Mood Swings #1
I approach the desk of the allegedly-attractive feature writer I need to speak to. Personally, I'm not that worried about her.
Me: Uh hi. So look, I’m going to need, like, a thousand words or so, general festive nonsense. You know the drill, just some filler, Christmas party tips, that sort of thing…
Allegedly-Attractive Feature Writer: ‘Inappropriately snogging work colleagues and how to deal with it’, that sort of thing?
Me: Hm. Yeah. Although no chance of that here - [gesture at the ceiling above her desk] total lack of mistletoe and that.
Bit of observational humour there, in case you missed it. I’m funny, me.
AAFW: [Deadpan, not even glancing at me] It wasn’t an offer.
Me: No, I didn’t… I mean, it wasn’t…[sigh] Right. Thanks then. Deadline’s Thursday.
I make my way back to my office, past the dreadful Creative-Types with their jeans, stubble and general air of being above it all - as though being able to operate an Apple Mac and owning a Vampire Weekend CD really means they’ve got the world by the balls the hopeless cretins – and return to my desk.
Blonde Colleague: Alright. Oh. Did you speak to editorial about that thing?
Me: Oh fuck off.