DOING THE WORK #9
by Harris O'Malley

May 30, 2004
Little Moments, Little Deaths

There are times in every small-businessman’s life when it seems, nay, it is crystal clear, that the only universal constant, the true law that runs the universe down to the quantum level was written by that bastard Murphy.

You know the one.

Being a comic publisher, especially a self-publisher basically means that your free time doesn’t exist and those precious moments you can steal for yourself are quite literally money that you’re not earning. This has the tendency of making one rather more aware of it than you may have been back in the halcyon days before you were aware of things like deadlines or publishing schedules.

It also makes you more likely to fall prey to the siren call of the X-Box, but that’s another matter. Paragon City is a harsh mistress…

Becoming more aware of time makes it that much more aggravating when it’s being forcibly taken from you with all the glee of a five year old thalidomide baby pulling wings off flies.

I'd been contacted a couple weeks ago by a small but relatively known magazine that
was interested in review copies of my book, and would I like to send them some copies?

Not being a great fool and hoping to get some press outside of the usual outlets, I leapt at the chance. Thus the story starts.

Because of the vagaries of my dysfunctional web-host, the e-mail had been delayed and I only had a few days to get in contact with them to meet the deadline for the next issue. Naturally, this happened to coincide with my having to leave town for a family occasion, and I didn’t hear back.

And so the deadline passes. This was not ideal, seeing as that issue would have coincided roughly with the San Diego Comic-Con, but I was willing to chalk it up to bad
luck.

The other day, I get another e-mail, pretty much the same one, asking if I'm interested in sending copies. Not willing to trust my financial future to the fates (I have lottery tickets for that…), I decided to simply call and ask for the reviews editor.

In retrospect, I probably should have just driven nails through my hands. It would have been somewhat more productive.

Here’s how the ordeal went. Some details were changed to cover my ass:

Receptionist: Thank you for calling $NAME...
Me: Hi, could I speak to...
Receptionist: please hold.

(I’m placed on hold for ten minutes. The Muzak system serenades me with The Best of Chris DeBerg.)

Receptionist: Hi. Sorry about that. Thank you for calling $NAME, how can I help you?
Me: Hi, could I speak to the reviews editor please.
Receptionist: Hold please.

(Back on hold for another fifteen minutes. The Lady In Red is still staring, evidently.)

Voice#1: Hi, who're you waiting for?
Me: Hi, I'm waiting for the reviews editor.
Voice#1: Gotcha. Hold on, I'll see if he's in.

(This time, I’m not put on hold, the phone's just put down. Ten minutes go by.)

Then someone hung up on me.

Ok, understandable, no harm, no foul. So I call back.

Receptionist: Thank you for calling $NAME...
Me: Hi, could I speak to...
Receptionist: please hold.

(Whoops, back on hold for ten minutes. Yet more of Mssr. DeBerg)

Receptionist: Hi. Sorry about that. Thank you for calling $NAME, how can I help you?
Me: Hi, could I speak to the reviews editor please.
Receptionist: Hold please.

(On hold again for another fifteen minutes. I’m beginning to become far, far too familiar with Chris’ song stylings)

Voice#1: Hi, who're you holding for?
Me: Hey, I called a couple minutes ago for the reviews editor and...
Voice#1: So why'd you hang up?
Me: Someone hung up the phone.
Voice#1: So you didn't hang up?
Me: No.
Voice#1: Ok, hang on. I'll go see.
(He puts the phone down. I'm waiting a good 30, 40 minutes as I hear sounds off the office at work. I begin to start contemplating trying to incite a workplace shooting.)

Voice#2: Hello?
Me: Hello? Could I speak to the reviews editor please?
Voice#2: Yeah, wait a sec.
Me: CouldyouatleastputmeonholdsoIwon'tbehungup...
(Puts the phone down. Another 30 minutes. Then someone hang the phone up. AGAIN.)

I begin to pound my head against the desk. Once the pain fades, I pick up the phone and hit redial.

Receptionist: Thank you for calling $NAME...
Me: I keep getting hung up on and
Receptionist: please hold.

(And I’m back on hold again. I’m really starting to get pissed off at that goddamn tart in the red dress)

Receptionist: Hi. Sorry about that. Thank you for calling $NAME, how can I help you?
Me: Who's the reviews editor?
Receptionist: Matt G.
Me: Great, could you just transfer me to his line?
Receptionist: Hold please.

(Oh god, not again. I… I can hear the chanting behind the music! It’s boring into my brain! Yog-Sothoth knows the gate! Yog-Sothoth is the gate…)

Voice#1: Hi, who're you holding for?
Me: (sigh) I keep calling and getting hung up on.
Voice#1: I'm sorry man, it's a little crazy around here today.
Me: Anyone die yet?
Voice #1: Huh?
Me: Nevermind.
Voice#1: So who're you trying to get?
Me: Matt G.
Voice #1: Right. Hang on. I'll make sure you don't get hung up on.

(I don’t know what he’s doing, but at least I’m not being hung up. It still takes a damned 34 minutes and ten seconds. Yes, I counted.)

Voice #1: You still there?
Me: Yeah...
Voice #1: You're trying to find again, man?
Me: Matt G.
Voice #1: Hang on.
Me: Oh God…

(10 more minutes pass. My fingernails leave indentations in the phone)
Voice #1: Hey man, he's not in today.
Me: ...
Voice #1: You want to leave a message?
Me: yeah. sure.
Voice #1: Hold on a second.

And someone hung up the phone again.

Gaaah.

Harris O'Malley is a writer/artist/publisher of BETWEEN THE CRACKS and artist of the upcoming OGN Berserker: The Wild Hunt. Find out more at http://www.studiounderhill.com


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