At work, we have a design department. We upload the client's logo and photos and so on, and the designers make it into a lovely ad and the client is happy, and I am happy. They are called "Creative" because everyone knows that pictures is more creativer than words is. (This has always puzzled me: the people who report on stuff are called "reporters" and the people who sell stuff are called "sales" and the people who work in Classifieds are called "classifieds" and the people who manage are called "management." But the people who design are called creative. Maybe I should demand to be called "awesome" because it is part of what I do. Maybe I should demand to be called "bullshit" (same reason.))
If the designers are pushed for time, waiting for copy, or just generally moody they can call us and ask for things earlier, better, different. They can demand our immediate attention. I have no problems with that. That is fair enough. And 90% of the time Creative get things done in a timely manner, and are polite and professional and easy to deal with.
But if they aren't, there's nothing we humble, uncreative old salespeople can do about it.
We can request changes, and call with questions, but we can't say "is there any chance this could be done more than an hour before deadline," and we can't say "this looks like something I could have made in MS Paint" unless we pretend it is a direct comment/instruction from the client said it and phrase it in very, very soft words. We are advised to massage the egos of the designers, because they are "creative types," and we aren't allowed to say or do anything that might ruffle their beautiful creative feathers, because they are lovely exotic birds which could at any moment take off, squawking creatively, leaving only a beautiful feather and a lingering smell of pretentiousness.
Sometimes this bothers me. Sometimes I think maybe I will go up and declare war on Creative. I will march up there with ugly logos and Photoshop disasters and brutal colour clashes and I will force them to look at these until they weep. Creatively, out of their ears. And then I will make them my slaves, and never have to wait a week for an ad proof again.