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."


ON SOMEONE ELSE'S WALL

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.)


TODAY'S FORTUNE COOKIE

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