This morning at 8:13 a.m. – after I’d been lying in bed for more than an hour, loathing myself for not getting up and going to the gym and for not sorting out the issue of my houseguest who is overstaying her welcome – I got a text from my boss.
“Can u talk?”
This boss does not like to talk. This boss likes to send text messages. Long text messages, lots of text messages, text messages when it would sometimes be easier just to, well, talk.
“Yes,” I text back, and promptly begin panicking about what could require him to call me from Spain two hours before I have to be in the office, and four hours before he’ll be back in the office himself.
Could it be the profile I just wrote for our Australian sister magazine? My sources included some shady figures, one of whom called me in Vietnam at odd hours, and then called one of our interns (not this one) at 11 p.m. demanding the magazine be hand delivered. Unlikely, because he saw the story last week.
Then again, I thought to myself, it’s always the things you least expect that cause problems. Even in a story where you’ve worried over nearly every word, it’s always the two or three you considered the most innocent that somehow raise the hugest objection. So maybe it’s…
Seven minutes later, my boss rang. He needed me to file a timeline so basic an intern (yeah, yeah, except this one) probably could have done it.
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