Flash back to 2007 when SharkBoy and I are exploring the China pavilion at EPCOT. We come around a secluded corner and we're standing in front of the rather short (nearly dwarfish!) dragon character from the movie Mulan.

Me: "Gueshew!"
The Character's Minder: (utterly exasperated, probably had to remind people all day who this guy was) Mushu!
Me: "Right. Can we get a picture?"

Flash forward to a few days ago, while discussing marketing materials for our upcoming Australia Week presentation, I mentioned I would love to try on the company's Roo suit as a precursor to my Disney trip. Just to see how the cast members at Walt Disney World do it.

I've always admired anyone who can put on a costume that will kill you within minutes through heat exhaustion.

While in the safety of a mask, it's easy to become something apart from the norm. Something outside a desk job and 9-5 humdrum. I could see the attraction form those Plushie/Furries as that you become a more innocent persona. And while in this persona, you can see just how incredibly polarized Torontonians are when faced with a 7 ft tall kangaroo while walking home from work. Some laughed. Some interacted, even if it was just a wave and a smile. Some got excited and were chatty. But most chose to ignore me. Which baffles me. I use to tut-tut bstewart23's constant griping about Toronto being an "un-fun" place to live. Or SharkBoy's complaint that "Toronto certainly ain't Montreal".

They're both completely right - Toronto is full of unfunny, desensitized people.

Case in point: In costume, I'm waving at a woman passing me by. Nothing, zero, nada - I could have touched her she passed by so close yet no acknowledgement. So I follow her to the corner (not an easy feat with size 23 feet) and stand close beside her. She turns to see who is in her personal space and screams. Did you not just see the 7ft tall kangaroo?

Then there was the guy on his phone, walking towards me. I do a little tail wagging dance and mock fingers-to-ear phone mime. "I'm being bothered by a giant rat," he says into his phone, without a hint of humour or appreciation that I just took him out of his dull day. Bitter fuck.

And to the two dicks on lowrider bikes, zipping past me so fast that they got a good cold-cocking punch to my snout without me even knowing it was going to happen, I say go play in traffic. With blindfolds. And razor blades in your cheeks.

Don't get me wrong, some people were great. I had a group of liquid lunch secretaries grab my arms and do a song and dance while one video-ed it on her cell phone. Wee! One woman screamed when I did a jog towards her with flyer in hand, reminding me that even my niece-in-law can't even be near a costumed raccoon, let alone a real one. A actual Australian couple, fresh off the plane asked why I was in a coyote outfit.

There were kids. Lots of kids. All of them utterly frightened to come near me until I extended a hand. I was hugged repeatedly.

But for the most part, people would not look at me or acknowledge me. Okay this kind of reaction would probably happen in any major city but it's sad, none the less. Are we so compartmentalized that a 7ft tall kangaroo costume can't even rouse up a grin or a nod?

Hi Ted, we sent a request to all managers asking them to nominate staff that they felt had done something exceptional or gone beyond the call of duty during these tough times and in response to this, Emma nominated you. In recognition of this we are pleased to award you 2 tickets for travel on Air New Zealand from Vancouver or Los Angeles to New Zealand, Australia, Cooks or Fiji.

The tickets are available for travel between now and September 30th – all travel must be complete by that date.

Holy Crap! Where do I go?

My name was second last, just above "Chuck"

"Bruce? Who is Chuck?" I ask.

In his thickest Australian accent, he laughs. "Chuck! Throw it out. Chuck it."

Graphic Designer with Mailroom Experience

Looking for reliable individual with Valid Drivers license and the ability to work in a diverse atmosphere.
Must be able to scan, sort, edit hardcopy materials.

Must have knowledge of portable scanners.

Looking for someone with switchboard and admiistrative knowledge.

Microsoft office,adobe,excel,and knowledge of the web access.

One - two years experience.

Shitty

Ah, how firm and absolute words are when you capitalize them.

Wednesday, last week, I was informed that I would have to let one of the design team go in my department (new readers to Dead Robot should know I'm a team leader of a graphics department at a large-ish travel wholesaler). I wasn't surprised by this. A constant barrage of bad news nightly consisting of economic doom and gloom steeled me to this event. I have watched the company's website hits drop off and I knew that translated to a slump in sales. Plus the fact that the owner would walk the halls of the office with a face like a cat's ass.

