 | Time IndefiniteA repository and collective timeline of our individual significant moments in time. |
Fire And Underoos
Posted On Wednesday April 25, 2007 By Carl MillerWhen I was eleven years old I used to have this little bedroom where I’d often sequester myself with only my little bed and my little toys to keep me company. It was not that I had so much to hide from. I was only eleven. But even then I had a natural tendency to recharge my energies through solitude and an eleven-year-old boy has only one place to do that with any consistency; that’s in his bedroom.
One particular night I woke up and all I could see was this odd sort of grey, wispy ceiling that seemed to have replaced the regular off-white ceiling that normally, in association with the walls and the closed door, secured me in my little room.
Then my door was flung open and my mom was there and she was saying all these words in a rush and I understood that something serious was going on. I sat up and I looked at her for a second. I understood on some level that she was telling me that the house was on fire and that we had to get out, but on another level my brain was having a hard time processing this information. It was like part of me was thinking, “Holy Fuck! I gotta get out of here,” but another part of me was rooted in place as if, perhaps, this whole concept of “fire” needed further explaining. And in what way did “fire” relate to the syntax of “the house is on”?
And then my mom was gone to get my little sister. Gloomily I got out of bed and realized suddenly that I couldn’t see anything and that it was more than just the normal state of being in the dark. It was hard to breath. I don’t recall what happened next. Maybe my dad bodily dragged me out of there, maybe I went running out of the house, I don’t know. But there I was outside in the winter wearing only a pair of underwear. Not a slightly dignified pair of boxers either. In the humiliation that is retrospect boxers would have been acceptable if slightly unrealistic. What eleven-year-old boy wears boxers? Pajamas. Christ. Why didn’t I wear pajamas? Anyway, I was out in the cold, in front of a gathering crowd of neighbors and passers by, and all I was wearing was the bottom half of a goddamned Superman Underoos ensemble.
Eventually a neighbor brought over a blanket to cover my unsightly underwear-ed body (and to keep me from freezing to death). There’d been talk of me going over to someone’s house, but I preferred to stand there with the rest of my family and watch our house burn down. I noticed rather bitterly that my sister was wearing her Strawberry Shortcake pajamas and a coat.
To this day I am never far from a pair of clothes just in case I need to flee my house because of some emergency. Also, I wear boxers. And I’ve always hated Strawberry Shortcake.
Tags: fire, underoos
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Take This Job And...
Posted On Monday April 23, 2007 By MattMy first “real” job was at an advertising agency as a Production Artist (which is basically a Designer except they can pay you a lot less if they just call you a Production Artist). The Creative Director, Danny, was a big shot they had hired away from an agency in Houston. It was his job to take our work to the next level. The fact is, we had a pretty good setup before Danny showed up. I worked with two of my best friends and everything was great. Danny was one of those guys who always had to look and sound like the biggest, coolest, smartest, toughest, guy in the room (a true Texan). He especially seemed to get great pleasure from demeaning me in front of others. I think he thought he was being funny but really it was just dumb and offensive 99% of the time. And in reality he was probably just insecure and overcompensating for something lacking in his own life.
One of Danny’s first acts was to hire an Art Director. An Art Director is a Designer who makes a lot of money because he has years of experience and a “killer” portfolio. The guy Danny hired had neither. After about a month I think it became clear that a mistake had been made and the new Art Director was unceremoniously fired. I ended up inheriting all of his projects and it became my job to mop up the mess that was left behind. I redesigned everything and went on a three day photo shoot to finish a project that had been left in a state of disaster.
When I got back to the office the next week it became clear that I had fucked something up. Danny was furious. One of the ads we were producing had copy written that talked about a patient, and she was supposed to be pictured in the room where she had had her heart operation. The only problem was when the woman was scheduled by Danny for her photo they were operating on someone and the room wasn’t available. I think Danny actually expected me to have someone wait for their heart operation while I made sure we got the right picture. Actually I was able to Photoshop a shot taken of her into another shot of the operating room taken when it was not in use, problem solved. But that didn’t stop Danny from busting my balls.
Fast forward a few weeks and we had an ad deadline. A new Art Director had been hired to take the place of the last one. Only this guy was talented, but kind of an alcoholic, and a little forgetful. He had gone to lunch and instead of copying the latest files to the server, where he had been instructed to leave them, in case someone else needed to work on them, he left them on a Zip disk in his locked desk drawer. Anyway, the job was hot-hot-hot, under a tight deadline, and the new guy was out drinking so I got asked to finish and send it out. I grabbed the files from the server where I expected the latest version to be and put them on a disk for output. The output was slightly different from the approved ad because the correct files were not on the server and it ended up being my fault, according to Danny, despite the fact that neither he, the proofreader, the traffic manager, nor the media person caught the error. They had all seen this ad before. I had not.
Later that same day a job of mine was due. I had to put it aside to deal with the Art Director’s job. My project was a large job and required a lot of printing and pasting up to make it look like the actual booklet it was supposed to eventually be. The office had two antique color printers and I had them both working double-time. They were prone to overheating and both failed leaving me totally high and dry. Danny stormed into the room and asked when the job would be done. I told him I didn’t know and that I was working on it. He then told me I should, “Get my head out of my ass or else.” He walked off, and I tried to let it go, but by the time he got to the other side of the room I erupted with a, “FUCK YOU!” He quickly walked back over to me as if he was going to punch me or something and asked, “Do you have anything else to say?” To which I replied, “No.” He then said, “Well, then…” and I knew he was going to fire me so I interrupted and said, “No, I won’t give you the satisfaction of firing me. I quit!”
It was quite a moment. I still shiver when I think about how good it made me feel to stand up for myself. In that instant I decided to go back to school and get the hell out of advertising. I look back at that moment as one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. A few days later it got back to me through my friends that Danny had told them “I had made the biggest mistake of my life.” and that “I’d never work again.” That was fine by me if it meant I’d have to work with another douche bag like him. After school I did go back to advertising. It was an easy trap to fall into because the money is good and the work is endless. However, I now do it on my own terms as a freelancer. That way I don’t have to deal with the Dannys of the world.
Tags: advertising, first, job, office, politics, quitting
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There Is No God (I Think)
Posted On Thursday April 12, 2007 By Stacy Horn
I actually don’t remember the date. It was when I was confirmed by the Catholic Church, whenever that was. According to my understanding, I was agreeing to becoming a member of the church, and all that that implied. To me that meant, if I was presented with the choice of admitting I was a Catholic and getting thrown to the lions or denying I was a Catholic and living, I was agreeing to not deny being a Catholic.
But I knew that in reality, I would do whatever it took to not be eaten by lions and if that meant denying I was a Catholic, I’d do it. I had already had lots of problems with religion and Catholicism, but the guilt of lying about agreeing to be eaten by lions plus the whole martyrdom thing. I mean, Christ died for our sins. Since God controlled everything, there was no need for his son to be tortured and murdered, the whole matter could have been settled any one of a million other ways.
I told my parents I was done, no more religion for me. Since most of the world believes in some form of God, that has put me in a relatively tiny minority ever since. I know that many many many people much smarter than me believe in God, but nonetheless, as far as I’m concerned, on this point, most of the world is kinda nuts.
Tags: catholicism, church, god, guilt, jesus, sins
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