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<span style="font-weight: bold">I pray for the day when we lose our biggest and only client and we're all gone. Then, I can actually get on with my life.</span>
no one knows but my mind is already on leave. and they still want me to check copy...
<span style="font-weight: bold">my boss will not stop sexting me. ick.</span>
My first day (ever) as an account coordinator was last monday...by friday night i was out with my managers drinking sick amounts of bubble gum liquor and red bull. The thing is, I don't know if I can show up at work tomorrow. it's not that I don't remember what i did...it's that I remember some of it. Like waking up naked in the back sit of my car with my direct manager (who is probably 10 years older than me..and NOT hot).If she remembers, she'll probably fire me. And I don't want to find out if she remembers. God, what if she liked it?!
<span style="font-weight: bold">I secretly hope to one day walk out of the agency unannounced and never return. And no one will know where I went or why I left.</span>
I use industry training seminars as networking events. I've even written these off on my taxes as job search expenses - even when the company paid for the seminar.
<span style="font-weight: bold">The joy of freelancing: At this moment, I have campaigns running in pubs for two directly competing products, and I just got an email from the brand manager for a third product, also a direct competitor. It's like a sitcom where one guy has two dates at the same time. </span>
I tell people that I work in Creative because I'm too embarrassed to let them know that I work in Media.
<span style="font-weight: bold">I secretly hide sexually explicit images in my layouts. None of my clients have found out yet.</span>
Timesheets suck - period. But they do have one nice feature. They allow me to grossly overbill my difficult clients.
<span style="font-weight: bold">I can't count the number of times I've masterbated at work. Usually in the bathroom, but at least twice at my desk.
I sniff my coworkers' chairs.
</span>
I just wrote a print ad where the first words of the first four sentences spelled out "c-nt"
<span style="font-weight: bold">No one knows the reason I never drive to meetings is because I got a DUI after the Christmas party.</span>
After the first round of layoffs, when it was clear there would be a second round, probably a third, I started taking stuff home. Not just my personal junk, but also pens and pencils, legal pads, blank discs, binders, and several boxes of Exacto knives. I got coffee, sugar, and non-dairy creamer that tastes like pumpkin. From bathrooms on several floors, I grabbed toilet paper, hand soap, the hooks from the back of the stall doors (I brought a screwdriver from home), and one stand-up coat rack from the reception area latrine. I took beer from one fridge, bottled water from another, Sambuca from one douchebag's office, and the executive conference room yielded ten granola bars and enough Pep-O-Mint Lifesavers to fill both of my coat pockets. I took home 20 creative annuals one edition at a time, and grabbed a couple stacks of magazines from the agency library. My number did finally come up, and as I packed my last box, I took the five wheels off of my desk chair. Just because.
no one knows but my mind is already on leave. and they still want me to check copy...
<span style="font-weight: bold">my boss will not stop sexting me. ick.</span>
My first day (ever) as an account coordinator was last monday...by friday night i was out with my managers drinking sick amounts of bubble gum liquor and red bull. The thing is, I don't know if I can show up at work tomorrow. it's not that I don't remember what i did...it's that I remember some of it. Like waking up naked in the back sit of my car with my direct manager (who is probably 10 years older than me..and NOT hot).If she remembers, she'll probably fire me. And I don't want to find out if she remembers. God, what if she liked it?!
<span style="font-weight: bold">I secretly hope to one day walk out of the agency unannounced and never return. And no one will know where I went or why I left.</span>
I use industry training seminars as networking events. I've even written these off on my taxes as job search expenses - even when the company paid for the seminar.
<span style="font-weight: bold">The joy of freelancing: At this moment, I have campaigns running in pubs for two directly competing products, and I just got an email from the brand manager for a third product, also a direct competitor. It's like a sitcom where one guy has two dates at the same time. </span>
I tell people that I work in Creative because I'm too embarrassed to let them know that I work in Media.
<span style="font-weight: bold">I secretly hide sexually explicit images in my layouts. None of my clients have found out yet.</span>
Timesheets suck - period. But they do have one nice feature. They allow me to grossly overbill my difficult clients.
<span style="font-weight: bold">I can't count the number of times I've masterbated at work. Usually in the bathroom, but at least twice at my desk.
I sniff my coworkers' chairs.
</span>I just wrote a print ad where the first words of the first four sentences spelled out "c-nt"
<span style="font-weight: bold">No one knows the reason I never drive to meetings is because I got a DUI after the Christmas party.</span>
After the first round of layoffs, when it was clear there would be a second round, probably a third, I started taking stuff home. Not just my personal junk, but also pens and pencils, legal pads, blank discs, binders, and several boxes of Exacto knives. I got coffee, sugar, and non-dairy creamer that tastes like pumpkin. From bathrooms on several floors, I grabbed toilet paper, hand soap, the hooks from the back of the stall doors (I brought a screwdriver from home), and one stand-up coat rack from the reception area latrine. I took beer from one fridge, bottled water from another, Sambuca from one douchebag's office, and the executive conference room yielded ten granola bars and enough Pep-O-Mint Lifesavers to fill both of my coat pockets. I took home 20 creative annuals one edition at a time, and grabbed a couple stacks of magazines from the agency library. My number did finally come up, and as I packed my last box, I took the five wheels off of my desk chair. Just because.
