It looked like it was going to be a pretty laidback Thursday.
Thursday is normally an intense and horrible day - because everything that's going on air on Saturday, Sunday and Monday has to go out on Thursday.
But this Thursday looked like it was going to be a breeze... we were in the eye of the Christmas advertising rush storm.
And then, at around 3pm, everything went to hell.
Suddenly, things that we had been under the distinct impression were totally cool, were not totally cool.
This voiceover should say "three hours" not "five hours," said one client, a week after it was approved.
Oh, and by the way, said the secretary, we need this, this and this.
It was time, it seemed, for some ninja editing. My boss and I unsheathed our katanas (literally, not in some weird homoerotic metaphory way) and performed the pre-ninja editing ceremony.
Boss: United we stand.
Me: United we fall.
Boss: In defeat there is shame.
Me: In defeat there is dishonour.
Boss: Take-Mikazuchi! God of Thunder! Grant us speed!
Me: Kagu-Zuchi! God of Fire! Grant us courage!
Anyway, to cut a long story short (not really) we got through it all. The surprise at the end was that I got tomorrow off.
Things were looking up.
At around 6pm, I hopped, skipped and jumped over to my car, got in, and turned on the ignition.
Ah, the sweet sound of a great engine. Hear that baby purr.
I pulled out of the carpark, and began to make the 60k journey home. Did I mention that things were looking up? Well, they were.
I got home, I had some delicious left-overs for dinner, and I began to plan my sojourn to Melbourne tomorrow, for the office Christmas party. Perhaps I could make a day of it. Perhaps I could go down with Vegie and SteveSteve, and we could all make a day of it! It'd be fun. It'd be great.
Should I call them and see what they're up to? Hell no!
I'll go over and visit! It'll be fun! It'll be great.
I went outside and got into my car. I turned on the ignition.
Ah, the sweet sound of a great engine. Hear that baby purr. I put on a tape of rocking tunes.
Things were definitely looking up.
I pulled out of my street. I drove down a hill. I turned left. I drove along a bit.
Something... seemed odd.
I seemed to be losing my capacity to accelerate. Had I forgotten to put my foot on the pedal?
I tried pressing the pedal with my foot. No, my foot was definitely on that pedal. I looked at the collection of futuristic dials in front of me. We seemed to just be revving the engine, but not actually accelerating. Maybe I should pull over?
I pulled over.
Ah, the sad sound of a terrible engine. Hear that baby cry.
I initiated contact with my father and asked him to assist me in a father-son conversation inre: getting my car to work.
He came down, and delivered the sad news.
"Cam," he said.
"Yes, dad," I said, tears welling up in my eyes.
"Your gearbox... it's fucked."
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!" I screamed, cursing Take-Mikazuchi with every ounce of my being, "NOT MY GEARBOX!"
It was going to cost somewhere in the general vicinity of $2000-$3000.
Hell, the whole car only originally cost me $3000. Nevertheless, this was $3000 that I technically didn't have.
An hour later, I was standing outside the transmission joint with the RACV dude, who offered his commiserations.
I walked home, like one of those fags that walks places, my head hung in shame.
*I hope you all appreciate my authentic Ninja speak. That took fucking forever to find. Was the joke worth the effort? I say.... Tashika Ni.