So I had my interview today with the Poster Compliance people. It was in a storage room, and I snagged my tights on a huge box of mail. This is possibly the most boring business ever created; they specialize in making the posters that go in the back hall of your work that tell you what minimum wage is, etc. I suppose it is a useful, hence noble, occupation.
Yawn.
The people are nice. I liked watching their eyes bug out as I described operations at my last job. So I guess I'd be willing to work there if they pay me enough. With this in mind, I asked for both my interviewers' email addresses (so I could write a pretty little thank you letter). One of them doesn't check her email, which blows my mind, and which means that I had to not only write the letters but *gasp* print them out and mail them.
Which is why I now have a stack of ruined envelopes on my kitchen table; my cheap-assed printer kept jamming. Very irritating, and after a while I got this look of grim determination on my face as I fed envelope after envelope into its gaping maw. Eventually I printed out two envelopes correctly, only to find that Word had loaded the wrong address on them.
2 comments:
The round composition and essential life force of the succuluent citrus juxtaposed the harsh angles of the envelope (commerciallay manufactured from a harvested life force, now extinguished) reveals the harsh reality of modern industrialism and the corporate infiltration of organic natural ecosystems. A very arresting image, indeed.
To heighten the irony, the lemons are organic, grown by a neo-hippie environmental activist who spells love "luv" and you are "UR." He writes a quarterly magazine called Ripples, and travels around spreading the juicy luv news of hope. Treythan's favorite activities: holding hands and eating salad.
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