Yesterday, I took a kind of hybrid of those.
I've been having a really crap week at work. An author who is probably clinically insane has had his books printed, and now has found that there is an error on his printed copies. Which were printed using the files which were also used to create the physical proof which he personally approved. And, of course, he's decided that it's our fault. After all, if he approved it and we sent the files based on his approval, and printed it to his specifications, it must be our fault, right?
(The appropriate response is... "Gee, no. It seems that it would be his fault at that point.")
But, for whatever reason, he has decided that the fault should be ours. Or, more precisely, mine.
Yes, that's right. He's decided that everything that went wrong - from having the wrong size template sent to him by our designers, to having the proof sent to the wrong address (an address which he gave us) by the author coordinator, and all the way back to a year or so ago when his galley copies came out with "Advanced Reader Copy" on them instead of "Advance Reader Copy" - is all my fault.
And, yesterday, when I was already not feeling well and was a bit rumbly in my tummy, I found an email in my inbox which started with: "Dear Robert, You've f*cked up. You need to admit it. ..."
Somewhere about an hour after that, probably half an hour after I had done my due diligence and replied and said that I apologized but I really hadn't made all of those errors he felt were mine. He sent another equally... vitriolic... email.
It was after that email that I decided it was time to exercise my right to half a sick day.
I only took about 2 actual hours off, but it was worth it.
Today was much better.
Or at least better.
Which is to say that the insane author didn't write again today. But I'll take that.
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