I�d like to kick things off today by revisiting an old habit: namely, the one where I begin an entry with a rant completely unrelated to the rest of the ensuing content. Have any of you seen this ludicrous Jack in the Box commercial where people at a wedding reception are leaving messages for the bride and groom on the wedding video, talking on and on about the food, which it then turns out was provided by "Uncle Jack" (none other than the eponymous Jack from the Box, himself)? I hate that commercial. First of all, if I ever had a wedding that was catered by Jack in the Box, I would shoot myself in the head before my mother had a chance to do it for me. Secondly, if my loved ones seriously wasted my entire wedding video on messages about the food, I wouldn�t speak to any of them ever again, especially if that food had been provided by Jack in the Box.
And now that I�ve gotten that out of my system, let�s forge ahead, shall we? Life continues to be made difficult in places it need not be by the East Coast Cabal. I don�t know how they do it, but they manage to take the most benign and innocuous happenstance and turn it into the freaking Cirque du Soleil. It defies any understanding, the process by which they build their mountains from our molehills.
The latest of their acts of contortion involves a theoretical email file, containing the electronic addresses of all the various contributors we�ve dealt with in the past month or so. You will please take note of the qualifying adjective �theoretical�, as this file does not exist. Sophie merely implied in a staff meeting this week that in certain cases, email addresses were being taken down. She did not say �accrued into a report�, she did not say �forwarded to the client�, she did say anything other than that, in some cases, email addresses were being �taken down�.
Anna took that statement and ran with it like she was thirty yards out from a Heisman trophy, and she spiked that statement right into the Twilight Zone. Based on Anna�s bizarre interpretation of that statement, she and Circe began informing all of our clients that they would be receiving comprehensive reports containing contributors� email addresses. This was never confirmed with Data Entry, myself, or Sophie, mind you. And today, when we uncovered the situation and attempted to clear things up, Circe and Anna freaked out and demanded that we go back and dredge up all the email addresses, compile them into a report, and send the reports out, "Ay-sap".
It is interesting how every hot-button issue they stumble across always entails oodles of work on our part. Just now, for example, Anna sent me an email, asking me to provide an extremely detailed accounting of how I keep track of all open-ended issues around here, since my primary function is that of a trouble-shooter across the board. Anna doesn�t need to know this. All Anna needs to know is that all of her issues are getting dealt with (well, the job-related ones, anyway; she�s got plenty of issues, let me tell you, that can only be dealt with by a trained professional with more than one degree in the study of human behavior). And yet? I just wasted fifteen minutes of my afternoon giving her a detailed synopsis of my system.
We make quite a team, Anna and I. The big joke going around prior to the "creative" "meeting" was that we would hit it off instantly and be best friends forever. Quite obviously, this did not happen. In fact, I think I would rather have a wedding catered by Jack in the Box than hang out with Anna.
Even if it meant getting shot in the head.
Someone Got Here By Searching For: bite care I�m Watching: The Friends finale. It was heartfelt and hilarious�if by �heartfelt� you mean �schmaltzy�, and by �hilarious� you mean �predictable�. And: Futurama. Not as heartfelt, but twice as hilarious.