Today we had a new addition to hell on earth, an older Indian/Pakistani (/Taliban?) gentleman who is 65 if he is a day. Supposedly to work on graphics. Supposedly.
Seeing as one of us has flown the coop (damn you, 'Bama!) Grampa is more than likely his replacement. And I'm very sure he doesn't even know it. Let me tell you what's in store for our new geriatric co-worker:
A. Answering phones. This includes calls from irate customers who are charged for ads that never ran and subscribers upset about some girl whose forearm is too prevalent on pg. 42. This also includes calls which should have been picked up by Jabba the Hut upstairs, however Jabba is usually too busy scheming up new ways to make money by marrying foreigners to answer the phone. She's only the receptionist, after all. Why should she answer the phone?
B. Checking emails. These emails are ads, articles and images sent in for publication, a lot of times in the wrong format, and a lot of times from Bitch Boy who is too lazy to print his emails when he gets them--much easier on his delicate frame to send it downstairs and let the poor lackey handle it.
C. Dealing with Bitch Boy. The person in this position unfortunately has the added joy of working directly with Bitch Boy during deadline. He comes downstairs barking orders, re-organizing others' workstations, swinging his powerless dick around like Boss Hog...but we've covered this before (see previous post, "The Little Bitch Boy Who Cried, 'Daddy!'").
D. Handling shipping. Did you know that part of being a graphic artist or editorial assistant is packing up 30-40 bundles of magazine for distribution, and contacting a shipping company to come and get it? No? Well, you heard it here first.
E. Any other bullshit the 4 Horsemen can come up with. At any time, the duties may change without rhyme or reason. I just hope Grampy doesn't get a heart attack dealing with all the change.
Here's to 'Bama who was lucky enough to make it out. And here's to Grampa- I give him two months!
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The slope in the back...this is the area of the office which slopes, in several ways. In actuality the positioning of the desk and chair leaves you feeling like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, but also I speak of the actual job title vs. responsibilities. If you are unlucky enough to sit in the back chair at any point in your 'helping out', consider yourself done for. We've all sat in this ever-morphing position. We've come in as hired writers, editors, graphic designers, and Presidents of the United States of America to simply to end up as bizarro secretaries. Wait, that's even too generous of a title..what I mean to say is we end up as Assistant Lackeys. If by graphic designer you meant catering to every absurd whim and newly made up fancy of Stalin, Mousselini, Genghis Khan, and Castro (I think I reserve Castro for Queenie due to the uncanny resemblance). Fearsome foursome you've done it again, hired someone you can make into a monkey, now dance monkey, dance!.
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