So Friday’s my birthday; I’ll be 39. That doesn’t matter. What matters is silly, foolish, egotistical.
When I was working at HOTS, no one remembered the day, though I signed others’ cards. Year after year I was forgotten. It got to be a running joke. “What … we forgot again?” “…Yeah.”
Got some recalls here and there, like in Milwaukee. That was nice too. Then here, and the local rag, whereat I was slaving away doing composing*, managed to forget again.
So today my phone rings; it’s an Admin type, asking me for some advice on “a thing” they’re working on, and could I come over and offer my input?
Well, I had a hunch, but golly, it was nice.
I don’t mean to be bitter sometimes, and I really don’t like to be ungrateful. But damn, it was sweet to have all those people there doing their best to embarrass the shit out of me for a few seconds.
I like doing what I do, and I like working where I work.
I think that’s enough of a thanksgiving remembrance for anyone.
* I must have signed at least a dozen birthday cards for others in the six months I worked there, while I placed ads I didn’t make into pages I’d blocked for them the day before. Composing a newspaper is intern-level work, and in the six months I was there, I never rose beyond it, experience notwithstanding. Now, of course, I build the ads someone else places in the composed slots. Sometimes it’s a good idea to pay attention to the people whom you think you manage.
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