Did none of you people get the memo that we’re not actually supposed to be busy this week?
the furious, profanity-laden ravings of a quick-print shop employee:
Author’s note: These are some old blog entries that I wanted to save, although thankfully I’ve left this part of my life, and the attitude that accompanied it, in the past. Ultimately, I was fired from this job, but that started me down the path to finding the job I have today, which I love. So if you’re stuck in a job like this, hang in there. Things have to get better eventually.
December 6, 2004: who the hell do you think you are!?
When I go to McDonald’s, I don’t get in line behind three or four other customers and just start screaming my order up to the front counter just because I’m really hungry. Those people were there before me - their orders should be filled first. So why the hell do people think they can get away with that exact behavior when it comes to their printing order? Due to piss-poor planning, a customer runs out of business cards last Friday. Now since we know that ALL LIFE ON THIS PLANET WILL END if the customers don’t have their fucking business cards, they call in a panic in desperate need of more cards. So they place a re-order, but not wiithout making changes. Great! Now, instead of just reprinting them, the business card order has to come to my department to have revisions made. Under normal circumstances, this wouldn’t be a problem. That’s how things work around here. But I do have a problem when you order cards on a Friday afternoon, and call up first thing MONDAY MORNING looking for a proof. That’s less than one working day later! They call up and harass the front counter lady, who in turn comes to tell me to drop what I’m doing so the all-important business card order can be filled. So now I can drop the multi-thousand dollar project I was working on to layout the revisions on a $37 business card order. Fantastic. In the time it took me to write this, I could’ve made their revisions and printed out a new proof. But screw them. I’ll do it when I’m damn-well ready.
December 13, 2004: calling someone? don’t ever do this!
To all of my friends - this rant is not directed at you. I like talking to you all on the phone. Plus, modern phones are equipped with wonderful innovations like caller i.d. to let me know who is calling. This rant is for everyone else who may potentially call me at work… Anyone who knows me probably knows how much I hate the phone at my office. The sound of it ringing sends a shudder down my spine. Seeing the “new voicemail” indicator fills me with dread. And actually talking to a customer on it is an exercise in torture. But there is one thing that people do that makes me more furious than all of those other things combined. The phone rings and I answer with the standard greeting, “Thanks for calling…” And the caller on the other end immediately starts the conversation by saying, “Who is this?” NO! You cannot do that! That’s not how people with any sort of decent upbringing are supposed to act. You called me! You already have a vague idea of who you’re talking to. I, on the other hand, have no idea who you are. You called me and interrupted me from getting work done. I’m entitled to know who the hell you are first. Plus, it doesn’t matter who I am. At least 90% of the callers want to talk to one of my bosses. Why not try this: “Hi. This is [asshole] from [name of company]. Is [who you want to talk to] available?” Thank you, polite customer. You just saved both of us from a world of pain. Now I know who you are and what I should do with your call. Instead of having a long-winded talk about how I’m not the person you wanted to talk to in the first place, this conversation has been concise and to-the-point. Have a nice day. Yes, this entry is filled with more rage than usual, but it’s Sunday night and I have to go to work in the morning - a Monday morning that will inevitably include phone conversations with impolite people. I’m just trying to get the fury out of my system in advance.
December 31, 2004: let’s go to myrtle beach! don’t forget to pack enough provisions!
Dammit. I’m sick of hearing people here in Conway talk about driving “all the way to the beach” all the time. For example:
Customer: “I need [something unreasonable]. Can you get it for me?”
Me: “No. First of all, this is a printing company, not an office supply store. Second, this is Conway. If you can’t get it at Wal-Mart, you’ll have to go to the beach for it.”
Customer: “But I don’t want to go ALL THE WAY TO THE BEACH!”
You’d think Myrtle Beach was 6 hours away from Conway to hear these people talk about it. Dammit, people. IT’S THIRTEEN MILES! Don’t you realize how far people who live in big cities have to drive to commute every single day!? Just get out of my face and go to the beach. It’s not that far! Whenever I hear people talk about how far it is to the beach, I think about Oregon Trail. You have to be old to remember Oregon Trail, kids. It was a game we played in elementary school on old Apple computers with 16-color monitors. The premise was simple: Get your family and as many supplies as you could afford into a wagon. Then, make it from Missouri to Oregon Territory without having your entire family drown in a river or die from dysentery. Sounds like fun, right? The journey from Conway to Myrtle Beach is apparently just as arduous:
“Do you really think we can make it all the way to Myrtle Beach, Paw?”
“Well son, it’s springtime now, so hopefully we can make it before winter sets in. We’ve got 300 pounds of dried meat and some spare wagon wheels. And I’ve got plenty of bullets in case we run out of food along the way and need to shoot a buffalo.”
That’s about it. Just a little year-end rant for everybody to enjoy. People in Conway, go to the beach. And don’t bitch about it. There are plenty of bigger problems to worry about in life. And who knows, you might discover that the beach isn’t such a bad place after all.
April 19, 2005: business cards ruined my life
Business cards are the bane of my existence. They bring nothing but misery. The only thing which rivals my hatred for these abominations is my hatred for the phone in my office. And at the top of this rotting shit-pile of misery is the biggest offender of all - the fold-over business card. Those “in the know” in the printing industry know that it should take a competent graphic designer no more than ten minutes to design a business card. Just put in all the customer’s pertinent information and a logo, and you’re done. In a prefect world, the client would make one, or preferably zero, revisions to the card, and you would print it. But we don’t live in a perfect world. The particular fold-over card that is going to cause me to get yelled at in the morning required no less than TWELVE revisions. I stopped counting after that. It took nearly FOUR HOURS to complete the design and the revisions. But somehow, despite looking over every single proof and repeatedly making nit-picky revisions every time, the customer still neglected to notice an error in his zip code. Did I forget to mention that these were 4-color business cards? That’s right, a 4-color over 2-color fold-over business card - perhaps the worst printing job in the whole of our industry. In the morning, I will catch hell, despite the fact that it’s the customer’s fault for not being able to proofread. Sure, I was the one who typed the incorrect digit in his zip code, but he had TWELVE FUCKING CHANCES to notice it! If I wasn’t so pissed right now, I’d write a death metal song about how much I hate business cards.
Rick Hunter doesn’t take your shit. He’s too busy flying a plane that turns into a robot.
I’ve been dealing with “account managers” all morning - people who only know how to handle files created in MS Office, or maybe the occasional PDF. The Illustrator file I just sent them, to forward on to their art department, just caused them to lose their minds.
Long weekend, I would prefer it if you got here sooner.
