Every morning I rise before dawn, stumbled bleary-eyed to the shower, get dressed, take my “vitamins,” ride a shockingly overcrowded train up to Grand Central (it’s 6:30, where the hell are all you people coming from?), walk over to the office, smoke a couple of cigarettes under the scaffolding while trying to read the Times, lumber into the elevator, open the office, turn on the lights, get my browser going, and start planning what’s going to happen on the website that day. Throughout the day I’m faced with various pitches, questions, meetings, disgruntlements, and constant reminders of my inadequacies as a manager, not the least of which is my inability to convince my employees that they need to be in by noon. (I’m not crazy, right? Noon isn’t an irrational, overbearing hour to ask for, is it? Do people complain, “That dick told me I had to be in by noon.”?) By the time 5 P.M. rolls around I’m a battered shell who just cant wait to tuck into a bottle of bourbon and pass out in front of the A.C. And then the moon rises and falls, the alarm clock buzzes, and I do it all again.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
These Are The Days Of Our Lives
This blog post made me LOL, as they say, but I think my friend needs a vacation. Balk, I hear the Sandals resorts are lovely...