by way of annoncer
My dear people, I am very pleased and grateful to say that I now have a job.
Or possibly more accurately, I have been told that if I come to the same place every day from 9 am until 5 pm I will be given rent money plus some benefits that will come in handy should I collapse while working.
Scary to think of me in the working world, primarily because I believe I have a great number of illusions about the working world. Like, once I gain their respect I can wear as many cleavage shirts as I so desire. Or, no one will give a damn about my hairy armpits. Or, because I'm a reasonable and capable person, no one is going to yell at, throw things at, or generally disrespect, moi. Or, because I'll be working for women, one of them a self-declared feminist even, the situation will be most likely simpatico (meaning, hopefully, clear expecations, reasonable demands, a reduced likelihood of demeaning, unnecessary, and time-consuming tasks, or in the event of such tasks, a shared sense of the ridiculousness of humanity's lapsed ability to optimize working environments; i.e. copy machines and fax machines should have been turned into coffee dispensing, lunch/drycleaning fetching, mood-sensitive robots a LONG TIME AGO). The ladyfriend's own situation at the Agglomerate of Canards and Legal Ululation will attest to instability of the previous hypothetical.
But perhaps my most cherished illusion: now I can help to publish the work of my talented and beloved friends!
Or possibly more accurately, I have been told that if I come to the same place every day from 9 am until 5 pm I will be given rent money plus some benefits that will come in handy should I collapse while working.
Scary to think of me in the working world, primarily because I believe I have a great number of illusions about the working world. Like, once I gain their respect I can wear as many cleavage shirts as I so desire. Or, no one will give a damn about my hairy armpits. Or, because I'm a reasonable and capable person, no one is going to yell at, throw things at, or generally disrespect, moi. Or, because I'll be working for women, one of them a self-declared feminist even, the situation will be most likely simpatico (meaning, hopefully, clear expecations, reasonable demands, a reduced likelihood of demeaning, unnecessary, and time-consuming tasks, or in the event of such tasks, a shared sense of the ridiculousness of humanity's lapsed ability to optimize working environments; i.e. copy machines and fax machines should have been turned into coffee dispensing, lunch/drycleaning fetching, mood-sensitive robots a LONG TIME AGO). The ladyfriend's own situation at the Agglomerate of Canards and Legal Ululation will attest to instability of the previous hypothetical.
But perhaps my most cherished illusion: now I can help to publish the work of my talented and beloved friends!
posted by Who's the dourest of them all? at 13:05
9 Comments:
Hurray for you! What will you do there? do you know?
This IS wonderful. Ah, money. And I'll be happy to disperse tips on getting through the 8-5 day (though I'm sure your lady has some too). Feminists should help.
rule number one: An organized desk is the mark of an employee with nothing to do. I prefer the pile memorization method of organization. As long as you can pull out whatever you need out at a second's notice, they never question it.
P.S.
I had a dream about you last night.
yay! I am so pleased.
Also, will you have access to piles of books published by place?
YAY, ts! Congratulations, woo hoo, and all that. You totally rock and rule.
NU: Everything! I'm still figuring it all out, and have the feeling that will be the case for at least a year.
Mrs. P: Not too much money to worry about spending or saving, but I'll be well challenged.
JD: Quel sort de dream?
BM: Thanks dude!
Do you think this and the cannibalism dream are at all related?
Where have you been? Has the publishing vortex consumed you already?
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