roofs.”

The truth:
Skilled… Conscientious... and very bald.

..........................................................................................

Brandon Rowlett
Systems Administrator

Brandon received no respect or adulation, even though his athletic grace and sixth-sense-like timing were on the level of a Michael Jordan. Competitive jumprope just isn’t fully-appreciated the way basketball and football are, and Brandon’s increasing age eventually introduced a new injustice to be suffered… ridicule.

Though the sport is open to all ages and genders and though he continued to push the boundaries of performance, audiences no longer recognized Brandon’s innate, unprecedented ability. Instead, they saw the questionable, ridiculous actions of a full-grown man leading an ostensibly all-teen-girl jumprope squad. Sadly, he began to see what they saw, despite his love for the sport. He was eventually forced out, and robbed of his identity in the process.

Why, if it was so ridiculous, was he born with such a unique gift? What purpose did it serve to be the greatest at something that would be ridiculed and denied to you by society? He lived under the oppression of these questions for nearly a year…

Until the night of the tornado. Raging freight-train winds deafened his ears and stripped the roof from his house in a horrifying instant. The moment it happened, he instinctively dove from the bed to the floor, deftly scooping one arm around the foot of the radiator to hold himself down against the skyward pull of the funnel. The pull slowly faded, the violent shaking of everything stopped and his body came to rest on the floor. The funnel passed, but powerful lightning continued to crack and large hail pelted him mercilessly. He crawled quickly through the ceiling-less hallway to the foyer. The front door was gone and he saw his nearest neighbor–elderly Ms. Heilsbury–standing in the light of her doorway and waving frantically for him to cross the street to the safety of her house. Just as Brandon thought to sprint towards her, the still-raging winds brought the power lines down between them. They whipped and crossed violently in the air, occasionally slapping the ground in a shower of orange sparks. It seemed hopeless, until he began to see a pattern in the erratic movement of the deadly wires. He almost began to smile as his lips mouthed the words… “silver buttons, buttons, buttons… all down her back, back, back…”

The truth:
Killer tech skills... stoic grace... an element of the comic...and now has a Mini

...........................................................................................

Melissa Clary
Marketing and PR

There’s a problem with Melissa, but luckily, it has proven to be a manageable one. It took a while to reveal itself. For the first few months, there were no red flags. She was simply a personable, gregarious, funny girl with excellent professional skills and a good fit for the dynamics of our agency. In retrospect, I remember that she wore tiny shell earrings to her interview and a subtle puka necklace sometime in her first week.

Sometime in the first month, a shell-scattered shoreline appeared as the background on her PC.

Midway through the first year, things were completely out of control. Shell earings, shell necklaces, shell sandals, printed shirts, coffee cups, pictures on her desk, a tattoo, sand on her office floor. She Melissad loose shells in her pockets. The last straw was a pungent horseshoe crab shell, scavenged from the beach and placed with care on the center of her bookshelf.

It was no small issue fit to wait for the 6-month employee review; it was a bizarre and unhealthy obsession that truly concerned us. There was an intervention, in which we learned that she sought the position with us almost solely because of our island theme. There was shouting, tears were shed and shells were thrown before she finally acknowledged and accepted her curious and sad condition. As they say, it was the first step in the journey to reclaim control of her life.

These days, Melissa is happy, and we have found ways to control the obsession that she will probably have for the rest of her life. The staff has agreed to do seafood at least once a week for lunch. There’s a shell wallpaper border beneath the crown molding in ladies room. The spare storage closet is now filled with bleached seashells and a small sandbox. At 10 and 2 each day, Melissa disappears. No one asks and we never discuss it.

The truth:
Funny… Sweet… Tough... a voice that carries.

..........................................................................................

Jana Spurrier
Office Manager

Moonlighting is usually frowned upon here at Sage Island, but Jana’s second career is such a service to society that it’s accepted and supported. The bail-hoppers and dangerous fugitives she helps bring back to justice would certainly have her focus on her day job. At just under 5’5” tall and pretty as a picture, her appearance is definitely not as imposing as that of other bounty hunters, but it gives her a strategic advantage: the ability to get close. Using her womanly wiles, she sidles up to the criminal, offers a flutter of her eyelashes and simple question like, “Would you happen to have the time?,” then drops them to the ground with a single left hook to the chin. A quick hog-tying, a call to the police and she demurely replaces the wedding rings removed from her left hand.

The truth:
Funny… Sweet… Tough... Punk Rock.

..........................................................................................

Nancy Ruffin
Accounting / HR

We call her, “The Falconer.” One day, as the entire staff was enjoying an outdoor lunch at one of the seafood houses along the Intracoastal Waterway, we noticed Nancy leaning back in her chair, staring straight up into the sky. Above, an Osprey circled high in the thin wisps of cirrus clouds. Her interest in the bird was obdurate and unusual. We tried to ask her why she was staring so intently, but she gave no response and kept staring straight up, one hand raised in a salute to shield the glare of sun. We collectively shrugged our shoulders and returned to our crabcake sandwiches and shrimpburgers. Moments later, we noticed a shadow circling around our table, quickly growing larger as it passed over each of us. A shrill cry from above caused us all to look up. The Osprey was circling down on us so swiftly that we all instinctively ducked for protection. The bird’s piercing cry came again, just above our heads, and we could hear the powerful swooshing of air beneath its wings. We all continued to duck… until the swooshing stopped and we heard Nancy’s gentle voice say, “There you go little bird.” We all looked up to see her calmly feeding hushpuppies to the large raptor, perched like a pet on the arm of her chair. It flew away in a great rush of wind and power and we all glared at her in utter amazement. “What?” she asked.

The truth:
Absolutely kind… Supportive… and pretty fancy.