Office Space.
Work. Late afternoon. It’s already been a long day.
I receive an email from a client.
“I’m really sorry, but my email isn’t working,” explains the email, “ so I won’t be able to send you the image files you need by the end of the day as you requested.”
I gaze out the window for a while before I read the rest of it. The files in question need to be of publication standard; at least 300 dpi. I steady myself and read the rest of the email.
“Is it ok if I just fax them to you instead?”
Deadlines are circling me like vultures.
I compose an email in reply.
“So sorry to hear of your inability to communicate by email – hope this is fixed soon. Unfortunately a faxed document tends not to reproduce terribly well. As a ‘last minute’ solution – time really is short now - I wonder if it would be alright if I take some generic images from your website – assuming they are of sufficient quality?”
Send.
I scratch at my fingernails for a minute or two. They are covered in superglue which has recently oft been mistaken – to much hilarity – for nail polish.
An emailed reply.
“Ok, but I don’t see why the fax would be a problem. And I know it’s late, but I can’t help that my emails aren’t working. Could you take them from the following website – www.mybiggestcompetitor.com? I want it to look just like theirs.”
I stare out the window some more. I think of phrases such as ‘copyright issues’ and know there is no point in employing them.
Blonde Colleague: Tired? Tired! I’ve got Client Name on the phone about those files. She doesn’t understand your emails.
Me: I’m going for a smoke. Tell her all our phone lines are down and no-one can speak to her.
BC: Won’t she suss that, as she got through in the first place, there’s nothing wrong with the phones?
Me: [Over my shoulder] I sincerely fucking doubt it.
I receive an email from a client.
“I’m really sorry, but my email isn’t working,” explains the email, “ so I won’t be able to send you the image files you need by the end of the day as you requested.”
I gaze out the window for a while before I read the rest of it. The files in question need to be of publication standard; at least 300 dpi. I steady myself and read the rest of the email.
“Is it ok if I just fax them to you instead?”
Deadlines are circling me like vultures.
I compose an email in reply.
“So sorry to hear of your inability to communicate by email – hope this is fixed soon. Unfortunately a faxed document tends not to reproduce terribly well. As a ‘last minute’ solution – time really is short now - I wonder if it would be alright if I take some generic images from your website – assuming they are of sufficient quality?”
Send.
I scratch at my fingernails for a minute or two. They are covered in superglue which has recently oft been mistaken – to much hilarity – for nail polish.
An emailed reply.
“Ok, but I don’t see why the fax would be a problem. And I know it’s late, but I can’t help that my emails aren’t working. Could you take them from the following website – www.mybiggestcompetitor.com? I want it to look just like theirs.”
I stare out the window some more. I think of phrases such as ‘copyright issues’ and know there is no point in employing them.
Blonde Colleague: Tired? Tired! I’ve got Client Name on the phone about those files. She doesn’t understand your emails.
Me: I’m going for a smoke. Tell her all our phone lines are down and no-one can speak to her.
BC: Won’t she suss that, as she got through in the first place, there’s nothing wrong with the phones?
Me: [Over my shoulder] I sincerely fucking doubt it.
posted by Tired Dad at
8:13 pm
16 Comments:
I am gay!
Ok, but back in "the day" when all intertubes connectivity was through dial-up modems with bauds and stuffs, I was once online chatting with a friend who told me that his phone and electricity were still out because of the hurricane that had blown through.
And... well... it was true. He had a small generator running his computer and refridgerator - and as he was a telephone company retiree, he was able to jerry-rig a connection by running a wire 2 miles across his property to his neighbor's farm which still had telephone service.
I suspect your client wasn't that savvy.
I would leave a comment but the internet isn't working.
Yeah ok Dave...your closet is well and truly opened...be happy
Mousy : drink vodka. It helps.
Farty : Humour is obviously not for the masses of which you are a part.
I'm commenting on comments on someone elses blog.
In my defence...the voddy is 40%.
Apologies.
Leave your employ and do something else Tired.
Your vague grasp on sanity is at stake.
Brilliant! If I had your job I would pretend to smoke just to get off the phone.
Isn't it lovely Dave feels he can open up to you. He obviously feels you are a nurturing person and not a murd...
She wasn't me.
If I had to work, I'd want to work with Tired, we could have sarcasm matches...
I once had somebody ring me up and ask for my phone number. I gave it to him and he hung up. Seconds later the phone rang and he had no idea he was speaking to me again.
I am gay!
Dave!
I'm a lesbo dave!
I'm a lesbo dave!
Em absolutely did not! Tired, sort Dave out.
ooo mega scared of tired! he's mean't to be a dad. he never even mentions his kids! they where prob just a cover for his gayness!
Dave: Great. Again.
Sew: A good story wasted here. And no. She wasn't that bright.
F: Welcome back.
Dinners: Good God man. And it's the random lunacy my job puts me in touch with that keeps me going. It makes me feel sane.
Em: Ok. This is about to get a bit mad.
Ellie: No doubt.
Punx: I already do that with my existing colleagues but I'm sure it would be fun.
Debs: I suspect he found it as tiresome as you did.
Here we go.
Dear Em/Dave:
First of all apologies to the real 'Em' whoever you are. I could stop the above silliness by turning on various filters and demanding people not comment anonymously but it would rather ruin all the fun.
Em - sorry your name has been taken in vain.
Dave - keep up the good work.
Yes you are dave, . . . . y e s , . . you , . .are
and you seem to be very good at it.
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