"I'm an author damnit, not a writer!", I yelled.
Finding good help has become more of a pain than it is worth.
"Why don't you go an talk to your shrink about this?", I said as she walked out of the room. "Go tell him that your boss is an ass who treats you like shit!". I can't believe how mad I am. "And stop fucking coming into my office! Use the damn intercom!".
I don't think she heard me, but it doesn't matter. I'm just trying to get this book finished and she doesn't seem to understand the concept of 'do not disturb'. She's like a puddle of sour milk in the middle of the kitchen floor. Absolutely useless.
Mr. Sir, there's a telephone call for you on line one, she said walking into my office, I think it's your publisher. Something about missed deadlines.
Like i care.
Mr. Sir, there's a gentleman here who has a question about a set of encyclopedias. They're really nice, you should come see, again, walking into my office instead of using the fucking intercom like I've asked her a thousand times.
Mr. Sir, I know you're a talented writer, but I was wondering if you could explain why you have such a problem with proper punctuation.. That's when I lost it.
I'm not a bad guy really. I'm just tired of people. People are a necessary evil and if it was up to me, which it almost never is, I would hide myself away in a place that people could never find me and I could never find people. They are ingratiating and relentless. They talk when you want silence, they are silent when you want words, they are slow when you need them to be fast and they are too fast when all you want in the world is for the person giving you directions to slow the fuck down!
Now I'm too wound up to write. I hate this. I hate my life sometimes. Not really hate, I guess, it's more like I despise the current circumstance and rage against my inability to rise up out of the shit.
I hate happy people because I'm sure they aren't really happy. They are like the person who's staked a claim on being right and when found to be wrong dogmatically claims to still be right. Not naming names but they're the kind of people who force a convincing smile in the worst of situations just to prove that they can. They laugh too hard, they sing too loud and they smile at me like deserve it.
I don't know why I'm as angry as I am. But to be honest, I don't really care. Anger can be a good thing even if it can be a bad thing. What I do care about is finishing my book. I've been working on this little beast for nearly a decade and I need it to be as good or better than my last one. I'm not a one hit wonder, as some have accused me.
"Mr. Sir, I'm sorry", she was in the office again. She had only been in my employ for 3 weeks and I was already planning her exit strategy. She did not understand simple instructions. She was too happy... all the time. She was perky and tall and red-headed and ... too happy damnit!
"What!", I yelled even while trying to keep my voice down. "What is so damn important that you have to keep walking into my office! What could be so important that you are unable to follow one simple fucking instruction! What is it that makes you feel like you are the center of the world and must walk into my office to shed your sordid happiness on me! What the hell you do want!"
"It's your wife sir,", her smile was gone.
"What have I asked you, no TOLD you about walking into my office!"
"But sir, I think...", her looked straight at the floor.
"I don't pay you to think!", this was unbelievable. "Get the fuck out of here and use the stupid little intercom"
"But sir, "
"What the fuck don't you understand about me? Are you too stupid to use the intercom? Does, 'Push to speak' have too many words? Are you a complete and total idiot! USE THE FUCKING INTERCOM!"
She turned to the door and left. I've never felt better while feeling so bad. "Holy crap that was annoying".
A few seconds later the intercom buzzed.
"What!." I yelled.
"Sir, I'm sorry, it's your wife."
"Fine, put her through", I said breathing a sigh of relief.
"No, sir, you don't understand. She's not on the phone."
"What do you mean?"
"She's dead".
Finding good help has become more of a pain than it is worth.
"Why don't you go an talk to your shrink about this?", I said as she walked out of the room. "Go tell him that your boss is an ass who treats you like shit!". I can't believe how mad I am. "And stop fucking coming into my office! Use the damn intercom!".
I don't think she heard me, but it doesn't matter. I'm just trying to get this book finished and she doesn't seem to understand the concept of 'do not disturb'. She's like a puddle of sour milk in the middle of the kitchen floor. Absolutely useless.
Mr. Sir, there's a telephone call for you on line one, she said walking into my office, I think it's your publisher. Something about missed deadlines.
Like i care.
Mr. Sir, there's a gentleman here who has a question about a set of encyclopedias. They're really nice, you should come see, again, walking into my office instead of using the fucking intercom like I've asked her a thousand times.
Mr. Sir, I know you're a talented writer, but I was wondering if you could explain why you have such a problem with proper punctuation.. That's when I lost it.
I'm not a bad guy really. I'm just tired of people. People are a necessary evil and if it was up to me, which it almost never is, I would hide myself away in a place that people could never find me and I could never find people. They are ingratiating and relentless. They talk when you want silence, they are silent when you want words, they are slow when you need them to be fast and they are too fast when all you want in the world is for the person giving you directions to slow the fuck down!
Now I'm too wound up to write. I hate this. I hate my life sometimes. Not really hate, I guess, it's more like I despise the current circumstance and rage against my inability to rise up out of the shit.
I hate happy people because I'm sure they aren't really happy. They are like the person who's staked a claim on being right and when found to be wrong dogmatically claims to still be right. Not naming names but they're the kind of people who force a convincing smile in the worst of situations just to prove that they can. They laugh too hard, they sing too loud and they smile at me like deserve it.
I don't know why I'm as angry as I am. But to be honest, I don't really care. Anger can be a good thing even if it can be a bad thing. What I do care about is finishing my book. I've been working on this little beast for nearly a decade and I need it to be as good or better than my last one. I'm not a one hit wonder, as some have accused me.
"Mr. Sir, I'm sorry", she was in the office again. She had only been in my employ for 3 weeks and I was already planning her exit strategy. She did not understand simple instructions. She was too happy... all the time. She was perky and tall and red-headed and ... too happy damnit!
"What!", I yelled even while trying to keep my voice down. "What is so damn important that you have to keep walking into my office! What could be so important that you are unable to follow one simple fucking instruction! What is it that makes you feel like you are the center of the world and must walk into my office to shed your sordid happiness on me! What the hell you do want!"
"It's your wife sir,", her smile was gone.
"What have I asked you, no TOLD you about walking into my office!"
"But sir, I think...", her looked straight at the floor.
"I don't pay you to think!", this was unbelievable. "Get the fuck out of here and use the stupid little intercom"
"But sir, "
"What the fuck don't you understand about me? Are you too stupid to use the intercom? Does, 'Push to speak' have too many words? Are you a complete and total idiot! USE THE FUCKING INTERCOM!"
She turned to the door and left. I've never felt better while feeling so bad. "Holy crap that was annoying".
A few seconds later the intercom buzzed.
"What!." I yelled.
"Sir, I'm sorry, it's your wife."
"Fine, put her through", I said breathing a sigh of relief.
"No, sir, you don't understand. She's not on the phone."
"What do you mean?"
"She's dead".
