Mulligan

Yesterday was just one of those days where you wish you could have a do over.

First off my boss calls me at 8 a.m. OK I’m not usually up by then, so I have to pretend to be awake and that I understand what he was saying. I know you corporate types are already in the office, blah blah blah. But I don’t roll in to work until 10 and that means I usually wake up at 9:30 and don’t actually get to work until almost 11 (very understanding boss).

Anyhoo he wanted to me to go with some of the advertisers to a meeting in Mt. View so I could then interview the person they were talking to. Good times.

I get to their office (in a different building then ours) and there they are, we’ll call them Advertiser B and Advertiser K because I’m not that creative, sucking down cigarettes like soon they would be illegal (which in our city I wouldn’t be that surprised), and they had to get as many into their atrophied lungs as possible in a five minute period. Anyway the old guy, Advertiser B, tries to tell me how I should write my little profile so that they could sell more advertising, and I was like, “Excuse me, but this is my story and I will write it as I see fit without any interference from the advertising department.”

Or that’s what I would have said if I had integrity. Instead I more or less mumble, “Thanks for the suggestion.”

So we head over to the clients which is twenty minutes away and the two guys get into the world’s most boring conversation about their large sells last week. We get there and they both suck down another cigarette before lighting another one up for the 500-yard hike to the office.

To make a really great impression we were 30 minutes late. Which then advertiser K gets in an argument with the client about how no they weren’t late and she must have had the time wrong. She says no I called and emailed you, he then pulls out his phone to prove she didn’t. About five minutes of this going back and forth, good times.

Finally we get in to the presentation where Advertiser K is told he has only 10 minutes to make his spiel and so he flies through it (it actually wasn’t too bad). And I find I was basically brought along as a selling point (mistaken for a whore again). But then after all that hard work we find that this woman is not the woman to talk to and instead they needed to talk to her boss who was not available right now. And she had to go and she was definitely not the person to talk to me. Lovely.

So I wasted two hours of my day, when I’m on deadline, 40 minutes of those spent in a car that smelled like old salami and I got nothing. Yeah!

After that I went home, and got ready to meet up with the ex before he moves 300 miles away (that’s right chased a guy 300 miles away, I’ve got talent).

So I get to dinner and he’s looking good, the bastard. Lost weight, tanner, new clothes. Since I was the one that broke up with him I had decided that I shouldn’t try to dress up, because well I’m cute enough to begin with don’t need to rub it in (by cute I mean most guys don’t throw up when they see me).

So I sit down and we get to talking, everything is very amicable. When all of the sudden, “You got your hair cut, it looks like crap.”

Too long of a pause, “Just kidding. It’s not that bad.” Looks at my hair again, “Well its got a kind of funny poof to it on one side.”

Well played sir, well played. I’ll give you that round.

I now hate my haircut.

I went home and drank — heavily.