Someone's comments got me thinking about which breed of dog would be Republican and which would be Democrat. Your thoughts?
I am home from work late, because apparently I go to the Monica Gellar School of Competitiveness.
Yesterday morning they called six of us into a meeting and gave us a new task that had very little to do with proofreading, which is good because very few of us were proofreaders. We were from all over my department. We were each assigned 200 pages and had to do stuff on said 200 pages that involved spatial relations and coming up with percentages and basically other than asking me to be an emergency room physician, you couldn't find something I am worse at.
(Marvin and I sometimes ruminate over what our worst job would be, and he likes to do his impression of patients coming in to my emergency room, with me flapping my hands. "OH MY GOD! Oh! My God! Is there anybody who can help this person!? I'm going to faint. You aren't going to barf, are you? I can't be around barfing. I HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE! STOP BARFING!")
At the meeting, I asked the person in charge when said task was due, and he said, "Yesterday."
Now, I happen to like deadlines. I thrive on deadlines. You give me a deadline, and I will KILL MYSELF to get the thing done before the deadline. But if you tell me something nebulous like "yesterday," you tell me that I have to go in a way-back machine, I will suddenly cease to care and I will handle the task like Butterfly McQueen.
Oh, look. Gone with the Wind.
The first thing I needed to do once I got back to my office was place a panicked phone call to my father. "They're making me DO MATH!" I whisper screamed. After he stopped guffawing, he tried to help. My father is very linear and scientific, so he makes fun of me a lot for not being so. He cannot spell his way out of a paper bag (he recently said, "Aren't 'Cooper' and 'copper' spelled the same?"), and I make fun of him for that, so we're even.
"You have to think of each page as a grid," my father began.
"Okay, you've lost me at 'grid,' " I said. "I can't think in grids. There are no grids in my head. In my head are laughter and flowers, father. Grids."
But you know what? Once I started thinking of each page as a grid, doing the whole percentage thing I had to do to each page was a snap. Why didn't someone tell me? Soon I was clipping along at my new task. After a few hours, I emailed one of the other people working on her 200 pages, and she had only gotten 20 pages done, and I had done 41. HAH!
This morning, one of my work pals meandered into my office. "So how's your project going?"
"Good! I got over 100 pages done yesterday!"
"A hundred! Great!"
"You finished yours, didn't you?" Oh, I hated him right then. How had he FINISHED? He got all TWO HUNDRED PAGES done in ONE DAY?
"Did you proofread each of the item numbers?" I asked him. "Did you highlight your changes in pale yellow? I thought we should do that, so they knew we made changes, yet the pale yellow would be easy to read against. Did you do anything like that?"
This guy is not a proofreader. He looked at me for a long time. "…No. I didn't do anything in any pale yellow, June."
Okay. So he did a sloppy, sloppy, careless, color-free job. Who cares if he got his stupid pages done, they clearly weren't going to be up to snuff.
About 4:00 p.m., he came back in. "So, have a good evening. Got plans?"
"Did somebody else finish?" I asked. What was WITH these freebasing coworkers? Sure enough, he told me someone else got ALL 200 PAGES done. And she was someone I know would have done a really thorough job. She probably even highlighted.
And this, folks, is why I stayed till all hours and worked like a banshee and got that stupid task done. No one was gonna show ME up. Well, two people showed me up. BUT NO ONE ELSE!
Now I'm gonna knock over a can and get me some turkey.