Look, just give Bill Turlington a break, okay? The 35-year-old L.A. advertising executive is buried up to his neck in shit right now, and half an hour of peace and quiet is all he's asking for. Tormented by incompetent assistants, clueless clients, and the very real possibility of losing the MCI account, and, if you hadn't noticed, the ulcer-plagued Turlington is on the phone at the moment, so would you please get out? Now listen: Turlington has no idea where your scissors are. Use a goddamn penknife or something and allow him to finish his conversation, for God's sake. 