Lately in my office there has been a person who bears the mien of a stressed out high-school yearbook asst. editor. OMG I AM FREAKING OUT THIS DEADLINE IS BIGGER THAN THE 7-11 BIG GULP I TOTALLY JUST BROUGHT INTO THE OFFICE!!!!! LOOK AT ME!!!!! The main quality of this phenomenon is wasting huge amounts of time while nominally working sew hard but actually just flirting or eating or going for stressed-out walks or farting great ghosts of yesteryear into mine atmosphere. It’s the kind of thing where they’re like “OMG I WAS AT THE OFFICE UNTIL 400,000 A.M. LAST NIGHT” and I wonder to myself in the voice of Peter O’Toole how many of those late-night hours were actually spent accomplishing anything.
also there is a lot of need-/endless collaboration with other people with their heads up their own or each others’ asses. OK OK OK GUYS GUYS I GOT IT. WHAT IF THE…. FIRST PAGE…HAD A BUNCH OF, LIKE “ZAPF DINGBATS…. UM… OH MY GOD THIS DEADLINE IS SO UNREASONABLE AND CRAZY!! I’M SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD!!!!!
More grouchville: if you are a copyeditor and copyediting something for someone for the first time DON’T RIP IT TO SHREDS JUST TO PROVE HOW SMART YOU ARE. This is not helpful at all. This is like bringing a vest to be drycleaned and then getting it back and the lady is like I RIPPED ALL THE POCKETS OUT AND DREW PICTURES OF STING’S DICK ALL OVER IT BECAUSE YOU SAID YOU WERE GOING TO BE DANCING IN THIS VEST AND HAVING THINGS IN YOUR POCKETS WHILST DANCING IS DANGEROUS PLUS STING IS AWESOME. LOOK LADY IF I WANTED THE POCKETS RIPPED OUT I WOULDA TOLD YOU SO!!! GHOSTFART!!!
other things were pissing me off, too, I can’t remember. Some news item about bacteria in your inner elbows. Seriously, whatever, peanut butter straight from the jar. I have switched to drinking only Racer 5, I no longer muse musingly at the bar. I order my beer and pour it into my giant fucking face. I got one or two of those coming at me in an hour or so. Friday. I also got a tattoo of Sting on my dick, see below for details