Hoo, boy!

I had a shitty, shitty night at work. It was almost like I was a n00b again. It was one of those nights when you don't just fuck up one thing, you fuck up lots. All late in the night where it's a crunch to fix your blatant, embarrassing errors. One minute you're cruising, outputting pages, and the next minute your boss is having to call the press room to see if they can save the stupid designer's ass*. And then a few minutes later, when you think the coast is clear and you've stolen away to your car, you get a phone call and are told that, no, things are, in fact, not kosher, so you run — in your skirt and flip-flops, you hippie! — back up to the office to fix your latest round of fucks-ups that are making the presses run 45 freaking minutes late.

Yeesh. I haven't had a night like that since leaving Sidelines. I'm horrified to know that nights like that extend beyond the walls of student newspapers.

*That's me!