Nov. 20th, 2002

wickedflea: (Default)
One of our editors just forwarded the department this message from her sister, who's a lawyer:

-----Original Message-----

REAL, unaltered sentences from a client email I just received. He's encouraging me to hurry up and get him a draft of an agreement I promised him (at least I think that's what he's saying...what do you think?)...


"We are off to our national conference tomorrow. As I mentioned, this is our coming out party so we need to have our dicks lined up when we finish. I look forward to hearing from you soon..."
wickedflea: (Default)
nothing to see here, just venting about work busy-ness )

So what's the shittiest job you've ever had? I'll post about mine later on; I have to decide which one takes top honors!

[Poll #77133]
wickedflea: (Default)
I thought of another closing that I might start using just because it's goofy.

Dear Schweinhart,

Meet me in the conference room at 2 p.m. Bring your lederhosen and a pair of brass knuckles.

incense and peppermints,
Chris
wickedflea: (Default)
Incredible. When I was working in marketing last year I got a call from some dude asking all these questions about our company, starting with address and phone number and proceeding to who was in charge of this and that, and when our fiscal year ended and all that shit. After I got to a certain point, I thought, wait a minute--how do I know that this guy is who he says he is, and why did I get this phone call instead of someone else? And would I get in trouble for even answering these questions? So I hung up on the bastard.

He didn't call back right away--in fact he didn't call back for the rest of the day or the rest of the week. So I thought I was cool.

Until today. Here I am covering the desk for my biweekly hour-long stint. And I answer the phone and some guy starts asking me the same goddamn questions.

The moral of the story: no matter how good an idea it seems like, hanging up on troublesome people works only temporarily. You can change departments and even sit at other desks throughout the building, but these people WILL find you. And of course it will always happen during Random Question Week.

p.s. -- did I ever tell you about the cool phone message I got last year in marketing? Some guy who sounded like Velvet Jones called up and said that he was the manager of the newly remodeled Debonair Motel in West Haven, and he was looking to do some advertising. Sure, buddy. We'll put a coupon for 5% off your regular hourly rates right in the front of the Dershowitz book. No problem.
wickedflea: (Default)
I know this is a subject that I've covered in detail many times, but these New Englanders are some donut-loving motherfuckers. You would not believe how many people have asked me about Krispy Kreme. "So, you have Krispy Kremes down south, right? Are they as good as they say they are? Huh? HUH? C'mon, tell me all about 'em!" I'm like, I dunno, yeah, they're good and all, but they're just donuts! But these people are rabid. And they're all atitter now that Krispy Kreme is building its first stores in the area. Apparently the grand opening of the first one, up in Mass., was a total mob-ass nutty crowd scene. And now they've moved into the Greater New Haven area. Look at this shit! You'd think a Waffle House had opened or something. Mmmmm, Waffle House . . .
wickedflea: (Default)
So I was in Stop & Shop (a supermarket though it sounds like a quickie mart) and heard someone screaming like mad. I try not to rubberneck when I'm on the highway, but if there's some weirdness going down in a store or on the sidewalk, I'm gonna go get an eyeful. So I go to the front of the store and there's an obviously crazy lady screaming all kind of shit while at the checkout stand. I can't understand what she's saying, but it's obvious that she's yelling about everyday stuff--she's not even angry. And the cashier is just going about her business, scanning and bagging groceries.

"Damn," I thought. "I thought I was going to see somebody get decked."

So I go about my business. A few minutes later I went to the bakery area to get some bagels. And a few feet away, at the Dunkin' Donuts counter, was the crazy woman, decked out in some way-too-small shorts (keep in mind that it's freaking COLD up here) and making small talk with the girl behind the counter (if you can really call anything conducted at 120 db "small talk")

"I have AIR CONDITIONING in my apartment. CENTRAL AIR CONDITIONING. I keep it FREEZING COLD in there in the summertime. I walk around in my UNDERWEAR in there. Is that GOOD? Yeah, that's GOOD!"

