Seriously, as I type this an actual paper salesmen is over sitting on the couch pitching some new paper deal and all I can think about is The Office. I FEEL LIKE I’M ON TELEVISION.
There’s a lot of giggling and happiness and warmth filling the office as the pitch unspools like a glorious fin-de-siecle French aria:
—Sarah Palin is being discussed in an even-tempered manner, as if she’s not totally evil and crazy.
—Now onto the prospects of the NFL playdowns, which I don’t really understand.
—Now we’re on to basketball… WHOA, I just heard the words “the best series ever,” spoken tentatively, the import of which I’m fairly certain neither of our interlocutors really understands.
—And… YES, FOLKS, WE HAVE TALK OF BABIES AND CHILDREN. This one “walks,” that one “goes to the zoo.”
—Fading out now with talk of the weather. Meh.
—Back to business (more giggling, WTF.)
—Promises of “catching a ballgame,” like the estranged father said to the truculent son.
OMG, if this isn’t Heaven, I don’t want to go. Thanks, anonymous paper guy, for giving this tired old magazine editor a little touch of the glamorous.
Shine on you crazy diamond.