I made my recommendations as to each staff's workloads, attitude and abilities and then left it with upper management to decide. Not to be a martyr but I even suggested my position be shitcanned, which was met with a "We've invested too much in you" kind of comment. Nice! The next day, Thursday, I was told which would be leaving, but they'd be let go on Monday, in the morning. Whuh? Not Friday? I shrugged and then asked if I could be present for the despicable conversation. I then spend the next couple days pretending to be upbeat and happy while inside, I knew we were letting go one of the more funner people in the department.

Just before Xmas.

Yeah.

A hero is me.

Monday comes and I am working hard and didn't notice the unlucky person getting called away into the marketing manager's office - people are in and out of our cube constantly so I missed them walking past my desk. When they came out of the manager's office, freshly unemployed, I didn't notice them grab one co-worker and leave the cube. Frankly it happened so quick I thought they were discussing something over a smoke-break.

The manager then calls me into their office and informs me that they had done the deed and all was ok. As "ok" as can be.

I stammered. "You did it already?"

I leave the office and find this person already gone. No goodbye, no explanations, not even a look in the eye.

I wasn't happy.

Then an hour later we are informed by email that our company has applied for "WorkShare", a little known mini-bail out package where most of the staff drops to a 4 day work week with their wage adjusted appropriately. Staff then can claim some measly percentage in Employment Insurance back (I've always laughed at the doubleplusgood think of the name of our UNemployment insurance program), something like 55% of the day's wages. While it's not much, I bless the socialist lefty that thought that program up. However, I am unable to work part time and claim it, creating an almost English DHSS-style catch 22. If I work part time, I don't get EI, but I get taxed to the same level as the EI benefit. I don't work I get EI and play video games and generally not contribute to anything other than a Homer Simpson-esque rut in the couch.

So with two swift kick to the nuts I am left with less money, a demoralized staff who weren't all that moralized in the first place and an opportunity to work at Starbucks one day a week.

Yay global economy!

According to an inside source, the graphic had allegedly already been inscribed onto mousemats and pens in anticipation of its imminent deployment, but it took OGC foot soldiers around 20 seconds to realise (sic) why this particular bit of joss-stick-driven madness was going to end in tears (of laughter):

Here's the new logo:

Before I turn it sideways, have a read at 25 reasons you Might Be a Hard Core Designer (I got 22 out of 25!):

1. You’ve had a client that thought they knew more about design than you.

2. Your clients pay you for your professional expertise and skill, yet you’ve run into one of ‘those’ clients, that refuses to take the advice from the very person he/she is paying for advice (you).

3. You’ve had a client that insisted on using the font “Papyrus,” and you had to hold in your barf as you prepped it [the design] for printing.

4. You’ve requested a vector logo from a client, and instead, they email you a 72 dpi image they grabbed from a website.

5. You’ve used typography as a texture.

6. You don’t have a favorite font because you love “Typography.” Not Fonts. Choosing a favorite font would be like choosing a favorite child, it’s just wrong.

7. You collect as many free stuffs from the interwebs as you can on your hard drive, hoping that one day, that cool project will come along that you can actually use some cool shit on.

8. You’d rather have a free font than a free gallon of gas.

9. It’s hard to talk about frustrations at your job with a group of friends because they have no idea what “Vector” or “DPI” is, just to name a couple.

10. You’ve had a client ask you to “Make the logo bigger.”

11.You’ve had a client that insists on “filling up the space.”

12. You’ve learned to over-price web design projects because most clients are more picky about their websites than a high school girl picking out a prom dress.

13. You feel like you’re “On Call” half of the time because clients procrastinate so much.

14. You know keyboard shortcuts that require 4 fingers.

15. You’ve lost hours of work because an application crashed, and you had to start over from scratch because you were in the “zone” and forgot to save. Basically, you were having so much fun being creative that saving was the last thing on your mind at the time.

16. You’ve “Live-Traced” something.

17. You spend more hours per week looking at CSS showcase sites than you do at the gym.

18. The only thing that would make you happier than the demise of IE6 is world peace.

19. You’ve done everything but give up a body part to talk a client out of a “Flash Intro.” Yeah. I said it. Flash Intro. Sad, so so sad. (goes along with #2)

20. You have enough fonts on your hard drive to last you for: 1 font per day for about a decade, give or take a year or two.