I sort of wish that I could be that free and open with my thoughts. You know, like maybe I could tell the bank teller: "I picked up a DOGBALL outside the drugstore the other night. And then, then next night, when I was DRIVING down DIXWELL, I goddamn CLOCKED someone on the SIDEWALK with it."

But man, they'd put me AWAY in no time. And this woman is walking around unmolested enjoying a Dunkaccino.
wickedflea: (chickendog)
I'm enjoying reading about everyone's shittiest jobs. I promise that I'll post about mine soon. I actually started writing on the bus ride home today, but the job I'm thinking of takes a while to explain.

Speaking of shitty jobs, my book idea is for a memoir kind of thing about my various shitty jobs. Actually, the real idea is to write about one long-running and recurring job (kind of a "they keep pulling me back in" thing), perhaps with interludes about other jobs. (I'm being very vague, and I know it sounds lame as I'm describing it in veiled terms, but trust me--there's a good book here.) But I'm having trouble getting started because all I want to do lately when I get home is collapse. I'm going to have to start writing anywhere and everywhere I get a chance--on the bus, at the library on lunch break, etc.--but the problem there is collecting all the random bits. I tend to do a lot of that kind of writing anyway, just about random stuff, and it always ends up crumpled up at the bottom of my backpack or getting lost in the many notebooks I have around. But the MAIN problem is that I can't decide how to organize it. It's going to be largely anecdotal, so I could group the stories by subject or chronologically. I lean toward chronologically because that would work best in terms of the progression of my life that I want to show, but I don't know if that would really be the strongest way. There might be dead spots in the narrative. And that's not really the way I remember all this stuff. It's a case where I think of one story and that makes me think of another that happened two years before the first and then that makes me think of something that happened five years later. Hmmm, I guess that could be a way to do it: just go from tangent to tangent. That would give the legions of graduate students who will undoubtedly study my work something to do: craft theses that claim that the labyrinthine structure of my book reinforces the chaotic events that I write about. But then again, it would confuse the househusbands who pick up the book just because it's the October selection of Montel's Book Club.

Man, I've got to learn to rein myself in. I start off talking about something serious and in no time I'm talking shit.

Anyway, I should know from experience that the thing to do is just to do it. I used to do this same thing in college: think and think and think about what I was going to write until I'd worked myself into a frenzy and left myself about a minute and a half to write a twenty-page research paper. That's not even the way I write! I can't write by an outline to save my life. For me, an outline is something you do AFTER you've written the paper, because how in the fuck are you supposed to know what you're writing until you've written it? Seriously, the way I do it, writing is thinking. I'm thinking as I'm writing and writing as I'm thinking. So how do you know beforehand? I dunno, maybe some people can. This is why I know that I could never be a good writing teacher--I know how I write, but I can't tell anyone else how to write, because it's personal and I only understand my way. And nobody taught ME how to write, so figure it out yourself, ya lousy bum!

Anyway, back to those college papers--it's still amazing to me that I was able to write papers that were at all comprehensible, but I did. The thing is that I never went through a revision process. There was none of this draft, revise, second draft, revise again stuff. When I got to the end of the paper I was DONE. And I wrote good papers. But it probably had something to do with the fact that I wrote so SLOWLY. Every sentence was hard work, and if it didn't follow from the previous sentence, I scratched it right then and there. So I guess it was more of a constant revising process than a draft/revision thing. Anyway, that's what I mean about "writing is thinking"--you write a sentence, gaze over it, figure out where it leads you, and go from there. Repeat as necessary. That's how it worked for me, anyway.

Great jumpin' thingfish of love, how did I get here from shitty jobs?
wickedflea: (Default)
I hated Requiem for a Dream. I thought it was overblown and ridiculous. It was visually stunning, of course, but I still gave it a solid thumbs down. But I know a lot of people liked it. So convince me.

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