Remembering 9/11
September 11th 2001 was a big deal for me: I had my first client meeting at the advertising agency I had just started interning for in Moscow. I was entering the final year of my first Master’s degree (I liked the experience so much that I went for another one after that) and the first semester was dedicated to getting some working experience: in my case, that meant a long-term internship in a leading Moscow advertising agency, seeing as I spoke the language and everyone wanted to go to New York — less people chose Moscow.
September 11th specifically was a key moment, because it was the first time I would go with the rest of the accounts team to meet our client, a leading car manufacturer, in their offices. They had chosen to work out of their factory, 20 or so kilometers away from city center, so getting there alone in 2001 Moscow traffic could take a while. Getting back too. This was somewhat strategic for me, as I was hopefully going to help in the relationship between agency and client, seeing as the client was French, the marketing director was French (and an alumni of the second school I would later get a Master’s degree from, because everything is connected in life)… and I was French. Also, I was 20 looking 15, so I wanted to do my very best to convince everyone I belonged there. No matter how uncomfortable I felt in my suit.
It took about 2 hours to get there, the meeting lasted about that, the way back — a little more. The discussion itself was cordial: turns out the entire client team was pretty great, which boded well for the projects to come. I didn’t quite know it yet, but the next few months would have me shoot a TV commercial in the Moscow winter snow, spend nights in the studio with the agency’s creative director working on post-production and ultimately having the satisfaction to see our ad play on TV — with strong feedback across the board. On September 11, however, I was simply content with the thought that no one asked what that kid was doing in the room.
By the time we got back into the city, it was already past working hours: I went straight home, which actually happened to be the place of my agency’s big boss, who’d graciously agreed to house me until I found my own place (not an easy task in Moscow, then or now). He was an English-speaking Canadian who would have felt perfectly at home in New York, except he’d chosen to go to the Far East and lead a more adventurous life instead. When I entered the flat, my roommate of sorts was staring at the TV, with a look of shock I’d never seen on him. As he was both my boss and my host, I very prudently enquired as to what may be the reason of his demeanor: he simply pointed to the screen.
That’s when I first saw the images of the Twin Towers coming down. And I stopped talking too.
PS. In case you ever wanna find out more, I wrote an entire book about it. Not that day, mind you — that would make for a rather boring and/or short book, but my life in and around Russia…