“Don’t kill the vibe, Graham,” Sadie trawled.

Vibe? The vibe? How does one go about killing a vibe? Do vibes have sentience now? Can you take the consciousness from a vibe? What the fuck even is a vibe?

God, Graham hated hipsters, and as someone who worked in advertisement, he was becoming increasingly surrounded by them, because, apparently, all young media students are hipsters.

Sadie was a prime example of one. She was young, barely out of her degree, bright and, as of yet, brandishing an unbroken spirit, but she still somehow talked in unwavering monotone; carrying every word to its grave, letting it take its last lifeless breath still on her lips. It wasn’t that he actively hated her just... no, no there was definitely some active hatred.

They’d been spitballing ideas for a car advert, which, since the office had been transformed into a children’s clubhouse at some point during the last five years, was taking place sat on bean bags, using the process of throwing a small blue bouncy ball at each other. Graham had finally received the ball and simply proposed it might be an idea to actually mention the car they were trying to sell at some point during the advert, be it before or after the explosion of multicoloured balloons and montage of all the different countries the balloons had escaped to. Even just for a second. Right at the end. A quick photo of the car. It wasn’t a lot to ask of, well, a car advert.

“You see Graham,” Harry proposed, leaning forward on his purple beanbag, propping his elbows up and weaving his fingers together in a ‘power stance’ Graham was sure would’ve looked much more impressive at a table. “We’re trying to sell the message.”

If Graham believe in a God he would’ve called on him to give him strength. That was the first half of the golden line -

“Yah, yah,” Nathan added, “the car will sell itself.”

There it was! The second half! Graham resisted the urge to slap his hands either side of Nathan’s face and shout “No! No! That is what YOU are paid to do.” He did it in his head. It didn’t give him the level of satisfaction he was hoping for.

“Hmmph,” was what he actually said. Even less satisfaction.

What got to him most about these hipsters was the condescending way they spoke to him. He could put up with the golden lines. The bizarre storylines of adverts that never featured the products they were selling. Even the Monday morning Starbucks Frapa-choo-choo train, though it physically pained him, was something he was prepared to see as the way the office was changing. But the patronising? Graham was a forty-six year old man. He’d worked in advertising before some of these kids had popped out of the womb! He’d done his time in the retail industry, selling products to the public, learning what people wanted, what they needed, what made them go “wow” - the features that needed featuring. These kids didn’t know anything of the sort, they were just concerned with making pretty, Instagramable videos. With his expertise, he should be leading them, not being told what to do.

That’s it. Graham was up from his beanbag with a start.

“It’s clear what you all think of me,” he said before he really knew what he was doing. He needed to be careful, he was pretty sure Nathan’s dad was the director of the company or some such thing. “But I’ve been in this industry longer than you’ve all been pottering about this Earth and I think I deserve some respect.”

The three hipsters just looked at him. Probably a little stunned by his outburst. They were all pacifists, he was sure, did that mean no conflict or just no violence? Was it like the peace equivalent of vegetarians or vegans?

“Well, I’ve thought about it. You come up with your advert, and I’ll come up with mine. We’ll present them both, and the best advert wins.”

“Graham,” Sadie retorted, “you really have killed the vibe now.”