[There’s nothing but tomorrow to keep us from today]<\/b>
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Ahhh, a full day of work. It’s been so long since I put in a cohesive eight-hours-plus-a-lunch-break.<\/p>\n
Things are going to be fine, if I can learn how to write a decent headline and get over those “do I have the right to edit this???” fears. The pagination system the paper uses seems fairly counter-intuitive, and like it was designed by people who don’t even read newspapers. Well, I guess because it was. But once I figure it out, I’ll be able to list that on my resume, which rocks.<\/p>\n
Everyone was really, really nice, and they seemed to be glad to have a young face around (even though my face looks ages older than it should.) I even have a sweet ID name badge that lets me into dead-bolted employees-only doors. My picture on it is hilarious. Imagine an awful driver’s license photo, and then imagine the person in the photo with a swollen face, Xeroxed five times for optimum crappiness. Yeah, say cheese.<\/p>\n
I felt like such a skank, though. No one told me to wear my Sunday best, and I have friends (OK, one friend) who does this exact same job at the Tennessean <\/em>and she doesn’t dress up. I thought I’d find a happy medium and wear a button-up polo, nice jeans and my Docs. But, uh, I’m about to head out to the suburbs to find me a Goody’s and buy some damn khakis, because everyone was in a tie or high heels. Even the copy editors! <\/p>\n