Now, trusting that nobody of consequence actually reads my blog (no offence, dear reader), I am going to share some of the inner happenings of my former office--the water cooler gossip, so to speak. I will begin by introducing you to some of the staff of the infamous magazine once known as the Report. In some cases, I may use pseudonyms to protect the identities of colleagues who make me nervous (which makes me wonder if I should be using a pseudonym):
Link Byfield: I had never met, nor will I ever meet again, a man named Linkard. At least I hope that's his name because that's what I called him. Link is a good man, a solid man, a family man.
I particularly remember one occasion, when the pressure in the office was building, and tension was high, and angry calls were flooding in, our receptionist came into Link's office and announced, "I bought a new stapler, Link. I hope that's okay. I just thought the office could use a new stapler."
Link stared at her and nodded. The receptionist assumed that he hadn't heard her and said, louder, "I hope it's okay with the budget and all, but I bought a new stapler." She stared up at him with wide eyes, seeking affirmation that it was a good decision, a wise decision, to buy that shiny black dispenser of staples.
Link, despite the pressure he was under at that moment, was gracious. "Yes, it was a good decision to get that stapler," he said. I respected him for that, and the receptionist left his office smiling.
Colby Cosh:
Colby was the bravest of colleagues. He was the only one, to my knowledge, who ate a hotdog out of the vending machine. I still have nightmares about that. Somehow, however, a lifetime of eating hotdogs has made Colby very, very smart. It doesn't mean he's good at video games, however (it's all about the mines, Colby).
Will Gibson:
This dear mustached man was great fun to prank. He frequently laughed heartily at my interviewing techniques, and I had to be careful not to conduct an interview any time he was hovering nearby. He always called me "Wittmeier" or "Butchie."
One Thursday afternoon, with the publication deadline looming and his calls incomplete, William was anxious and fretting. The moment he stepped into the washroom, I phoned his line and left a phony message from the individual he was hoping to interview.
When William realized he had missed his call, he paced about the office, spewing profanities.
As time progressed, nature called again, and so did I. Once again, William shouted out in rage and frustration, this time shaking the phone in the process.
Unfortunately, I got caught the third time. Never before have I heard such an outburst of words that cannot be published. I still treasure that memory, Will. I really do.
Carla Yu (Smithson):
I wonder what has become of Carla, the only other reporter with double-X chromosomes in the Edmonton office. She was the one person who finished her stories ahead of deadline, and she did her work quietly and conscientiously. She did not throw things at walls, or waste her valuable time playing video games. She was nice, and dating preferences aside, appeared to be incredibly normal. You had to wonder what compelled her to work at the Report.
She also gave me a taste of my own medicine with a prank phone call of her own, and I still respect her for that. Some part of me still envies the fact that she got to go home at suppertime on Thursdays.
Dave Stevens (a.k.a. "David"):
David, our "production generalist," was a great man with a great cap. The cap could not be extricated from his skull, no matter how formal the occasion. Dave had a remarkable collection of toys and plastic models in his office, an office of order and pleasant smells. David, I believe, did not appreciate the profound disorder of my own work space.
I wanted to alleviate his distress at the general stench of the office, so one day, with the enthusiastic support of Kevin, I picked up a dozen air fresheners or so. These were the cheap air fresheners, the ones that reek of watermelon and bubble gum and entire forests of pine trees. I planted these in various places around the office until the entire building was filled with a wretched (albeit fresh) smell of pine bubble melons.
David didn't notice a thing. He really didn't.
Soon the complaints started coming in from other areas of the building, moaning about dizziness and tightening lungs and seizures and other ailments. I promptly removed the air fresheners, still perplexed by Dave's immunity to extreme freshness.
Joan: I'm not sure what Joan did. No one knows. But she did like to tell me about the criminal investigation television shows she dutifully watched. She was a good person, Joan, and she would wring her hands and shake her head at the audacity of the perpetrators whose conniving acts she had gleefully witnessed on screen. Sometimes I wonder if she was the kind of person you'd swear couldn't have done what she did.