21. You know, explicitly, what a “Flourish” is.

22. You worry about negative space as much as the content area.

23. You get phone calls from friends and family members on a regular, sometimes annoyingly-frequent basis, wanting your services for free or extremely cheap. (and the “portfolio” line makes you want to throw something across the room)

24. You’ve had a client that wants a website they can “update” on their own, but doesn’t know shit about websites.

25. You’re never more than 99% happy with your final product because you believe that EVERYTHING can be improved upon. (especially with those tight-deadline projects)

And the logo sideways (clear your mind and think There's Something About Mary). It's easy to see how turning a mousepad would reveal this cock up:

41 hours trapped in an elevator (security cam video here at 40 times the normal speed).

The story is interspersed with interesting elevator facts but the core of it had me rapt: this poor sap was stranded with just Rollaids and cigarettes for comfort. The elevator died on a Friday night and 8 security guard shifts came and went before he was found on Sunday afternoon, even though he's visible on the security cams.

Poor sap sued the building management and got an out-of-court settlement, but hasn't been able to find work since.

Having done this, I certainly can feel the pain of the graphic designer who inserted an image of a jailbroken iPod Touch into a national ad campaign for Radio Shack (via Engadget). You can tell it's hacked - it has the Installer app and Mobile Chat icons on the Springboard. I have a sinking feeling that the poor sap behind the Mac had to get this flyer out the door with minimal assistance from the art director and was forced to take a picture of his own iPod to cut corners. I'm also assuming that he was low man on the totem pole and nobody checked his work that hard.

I'm also assuming he's at home right now assessing his portfolio.

But this cheered me up right at the end of it:

One woman: I saw your email... where are you going? Somewhere fun?
Departing woman: Oh. An operation. Breast cancer.
Sudden gasp from pretty much everyone.
Departing woman: We caught it, it has to be removed (She's smiling).
We stare at the floor, the numbers, anywhere but at her...
Another woman: Will you... do kemo?
Departing woman: Don't know yet. (Pause) My doctor is hot. Irish, over six foot, beautiful eyes. He had my boob in his hand.
We laugh a little nervous. Then a bit harder.
Me: Did you ask him out?
Departing woman: Damn! I will next time. (Another pause) I should put a lipstick kiss on the side of my boob just before the operation.
Me: Better yet, I'll get you a Sharpie, you should write your number on there.
Departing woman: (Laughs)
Me: Well at least you know he's got it.
Departing woman: (Laughs harder, while the rest chuckle nervously)

Remember how we use to go camping a lot? Lately I've been "advising" the guy who took over The Point's website from me, on various CSS and layout issues they've run up against when the owner of the campground purchased a template site from ...someone. In offering my help, I only succeeded in opening a scab that seeped resentment.

Back in the day when I created the original site, I was unaware that there was a problem with it, but yet as soon as I dropped it was released from all responsibilities towards the site, some of the images were instantly changed, like...oh the titles/headers. I happily volunteered my time and effort in creating a site that didn't have spinning animated GIFs or 3 year old site images, and had cleaned it up to something more recent and professional. After SharkBoy and I announced our desire not to return to the campground as seasonals, I told the owners that any updates would be paid for on an hourly basis. Suddenly the update requests stopped coming in and the site changed.

That's fine. Thems the breaks. Sayonara!

My friend who's working on the site messages me a few months back and asks if I wouldn't mind helping fixing a template. I'm not cool with the prospect of revisiting this, but he is a friend, so I say yes. This guy isn't strong in basic HTML/CSS and got me to dive into the code and try to mold this "purchased site" their needs. I fingerquote that because the code is really bad (multiple nested tables, background images linked twice: inline and in CSS, etc. Basic Frontpage crap) - whoever sold them this template site certainly is laughing all the way to the bank. I digress. After a few hours sitting, we got a page to acceptable template level. Yay!

