Page 3 of Cuts like a Knife
Out of sight, out of mind.
Most press releases still come in by fax, by the way, which is just so pathetically nineteen-hundreds. (That’s Gen Z speak, and I’m most definitely a Millennial, but I make a special effort to keep up.)
Anyway, this press release thing isn’t one of Citidaze magazine’s special flaws. All media companies are woefully behind. It’s just how the machine operates.
I never look at them — the press releases, I mean. Sometimes I skim, but every week or so I dump the whole lot into the recycling bin.
The waste. All that paper.
I try not to think about it.
I get plenty of email too. At least a couple hundred messages a day. The people who send press-releases by email think they’re unbelievably cutting-edge. I scan the subject lines, but I don’t open most of those either.
Email is not cutting edge. It’s at least a quarter-century old technology. Older, if you want to get technical. I mean, honestly.
The phone is still vibrating.
I ignore it and return to typing, my fingers flying over the keys. I type a hundred words a minute, easy.
“Look at you, Madison. Little Miss Professional.” The drawling, sardonic voice of Callum Jansen (who has been insisting on being called CJ of late, so obviously I still call him Callum) permeates my consciousness from one cube over.
He’s about one quarter step up from me professionally, and about ten years older, which means he thinks he is my boss. Whether he is or not1, at least in my personal opinion, is a matter still up for debate, but debating Callum is an exercise in futility, so whatever.
He’s not actually my boss. No one said anything about him being my boss when I started this gig just over two years ago. And our titles are vague, if you ask me. I’m the Features Editor. He’s the Senior Editor. The distinction is, in other words, murky.
Someone who is a half-step above you in the professional hierarchy is not a boss, but he’s got a death-grip on the word “Senior” in his title and no one checks him.
It’s a technicality.
And okay, fine, while we’re talking about technicalities, I should probably admit that he’s also technically my ex.2
Ugh.
I shoot back at him without letting my eyes leave my screen. “This is a professional environment, last I checked,” I say, as I continue typing as fast as I can.
Buzz buzz buzz.
A bushy brunette head pops over the half-wall of my sad cubicle.
“Your phone is buzzing.”
“I am aware, Dani.”
Work-bestie/frenemy Danielle Roberts, called Dani. She’s okay. Most of the time. Not all of the time. That’s key. She’s one of those irritatingly changeable types.
One day, Dani will be up for a really revealing and deep conversation about your personal history, making you feel like you’ve broken through that professional barrier into real and true friendship, so you’ll let your guard down and start telling her things.
Like, if you’re me, you’ll tell her about what creepy Callum was like in bed (sweaty and drooling — like he literally drooled on me once — gag) or why you low-key hate Lars (our publisher and boss), and then next thing you know, Dani will totally backtrack and turn it around on you, pretending to be one of those people who is unbothered by anything and acting superior about how “worked up” you are3.
She’s always pretending she wants to bond, have deep conversations, share secrets. But she’s absolutely baited me into b—ing about Lars, and then has turned around and said, “Oh, Lars is fine really. I mean, I guess I just don’t generally find I have problems with other people, like, I don’t hate anyone. Hate is such a strong word.”
Speaking of hate, I consider statements like this to be hateful. Hateful behavior. Total lack of solidarity. Also, it’s just so dishonest.
People who are always so above it all, you know? I don’t buy it. Plus, it’s obnoxious.
And her curly hair is frizzy. No one ever told her about the plop method, apparently.
That was mean, but Dani is kind of mean, so whatever. To be honest, we all are. Everyone in media is mean. Meanness is the juice that keeps us all going. It’s the whole industry’s gasoline. If you’re not mean, you’re not going anywhere. You’re not going to make it.
