work
I caught shit at work yesterday for the thursday paper. a senior Border Patrol officer was misidentified as “senior patrol officer,” and the cops blotter was fucked up after the new copy editor – meaning well – introduced a bunch of errors into it. but I share blame as it ran on my page and I did the second edit and didn’t catch everything. so goes the desk, so go I. and maybe I’m young and naive and idealistic, but that’s fucking bullshit as far as I’m concerned.
my boss doesn’t have it in her capacity to raise her voice at someone, so when she gets upset, she comes close to crying. which kind of makes me uncomfortable as she’s my boss; it’s the two of us in a conference room, I’ve got a blank stare on my face because I know all of this bullshit is coming down from our do-nothing managing editor, and my supervisor is tearing up, saying she’s not allowed to take any time off until “this gets taken care of.” I mean, fuck man. what am I supposed to say to that?
“hey, uh, Peggy, I was thinking about quitting in two months.”
tomorrow, I’m going to Las Vegas for the evening. coming back sunday night. it’s a five hour drive. that means if you read this and I have your phone number, I’m probably going to call to kill time. so get ready.
