Journalism?
In the past it has been my misfortune to work in the soul-destroying cesspit that is local journalism. Not only is the calibre of 'news' mind-numbingly tedious - I've honestly seen cases of missing cats being turned into full page stories - for the most part my colleagues were either brain-dead, refugees from reality, or worse, people who wanted to be journalists but could never in a million years make it on the big papers.

I've worked with several of these tossers, and believe me, if you knew what aresholes they were you would never pick up a local rag ever again. One clown had been at a paper I worked for since she left uni - after studying four years - and was convinced she was adding to the world of journalism by writing weekly features on how the local primary schools were doing. Another went mental, absolutely mental, when given any work to do and would tear around the town banging on doors demanding answers to her queries. Given what I've said about the quality of the news on offer, it was painful to watch this deluded bitch hammer herself into the ground over reports of minor assaults, the odd road prang or the aforementioned lost feline.

Choked for quality stories as they were, another twit once jumped up and started celebrating because he had found a 'meaty' exclusive - a four-year-old girl in the town had caught menigitis (she lived, thankfully).

But worst of all, by a long, long way, was the editor who was convinced he worked at the top news-gathering instituiton in the land, if not the world or possibly the universe.
Every day this twunt would act like Jonah J Jamieson (look it up, spidey fans), tearing round the office expecting stories of the calibre of a national exclusive (on a local paper?). What's more, he would repeatedly fuck around with what copy there was until the paper missed its print dealine - the worst crime possible. He would then try and blame someone else, occasionally me.

As a sideline, he was also a repressed homo, and, as I am young and pretty, made a point of rubbing my back when reading my screen over my shoulder. I should have complained, but I was young then, and foolish. But everyone noticed - strangely, the other repressed homo in the office even got jealous!

Thankfully, the inevitable burn out came along and took him out, but it took a long, long year........

As for me, I fucked off and got a proper job, which paid much much more, allowed me to travel and had a generous expense account. Oh, and the people I work with now are all lovely.
(El Fandango carved a big EF onto his nemesis' doublet on .., Tue 29 Jan 2008, 21:40, 1 reply)

hmm...
(1) how the local primary schools were doing.
(2) reports of minor assaults,
(3) the odd road prang
(4) lost feline.

Yeah, like local papers would be enhanced by more meta-analysis of public perceptions of Gordon B or Dave C; or "real news" as the Proper Papers like to think it.
(haberman is singing in the changes, Wed 30 Jan 2008, 13:06, closed)