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Pardon Me While I Complain a Bit

Today, my boss handed me a memo about tomorrow’s table read.  Time, location, who’s going to be there, things like that.  The memo is dated today, but in the body of the text, it reads, “tomorrow, August 21st.”

Apparently, she copy-and-pasted an old memo.  Which is good, actually; ctrl-C, Ctrl-V is pretty advanced for someone who hates computers as much as she.

For instance, a few weeks ago, I had to drive to West Hollywood, which is about as far from a freeway as you can be in Los Angeles without swimming.  I debated aloud whether it would be faster to take Santa Monica or Hollywood or Melrose.  Sigalert and Google maps were of no use, since they only show traffic on freeways.

My boss said, in the smugly superior voice only a hardened Luddite can muster, “That’s why I use a Thomas Guide.”

“Are you suggesting that a paper map, printed over a year ago, will give me traffic information on a surface street at a particular time on a specific evening?” I don’t actually ask, because my wife would be mad at me for getting myself fired.

Anyway, she obviously didn’t notice the erroneous date on the memo, and neither did I.  But our locations guy did, and he said so. Jerk.

So, my boss had me go around and collect all of the memos, reprint them, highlight everyone’s name again, and redistribute them.

Everyone, everyone, was shocked that we would waste paper this way.  The art department told me not to even give them a copy.

Who does she think will be confused?  Is Dr. Who on our staff? Is the rigging crew working on a time machine so they can make it to tomorrow’s meeting two months ago?

It makes me want to punch myself in the face, because, even though it makes just as little sense, at least I’ll eventually knock myself out and maybe forget the whole thing.

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