Bangbangbang

When I'm keyed up like this I make random noises. On the computer they come out as onomatopoeia, hence the title.

So work was kinda good! It always goes better when they unchain me from the damn till and let me stock shelves or something. Think heavy lifting sucks? At least you get to move around. At least you get to pause and catch your breath. There aren't damn people wanting crap all the time. It's good.

So. Copy editing. To be a copy editor you need, quote:

- Thorough knowledge of the Internet, with the skills and imagination to deliver news in innovative ways;
- A strong knowledge of the English language, with the ability to merge various news stories and sources into compelling copy, in all formats;
- The ability to write clever headlines, succinct cutlines and snappy decks under deadline pressure, in all formats;
- Thorough knowledge of current events in Calgary and Western Canada;
- Page-building skills;
- A passion for fact-checking, nit-picking and absolute accuracy;
- A strong sense of teamwork and individual responsibility.

Dude! I can do all those things! You don't even need a degree!

Now I just have to convince them to let me try it. They'll probably want someone with experience or some of that BS. To hell with that. I am a master of the English language. I can do it.

The Fish

Last year I worked in a fuel dock, or gas station for boats, in Tofino, BC. As the float supervisor, I was meant to hang about down on the floats, rather than in the store with the other employees. One very foggy morning, I was going about my business, coiling hoses and such, when a small motorboat puttered into my line of sight. The engine was dying- the problem later proved to be a mucky carburetor. Anyway, they didn't quite make it to the dock. I had to throw them a line and haul them in.

These three old fellas were in Tofino on a fishing trip, which, unfortunately, could not get underway until the engine was fixed. While one of the gentlemen went ot up to the store to see about the carb, I stayed and passed the morning with the other two. As there were few other boats out on that foggy day, we had plenty of time. By the time the fog burned off and the motor was putting again, we were all fast friends. They swore to bring me a fish in honor of the way I had reeled them in.

I assumed I'd never see them again, of course. To my surprise, though, they came back at the end of my shift, the next day. With a fish. A coho, just like this one:


Such are the good days, even in shit jobs.