Friday, April 23, 2004

Work Stress Cont'd

Not that I'm one to talk. My partner and I have developed enough amount of stress the size of Pluto, just by trying to explain what exactly do we do for a living.

My partner: I'm a copywriter.
Female#1: How fascinating! What is it?

Me: I'm a scriptwriter.
Female#2: You should be ashamed! I've watched [insert sleazy sinetron here] and those shouldn't have been aired on TV!
But I didn't complain. I've known worse things. Such as having a job that couldn't be described in less than three words.
A: You see, our company has this division that does the financial auditing for...
B: *yawns*
C: Can we eat our lunch now?
At least I know what I am. And I can say it in one word. Too bad most people just don't know what it is.
Me: I'm a copywriter.
Male #1: You mean like an office boy?
Male #2: Wow, we didn't know. You sound so intelligent.
Only after I started working in my current office things started to change.
Me: Ah, I'm a marketer.
Everyone: Oh.
Somehow there's this thing about being a marketer. People just stop asking further questions. It's like everyone suddenly signals each other, "Let's cut the conversation before HE starts selling us something."


In a certain part of Montreal, Canada, there's a graffiti that says, "MAO LIVES!" Next to which, someone else scribbled, "Here?"

(Thanks to Douglas Anderson.)


When you're wearing a headphone, never try to strike a conversation about last night.

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