Back in the early 80s, I made “Proofreader Of The Month” every month I worked at this small company in Garden City, LI.
They never had the incentive program before I started there. I asked a girl in the graphics department to make a template for the award.
“But you’re the only proofreader,” she said.
“Let’s not nitpick, Louise.”
“Linda,” she corrected.
“Right. ‘Linda’ sorry.”
I made it a point to get her name wrong for my duration at the company.
She later walked into my office with a stack of them, placed them in front of me, and waited for me to inspect them.
“What do you think?”
I held one up at arm’s length, “Perfect! The graphics gods have smiled upon you, Laura. Your being glows with eminence”
“Linda.”
“Of course, Linda.”
“Keep reading,” she instructed, unimpressed by the praise.
Then I spotted what she did. She made a line for the boss’s signature and a note saying the award was invalid without it.
After a few months, Walter grew tired of finding the award on his desk with a note saying. “Signature needed by end of day- thanks, John.” He asked me to stop putting it on top of important papers and to stop altogether. I only heard the first part so I’d tape them to his windshield.
Three months later he caught me in the act in the parking lot. He asked me why I didn’t stop as he told me to. I explained that I couldn’t hear his voice over a song that was playing in my head.
I had them sent registered mail to the office requiring him to meet the mailman and sign the receipt. At a company BBQ, I had his wife hand him one. He used it as a napkin.
For the rest of my time there, I’d interrupt his closed-door meetings with important papers that needed his immediate attention. I’d softly knock, let myself in, apologize and say “these can’t wait, they have to go out today and the mailman’s here.”
Among the two or three worthless papers was the award.
“These just need your signature.” I’d nod to his guest in the office and say, “sorry about this.”
One day, after finding an award taped to the inside of the men’s room stall, he said that he wanted to fire me.
I put my arm on his shoulder and said, “…but you won’t fire me because then you’d have to go to the nerd farm and find another proofreader. You don’t want to do that, no one does.”
Months later when I left the company, at the party they threw for me he asked if I plan to annoy people for the rest of my life.
“I don’t know,” I said, “ask Loretta.”
I wonder where they are today.