In one week, Spring Break arrives, and you probably think I’d be ecstatic.
I’m not.
You probably think I’d be in a pleasant, warm, fuzzy mood.
I’m not.
Instead, I’m cranky, tired and miserable.
In fact, at this point, I hate anything that even begins with a “Y.”
Now, before I start getting sales pitches from other yearbook reps, please note that this hating on yearbooks is a generic hatefest.
It’s not my yearbook reps fault.
At any other time of year, I rather like him. From April to February, he’s really a rather wonderful guy. He brings me Starbucks–a nonfat, three raw sugar latte every time he visits me. He returns phone calls promptly. He’s a problem-solver, and he never, ever yells at me.
At any other time of year, I rather like him. From April to February, he’s really a rather wonderful guy. He brings me Starbucks–a nonfat, three raw sugar latte every time he visits me. He returns phone calls promptly. He’s a problem-solver, and he never, ever yells at me.
He’s all the things I’m not—organized, detail-oriented and pleasant.
He’s even in shape.
I hate the guy.
My yearbook pages are now past due. The yearbook company even has a nifty little pie chart showing our status–as if I need a colorful reminder of how far behind we are.
I hate pie charts.
At one point last week, we somehow managed to get more than 100 pages behind. (All the pages need to be in before spring break in order to keep our shipping date.)
I called my yearbook rep last week, but didn’t leave a message.
He noticed the missed call, promptly called me back and left me a message about what he thought my message would have been about had I left one.
Of course, he was right, you know.
Jeez Louise, I hate that guy…and yearbooks and yachts and yaks and yams and yellow and…
He’s even in shape.
I hate the guy.
My yearbook pages are now past due. The yearbook company even has a nifty little pie chart showing our status–as if I need a colorful reminder of how far behind we are.
I hate pie charts.
At one point last week, we somehow managed to get more than 100 pages behind. (All the pages need to be in before spring break in order to keep our shipping date.)
I called my yearbook rep last week, but didn’t leave a message.
He noticed the missed call, promptly called me back and left me a message about what he thought my message would have been about had I left one.
Of course, he was right, you know.
Jeez Louise, I hate that guy…and yearbooks and yachts and yaks and yams and yellow and…
5 comments:
I used to watch the yearbook advisor at our high school, amazed she wasn't screaming at the kids. But now I know her secret -- it was the yearbook rep that kept her sane. And, hey, you got Starbucks, and we, grading all those English essays and not screaming at our kids, either, got...more essays.
WHAT??? The sorry Bugger brings you Starbucks? If he doesn't start showing up with Slurpees I'm not going to let him even poke his head in the freaking door.
He passed off "Dear Diva, we'd really like you to submit your freaking pages" task to his sweet nephew (who I am totally incapable of snapping at).
We choose our new staff for next year the week before spring break, so I have that too. Whole thing gives me hives...and an intense desire to drink.
Want book done. Done done done. Must admit... this makes me very happy our spring break isn't until April!
Who needs a Yearbook anyways. Students post so much information on social media sites that all they have to do is look back 4 months ago on a friend's wall to see what they posted and re-live the memory.
This is this second post I've read from a Yearbook Hata today. Welcome to the club!
Post a Comment