Oof

So I’m at work today, bored out of my mind because I am the one person on staff who doesn’t have a trazillion fazillion things to do. Either I’m very efficient, or such a horrible writer that the ad people have trouble selling my section. It’s probably both.

As I’m lamenting this fact, I check my personal e-mail only to discover that one of the worst writers I’ve ever worked with recently landed a somewhat coveted gig. My first instinct was jealously, as I recalled the thousands of résumés I submitted to said company with not even so much as an acknowledgement rejection letter. That was the sucker punch…

Then, for good measure, came the swift kick to the stomach. My next e-mail was in regards to a freelance article I’m working on. My PR pal thought I might find this interview subject intriguing: “My client, More Successful Than You, is the youngest national news anchor at Major News Outlet You Would Kill to Work For,” she wrote, adding that success is in her blood, as—in addition to MSTY winning her own smattering of highly respected journalism awards—her father also once was nominated for the Nobel Peace prize. Oh, and she speaks 16 languages and is only 22.

“Sure, I would love to speak with her,” I replied, “so long as she doesn’t mind me wallowing in a few drinks during our little Q&A session.”

So hooray for all of you who, when you name your place of journalistic employment, someone says, “Hey, I know that!”