From an unnamed production office for an undisclosed television show in an address-withheld building in LA where the elevators are shockingly slow...
I know that if you're in the entertainment industry and your name doesn't rhyme with Gleven Glielberg or Shmulia Doberts, you're going to have to do some seriously annoying, infuriatingly stupid work that you don't enjoy almost every day. And I don't know, maybe Gleven and Shmulia do, too. But it seems as if the wildly bothersome tasks have hit a peak around my office recently. They alternate between banal and high stress, and are condescending so as to demonstrate zero faith in my abilities as often as they are way above my pay grade with full freedom to fail all alone. In short, I'm not into it.
Enter this gem from some wonderfully prescient maintenance employee:
That's the elevator covered in padding. I have to share an office with, as of today, four other people which makes throwing myself against the wall as I scream at full volume a slim possibility. But an elevator- That I can commandeer. That emergency Stop button can't just be for natural disasters and equipment malfunctions, and I know a young assistant who could sure use 10 minutes alone yelling at people who aren't there and whom she will never actually yell at and who might really enjoy punching a soft surface so that there's no later need to explain the scabbed knuckles. I might even bring a book and a cup of coffee to wind down in there afterward, just to maximize the alone time. And I'll probably pick my nose. Just because I can.