The Pseudo-Chronicles of Mark Huntley

Quietly Cruel - 9/8/04

Wednesday, September 8, 2004

I was having more trouble with my right eye today. The fuzzy area is back in my vision, and this time it just won’t go away. Maybe it was there all along and I hadn't noticed it over the weekend, though that seems unlikely. Today and yesterday, though, I can confirm that it’s been there. You know, since I have to stare at a pupil-withering computer screen as part of the sacred duties of my employment.

I made an appointment to see the eye doctor (if I can still see by then) next week. My last check-in with Dr. Leonsis was only six months ago, but he won’t complain about taking more of my money.

I probably don’t have anything to worry about, though, huh? (he beseeches his Reader)

Anyway, more on the computer part of my job. A fact-checker, in case you're curious, must often turn to his trusty cyber-companions, Lexis-Nexis and Google. Sure, I do have to call a lot of random people to confirm details in articles (and get snarked at or shouted at when those details are unpleasant). But sometimes it's just as easy to use the Internet. Lexis never avoids you through its secretary or lies about its stock holdings.

So I spend a good amount of time crossing my eyes in front of a fifteen-inch monitor, but whatever almost pays the bills, right? There are parts of my work that are worse. Much worse, in fact.

Take my supervisor, for example. The editor Gerald Ryloff (or so he shall be named in this world) hands off articles to me and the other fact-checker, and then decides whether we've done a good enough job checking the facts. Gerald looks harmless. He’s thin, pale, and on the small side of the measuring tape, and he wears little half-moon spectacles and pastel button-up shirts. His eyes are always misting, as if someone has gently suggested to him that all he believes is wrong.

You'd think, therefore, that he’s one of the guys who shall inherit the earth. You know, the meekest link. And indeed, his quiet, quavering voice might support your theory at first. Then you realize that voice is ripping your work apart line by line without compassion, probing you about your errors and oversights until you feel like the stupidest person on earth. 

"Um, excuse me, Mark, but... I was wondering why you didn't check these dates on page four. Is there a reason you didn't? Is that reason because you were too lazy to check them? Or were you too careless? If you wouldn’t mind telling me, I'm very curious." Then the expressionless gaze. Always that.

Heartless dissections don’t go over well with me, and they definitely don’t go over well with my fellow fact-checker, Deb, a mother of two with a cloud of frizzy hair and a hearty dose of adult-onset diabetes. Gerald makes Deb cry at least once a week. Even when he doesn’t see the waterworks, he knows that they’re happening—he’s even commented about them to me.

Granted, Deb is kind of a sloppy fact-checker. She let a blatant lie about funding slip past us in an article two weeks ago. But she does the best she can, and I think we all deserve to be treated with some modicum of respect. One of these days, boy howdy, I'm going to make Gerald take his words back. I can't be a coward forever, can I?

Gerald's one saving grace, in my view, is that he isn't that observant himself... ironic, is it not? Ergo, the cruel little snit never even notices when I'm gone for two hours or more under the pretense of lunch. And for this I say thank you, LORD! I wouldn't be able to deal with that place without an occasional midday escape. Or… whatever the word is for “slightly more than occasional.”

Thought I smelled chlorine today while out for a walk, from somebody in the noonday crowd. But if Mr. Pool Party was there, I didn’t spot him. Quite possible there is a secret pool nearby and everybody knows about it but me. Don’t be afraid to invite me along, good people! I’ll be sure to bring my trunks to work. And I’ll wear goggles, because these peepers are my moneymakers.

posted by Mark Huntley @ 11:27 PM

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