The 11th hour
More like the 14th hour … that I’ve been at work. And it ain’t nowhere near over yet.
King Kumquat and I have had a couple of late-night chats tonight. Pussy Demure had a problem with a last-minute story I wanted to drop in this morning, and because she flagged it, he told me to pull it. He all but admitted that he never lay eyes on the damn thing, so I explained what it was and why I thought it was a good article to fill a large gaping space in the paper. I grudgingly got his blessing, but then chaos with the layout erupted and I had to pull the fucking thing anyway. He was pleased when I called him back to announce the serendipity.
He seems to be concerned that I am submitting the paper with nobody seeing it but me. Fuck, I still haven’t even seen the whole thing yet myself! But to delay it even a day means it won’t be printed for a whole ‘nother week, so fuck that crap. They’re having such a hard time trusting me, but it would be hard for them to trust anyone in this position. I understand that, but it’s difficult to explain that I have the paper’s, as well as the association’s, best interests at heart. And besides, if the paper’s jacked up, it’s my professional reputation on the line as well, so I am not about to shoot myself in the ass. Ergh. Thank Demure and her ridiculous nerves of paper, which rustle constantly.
Kumquat slipped out at 2 p.m. today. Lucky him. I’ll be fortunate if I leave before the employees come in. But if the paper ain’t to press by 9 a.m., we’re all happily fucked. Personally, once I escape my office, I am going home and praying that the publisher doesn’t have any problems with my 65 files that I am transmitting electronically. *sigh* Weep for me.