The Apology

So if you didn't read yesterday's post, a client was very unhappy with some work I did for him. This morning I come in to this email apology. I was stunned to say the least.

"I apologize for being so harsh with my observations about the press release. Suppose all the decisions I've had to make lately have resulted in a shorter fuse which is not good. So kindly forgive my lack of patience and I'll have Bob respond to your revised copy."

He could have done that yesterday to save me the sleepless night filled with insecurity. But what the heck. At least he had a change of heart and realized what a d-bag he was.

I guess I have to call all those magazines I put in his name, and cancel the subscriptions.

Sometimes Work Sucks

So today (and this is no joke) I sent a press release I had written (about the client, for the client), to the client. His email response both surprised me and made me sick to my stomach. This guy is a real bully. You know the kind: he expects everyone else to read his mind, he doesn't understand marketing and he can't express what he wants. So instead he sends a scathing email to me and cc's my boss. Nice.

Here's an abbreviated version with all the nastiness kept intact:

"It's very disappointing that the firm we spent $[xxx] to do our branding would identify us as an investment firm and identify me as the owner when [X] owns the same number of shares. I would expect you folks to have notes to provide you with that kind of info. This press release is not being prepared by a firm unfamiliar with our company... if you get the sense that I'm very disappointed with this release, that could be an understatement. If I've got to provide any more direction, then I might as well write it myself."

Happy day, o' happy day.

CURSES!

CURSES! Is a new segment here at Hometown Hangover. This is where I get to place a curse on someone who has wronged me. This curse goes out to the a-hole that used a telephone book to break my passenger side car mirror.

Dear Mirror-breaker guy:
Oh, how your anger boils over
Oh, how your mind is bare
I curse your evil bones,
your skin, your eyes, your hair.

May you never afford your dream car
May your current car break down.
May your rear view mirror fool you
When you ride about in town.

May the cops pull you over,
and search your car to find,
That weed you never purchased,
But your friend has left behind.

May you spend some time in jail,
and think deeply about your crimes.
There the cell will fill,
With a group of annoying mimes.

When you try to call a lawyer,
I hope the phone book makes you linger,
The paper pages slicing quickly,
Through every effing finger.

And when you get out,
May my revenge fill you with fear.
Because my fists are like some objects:
Closer than they appear.