paisleypiper's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- james james disobedience morrison If people go down to the edge of the town, well, what can anyone do? Every day I manage a series of problems and my work product gets buried under so many strange details that, fires out, it is hard to regain my focus. This afternoon is one of those days. I am quite out of steam from a large production which has also added to my worries by leaving me in a state of agitation. It occurred to me, quite suddenly that something was terribly wrong. But I couldn�t put my finger on it. I began reflecting in my narrow cell of an office. Down the hall, I could hear the Esquire in her meeting. She trapped a young man named James in the conference room for several hours while she ran her mouth about a job she had no intention of giving him. I heard her voice droning on like some tacky cousin of white noise, interspersed with his careful interruptions trying to reach the top notes of perfection. The Esquire�s objective was to keep him trapped in the room until she could justify leaving, to avoid getting anything accomplished before her vacation. Because that is what I do. I am the bad cop around the office, because the Esquire can only like one person beneath her... and it is Stella because she is a �young married� and has a made a big splash. All of the sudden, I knew what was bothering me. The Esquire is an idiot intuit. She gets premonitions that are exactly 15% off center, but, with practice, I have learned to read these premonitions and make enough meaning out of them to save the day. Earlier today, the Esquire asked me where the note cards were and paused over the blank envelopes, saying �you did have our return address printed on the envelopes for the invitation?� It made me think. Stella had a great idea for the invitation to our open house and I helped her flesh it out and conceptualize it. Stella's husband who is a graphic artist did the layout. And we have been a bit like the three musketeers on the project. Nothing runs without complication at the print shop, so we are running around, running out of time, running, running, running.... The Esquire has confused the atmosphere of invitation production with her need to have glass wine glasses at the open house. She has dug in on this and will not yield to sense because the Emily Post in me has refused to go �plateless� at the open house. No one wants to stand around a table and eat things with their fingers after people they do not know have eaten things with their fingers and returned for seconds. It is so much more appetizing to have utensils with which people can serve themselves onto little plates. But 200 glass wine glasses will be a logistical nightmare. As I pictured myself in traction from moving the enormous laser printer again, I gasped. We did not put the address on the invitation. I have never, in my life, been the type of person to have one thing after another go wrong... But I think it is because I spend my days spinning way too many plates. Waiting for the go ahead. Making up the go ahead. And mostly just going ahead. This morning, when Stella came in I asked her how things had gone at the printer�s with her husband (yesterday I did not approve the blueline because the cut in the invitation did not match up, the film had been stretched, somehow). Stella told me that last night her husband in a fit of frustration took off a crucial part of the name of the Spot where I work... the name of the university. She told me that was just how it was going to have to be... and I was nervous because I knew that it would end up being me who caught the blame... even though I was not there. I surveyed the scene. The Esquire would be busy for another hour at least. I put on my golden gown, called the director of the print shop and arranged for Stella and I to head across campus to meet with him. This afternoon I did what is referred to in our office as "sucking it up." I knew that I had to insist that the full name of the university appear on the invitation and that the address of our office be listed somewhere on the invitation. The print shop director was not pleased with me, but I let him tell me what trouble the newsletter had been and I showed some empathy with him. And yes, this invitation is really difficult to print. I was beginning to wonder if I would need to just flee. If King John would need to put out a warning all about me: Lost, stolen, strayed. PaisleyPiper seems to have been mislaid. But I came through for our team. With some trial and error, I came up with a plan for how to add the address and the name of the university with only having to re-shoot one strip of film while still maintaining design integrity. Problem fixed, nothing will get off schedule. But everyone will have to do three additional tasks, which I divvied up during the meeting.
No one is happy with me for this, but it is just the sort of things that assistant directors do. And now that I have the assistant director mobile, I better at least act the part. We will have the end-product we need without upsetting administration (or so thought James James Morrison's mother). I reminded Stella that if we do not go these extra steps, the greatness of our invitation would be lost. All of this effort may as well have been a bi-fold card printed on the laserjet. I felt as though I joined the other side with this big eleventh-hour rally. But at least I did it in a way that I won�t be up on the dart boards all weekend ( or so thought James James Morrison�s mother ). And I think I can turn it around at the print shop with some muffins and a card on Monday morning. I just drove right down to the edge of the town and got back in time for tea.
Stella and I returned without the Esquire noticing that we had left. That a production had occurred. Hopefully everything will be fixed while the Esquire is out of town next week. So I am happy with myself for handling the problem head on -- for seeing trouble, for stepping in and fixing things. Not a bad way to end the week.... 9:36 p.m. - 2002-09-06 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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