A few days later, he messages me about the reservation form I had created on the previous site. Quickly, I dropped the old code into the new template and sent it back. And of course, it wasn't working. My friend then asks if I could I try to fix it, or adapt this new form code he had found. I look at the new form and I see nothing but hours of work involved. He's implemented part of the form in test already and I'd have to learn where he's left off, let alone learn the code for the form system. And get it to lay out correctly in the fixed template.

*snap*

This is where I bailed. Quite abruptly, I'm afraid. I think these were my words: "I'm done. I have no desire to try to figure this stuff out." Which I think was fair, considering that I was not getting anything for something I'd usually charge $75/hr, one hour minimum, from people who I felt trashed my original efforts as soon as I was out the door.

I know it was rather unfair of me to leave my friend in such a lurch (you'll see he's got the form working on the live site now, anyway. But he hasn't stripped out any of the original layout coding, making the page glorp to one side).

I feel bad about that, thanks. I'm an unreliable friend. I'm not comfortable with that and I'll take it to my grave.

But as I hung up the phone I remembered every single time I've been nice and helpful and got burnt as compensation. You may remember the 2 hagbag Publishers from Toronto/NYC who failed to pay me my final two months worth of work because I asked for their outstanding invoices to be paid. And just last year I volunteered to get the catalogue for Casey House's Art With Heart art acution online which went south (gracefully) after they asked me to put 300+ pics into a power point presentation. And then get that file hog online. When I asked if they could edit down some of the pictures, it was received with a cold "We'll think about that". And the phone stopped ringing.

So I'm no longer whoring myself out for free - it only leads to heartache.

I see this as a plus! I now have much more time for Xbox, and Wii, much like this freelancer!

Not audible farts, mind you, but silent ones that creep up on you. Three or four sniffs after the massive storm cloud rolls over into your personal space you realize you're ingesting someone else's digested gas. Gag reflexes suppressed.

By the fourth poot bomb I was getting sick.

By the fifth one, I was suspecting my table neighbour as being the source. As I am sure she was suspecting me.

Suddenly the presenter, who has been walking all over the room calls upon me to stand and talk. She hands me the mic. In doing so, I'm engulfed in a fresh cloud of ass fragrance and realize this person is the phantom pooter.

In my hand is a microphone hooked up to our west coast office with about 10 leaders in attendance. I'm also standing in a room of about 15 local managers. The urge to yell: "WE'RE BEING GASSED! CALL FOR HELP!" was so great I nearly forgot what I had to actually say.

That's my work story for Friday.

"What?" I am aghast.

"Oh come on," they said as if to say We're cool! You and I can use 'gay' like that!

"WHAT?" I said louder.

"I guess I meant 'stupid'."

I got up from my desk and left them there alone in my cubicle, "What? What is it Ted?" hitting me in the back of the head as I stormed off. I got half way down to HR before calming down enough to realize I need to confront this person first before going crying to someone.

So I did.

I took them outside and said "If I ever hear you say that again in a derogatory manner, I will have you in HR's office so fast your head will spin."

Their reply?

"But my uncle is gay!"

The flood gates burst open. I went into a rant saying they just disrespected my family as well as their own. Their eyes wide, I went on to explain exactly why using 'gay' that way was demeaning to a large part of my life. I said I wasn't militant, but I would ask that they refrained from using 'gay' in reference to 'stupid' things. I finished by saying I could not believe they had reduced our office to high school playground proportions. I was shaking mad by the end of it.

We talked more and we're cool. This co-worker looked like a deer in headlights when I left them.

To the lady on the cell phone who let everyone on the streetcar know that she was in the movie industry and was having a big drama day: You know the drill... throw yourself in front of the streetcar.

To my Doctor: Please just once acknowledge one of my jokes. I know you're beleaguered and busy. Stop and laugh. Show me you're human. Or throw yourself in front of your Audi. Whatever works.

To the homeless lady still outside my window yelling like there is an emergency, from my return home at 5pm-ish to now, 9:30pm: Seek help. If you won't seek help, throw yourself in front of a crack dealer. Oh. You already did that.

To the one manager in my office who insists on flooding us with useless graphics requests that go absolutely nowhere but yet we have to honour them all the same because you have one grain of respectability that seems to shine in someone's eyes: Visit India, reserve a spot on an elephant safari and then throw yourself in front of a pachyderm.