Dante’s Seven Levels of Organizational Hell
(Also — What even are jobs? Also, also — Maybe a robot actually should do this shit.)
A communications piece needs to be drafted and distributed with urgency. You send some notes to assist and get an impromptu call to correct your poor judgment in changing some initial words.
The relevant script then starts getting redrafted in places and by people with and for whom you have no useful script-related context, because you’re not in on it. Which is cool, as there are approximately 43 other things expected of your time and energy in about the next 18 minutes. (Give or take.)
Late(ish) that same Friday evening, you receive what appears to be a mostly-approved-by-multiple-people script, with a note that the beginning is not correct for its intended audience (Spoiler alert — That’s right on. It’s definitely not.) You make changes that still adhere to the draft, as it’s your understanding it has been drafted and approved elsewhere for reasons, again, unknown and not including, you. Then you send it back.
The person with whom final approval rests sends it back again, now questioning why the most irrelevant-to-the-intended-audience dreck is there, at all.
But … Wait. No. They don’t send it back to you. After all, that’s not the proper chain of command, you silly goose.
It gets sent back to you by someone else, to presumably … Fix it? Some more?
Then … It’s 7:08 on Saturday Morning when you send back what you hope to be a coherent upgrade to what should be a pretty straightforward communications piece. To be fair, you are also pondering whether bourbon is a superior breakfast drink to your usual espresso, neither of which you’ve had, yet.
Because you can think about two things at the same time.
Or you at least like to pretend you can.
And it’s 7:08.
On a Saturday morning.
Also — It seems Ole Dante was severely, spiritually misguided. Because that’s seven levels. And we ain’t even done yet.
So … Yeah.
Bourbon?
Superior breakfast beverage.
For you fellow book and word nerds out there, frowning and waving your library cards in my general direction … yes. I know. I even know, you know. Of course we know. (Though I admittedly did use the robot-facilitated internets to double-check, since me and Dante have been out of one another’s closer company for a bit.) There aren’t seven levels of hell, though the more common cultural reference tends to suggest there are.
Nope.
There are NINE.
Nine circles, actually.
And the upcoming eighth circle?
It includes …
Pimps.
Flatterers.
Hypocrites.
AND thieves.
Squeeeeeeeeeeeee!
I do so love having something to look forward to.
Imma just sit back, sip my Pappy Rye, neat, and await their arrival.