I found a place to use the internet and hang around when I have nothing to do. What is beautiful is that nobody comes around to clean and look at me funny, nobody expects me to do “work,” nobody even notices I am here. But I am. And I have a desk and a chair and internet and an outlet so that my computer does not die on me and the wonderful, pervasive smell of old books and people. Where is this mysterious place, you ask?
Why the library, of course!
Why am I a vegetarian again?
I don’t know if I remember the original reason, nor do I have any reasons of my own left.. I ordered a bean burrito just now at the local taco box (I laughed at the name too. It sort of kept me from going there for several days), and they gave me a beef burrito.
Now, if I were to go back and confront them, they’d probably take their burrito back and give me my correct order, but then, rather than offend the state bureau of health by reassigning the eating of the beef burrito to an unsuspecting customer, they’d simply throw it away.
Net result: a consequential loss for vegetarianism, but a principled (if pyrrhic) victory.
On the other hand, if I were to just sit here and eat the damn burrito, I’d probably get some of the nutrients other people get too much of, but I severely lack in my diet. I’d get fed, the animal is still dead and the guy making burritos doesn’t have to make one over again.
Net result: a consequential draw for vegetarianism but gain for my body, an ethical grey area and a principled loss… At least it would be if I knew what made me a vegetarian and I still cared.
So what did I do?
*Chomp!*
Scene: Pixel designs a “National Roundup” page with news from all over the country. Because the wire isn’t so discriminatory, one of the stories is about Iraq and troubles in Baghdad. Pixel doesn’t think much of it and prints the page for proofreading.
Actors: Pixel Q., 21, Journalism Drill Sergeant, late ’50s.
JDS: (smiling) So what state is Baghdad in?
Pixel: Denial? Is there a Baghdad in Ohio?
JDS: No, I mean, this is a national page and you have a Baghdad story in it.
Pixel: You know, I don’t think they divide Iraq into states. Maybe territories or regions.
JDS: You have to take that story out.
Pixel: (looking it up on Google) Ah, here it is: wait, is it in the Persian state?
JDS: I was kidding.
Pixel: … huh. . . . Well I’ll be. It replaced the old capital which is twenty miles south.
(JDS leaves. Pixel realizes an important point: the only way to deal with bootcamp is to increase the level of frustration the drill sergeant feels when he talks to you so that he learns not to try it anymore. An added bonus is that, in so doing, Pixel’s own level of enjoyment skyrockets. This— is the Pixatic Method)
Welcome to Clovis.
In the 90 days we spend together, you will deal with incompetent overconfidence, inadequate computers and programs, miscommunication, discommunication, and remiscommunication all of which will be someone else’s fault, but you will still have to clean up after them.
People will not explain what they want —or explain it in the abstract or in specifics about something unrelated and expect you to apply it without coaching— and want what they don’t explain. They’ll say “it’s my fault,” but you’ll notice that the words “I’m sorry” are never heard… anywhere. Unless you mistakenly say them.
Watch as you design a section, they delete an entire page, you redesign the section, then you design another section, they add an entire page of content, you redesign the section, they add another half a page of content, you redesign the section, they take away a half a page of content, you redesign it and leave frustrated. You come back ten minutes later with them sitting on your computer, forcing everything to fit then saying, “oh, yeah, I undid all of your formatting, so you’re going to have to redo that.”
Watch as they tell you your shirts are too risqué for the newspaper business (especially if they contradict the company’s political viewpoint by saying “Fascism Sucks”), see them take away your weekends, schedule you for 45 hours but only allow you to clock 40, take away all music, headphones, and non-work related conversations.
Watch as we try to twist you into doing other people’s work because you can do it better than most, and deal with us as our sabotaging of your work means you have to take it because we’re boss.
This is bootcamp for journalists. If you don’t slice your wrists with a spoon by the time this is over, consider yourself trained.