I’m gonna tell you about this day.
I work with a person who is just great. She’s so organized. Last week, on the 9th, whenever that was, she said, “June, next Tuesday, Ima need you all day long. I’ve already gotten the permissions and go-aheads and blessings and the Pope has been here to wave his hand around.”
OK, I said. Then on Friday, whatever day that was, I said, “We’re still on for Tuesday?”
“Yep. All day. If you can’t get it done Tuesday, you have till Wednesday morning to finish up.”
I reminded the other copy editors yesterday. “I’m on an all-day project tomorrow, don’t forget.”
When I woke up this morning, my first thought was, Somebody’s gonna give me work to do even though I have an all-day assignment. I was psychic or something. I was Dionne Warwick. And sure enough, when I logged on today, there were already several messages. “June, can you do this?” “Hey, June, this here’s for later today.” “June?” “Say, June.” “Oh, Juuuuuune…”
And so on.
I kept having to write back. “Just a reminder that I’m booked ALL DAY today.”
There’s a scene in Sex and the City, where Charlotte calls Samantha, and Samantha says, “Charlotte, I told you. I’m going to be masturbating. ALL DAY. I told you I’d be doing that.”
I kept thinking of that every time I sent that message.
So anyway, the organized person sent me the work when she said she would, and did I mention she’s a dream? She sent me the Very Large Assignment, and let me tell you it was large, Marge. And detailed. I was working on it all day. I told you I’d be doing that.
So I started, and I worked, and I wrote, “I’m booked ALL DAY” messages as they came in, prodding at me via email and our chat feature and a singing telegram from a singer dressed as Chef-Boy-Ar-Dee. I worked through lunch, and I worked through dinner.
At 5:30, when a normal person might be winding down for the day, there was a knock on my door. “You got the paint?”
It was my neighbor. I’d forgotten that this was the day he was coming to start to paint my porch ceiling. So I got out the paint and the brushes and the tape and the tray and the Pope and the Chef Boy-Ar-Dee.
We dragged the furniture off the porch, and he undid the fan from the ceiling, and I washed the blades and then I ran back in to keep working.
I got a message. “Can you finish the work tonight?”
Tonight? I thought I … I thought I had till morning. Oh, dear.
Just then, PING!
A reminder that I had my trainer in 10 minutes. SON OF A …
I spoke to the person in charge of the work I was doing. “Oh, do your trainer,” she said. “It’ll help your energy. Can you get the work done by 9:30?” I really like the person in charge of the work, and my job so rarely asks me to work late, so I said OK. I worked out with my trainer, and taking my delicious water back to the laptop, I began working again.
“Hey, June, do you have a rag?” asked the guy who was painting my ceiling.
I got a rag.
“I just need a bucket.”
I got the bucket. I also kicked the bucket, so stressed was I. Elizastress, I’m comin’ to join ya, honey.
Oh, SON OF A FUCKING …
I had a DATE tonight. A DATE. We were supposed to meet up and I’d 100% forgotten. I told him what was happening over there, as I tried to copy edit and message him at the same time lest I miss my 9:30 deadline.
Oh, lort. There goes the end of that fairytale romance. And the princess had proofreading, and they lived happily estranged forever.
So that’s rescheduled, allegedly, and I just settled down to panickedly return to work when
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK
WHAT? WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT?
“Hello, June, I’m the camera doorbell person you scheduled for this time 20 days ago back when life was sedate.”
And that is when I ran an ax clean across my own head.
I got rid of that guy, returned to my work, and after a relaxing 13-hour day I uploaded the job.
It wouldn’t upload.
I tried again.
It wouldn’t upload.
I took the ax out of my head and tried again, ready to weep.
Finally I sent it a different way and the person in charge of the work got it, and wrote me back five minutes later.
“It came through all messed up. Can we go through it together?”
Before I was able to go out and throw myself off a building, she wrote back. “Oh, it came through okay the second time! Thanks, June!”
And that is my day so far. It’s only 9:43. Any number of other things could happen, and let me tell you I warmly embrace them all.