"Mark" Byfield:
I hope that "Mark" has forgiven me for feigning that crisis pregnancy (of which he had no involvement whatsoever). I have forgiven him for likening me to a strider, a female insect that can be vicious to the male of its species. Further research has shown me, however, that it is actually the male of the strider family who uses questionable and disturbing techniques in wooing the opposite gender. "Mark" needs to brush up on his science.
"Mark," wherever you are . . . are you still angry? If it's any consolation, I only have only a few more years of my life to feign an unplanned pregnancy, should the occasion arise again. I'm no longer that spring chicken clucking about the office. I'm a mother hen, now, and I'm generally a pretty boring one at that.
TO BE CONTINUED
2 comments:
I agree with you on several of the points mentioned in your post pertaining to me. I did have a lot of plastic toys and models in my office. I did, and continue to wear caps no matter what the occasion. Although, recently I was forced to doff my cap while attending an engagement party for my daughter. This, combined with my wearing a suit had the effect of making me completely unrecognizable to 90% of the attendees (those that already knew me from the outset).
I am pleased that you recall the "Production Generalist" term that I covertly inserted into the masthead of the magazine on one or two occasions, amongst other terms for my position within the company. This went unnoticed by most. I assumed Kevin Michael Grace would catch it due to his beyond-human editing skills, and he did. He allowed me to leave it in the masthead regardless - and I appreciated that. I am pretty sure I may have ramped up the collectors value of those particular issues by doing so, and for that I say, you're welcome.
Having more or less lived in my office during the latter years of my long-ish tenure at The Report, it was important to me that it smell nice to all who dared to venture in. I also generally felt that I wasn't meant to breath cigarette smoke. This appeared to be the primary atmosphere in the bullpen just outside my office door. I thought maybe if I closed the door and fired up a few air fresheners, I could fool myself into thinking the air quality was better in there.
I should thank Paul Bunner for graciously passing said office on to me when he started working out of his home. That and the collection of unconsumed beer in cans from around the world that he left for me to take care of as well. I do not believe that the epic late night video game sessions you, Kevin Steel, and I enjoyed (with Colby Cosh jumping in on occasion) would have been possible if not for that.
I definitely did not notice your efforts to improve the odour of the air outside of my office. Further to that, I have no recollection of not noticing. I assume I have no recollection because I did not notice to begin with. But that is definitely something I believe you would do. You were fun that way.
It may disappoint you to know that in actuality I didn't really have too much of an opinion on the state of your desk, regardless of what I may have noted back then. In fact, it was difficult to tell where one reporter's desk ended and the next began for the most part. Basically, along the row you were stationed I could visually tell that there were two desks. One normal sized desk (that was Carla's), then one really long messy desk that 4 or 5 other writers sat at.
A special side note - as upset as Davis Sheremata could get while writing a story, I have never seen anyone get more upset without murder as the follow-up, then when Davis would lose a round of Marathon (younger readers can think of this as the very first installment of the popular Halo video game series) and later Unreal Tournament. I have seen the launching of an almost full can of Coke, backhanded as a result of Davis not finishing a game at top position. To this day I believe he was a superior player, but because he refused to side step in-game, he was at a permanent disadvantage. In that sense, it was a true triumph when he won a game at all.
If I were to be remembered for anything at the Report, I would like it to be for beating Colby Cosh at chess in 3 moves. Fortunately, Carla was there to see it. I appreciated her response of, "That was fast." Incidentally, that is the only time a woman has ever said that to me and it felt good! It should be noted that Colby, both before and especially after, pretty much punished me regularly in chess. So although that win felt pretty great, it was far from the norm.
Thanks for your comments. First, I can't believe your daughter is engaged. Second, it would be brilliant if collectors valued old copies of the magazine because I have a whole box of them. I just didn't have the heart to recycle them. Third, I don't think any of us were meant to breathe cigarette smoke: that's the one thing I despised about my job. Fourth, I'm glad you didn't fret over the state of my desk. Thinking back, I think it was the janitor who complained about the stacks of paper that I kept all over the floor. Finally, I am glad that you beat Coby at chess in three moves. That is truly a life accomplishment!
Post a Comment