This morning, my coworker Jen sent a few of us a link to this creepy story about a 24-year-old man who worked at an ad agency. He worked crazy hours for month—and then he dropped dead. Zoinks. The story is even creepier considering that Jen passed it on because WE have been working crazy hours. Like yesterday, I was glued to my desk until almost 11 p.m.—then I tumbled into a cab, crawled up the stairs to my apartment, got in bed with my cat and ate chocolate and cried. Kidding! (About the crying, anyway.)
Danielle, another editor here, responded that maybe we should have a heart attack but NOT die (as if we could control that) and then try to get some settlement money.
“Ooh, I like where your head’s at,” I said, sentence-ending preposition and all, and emailed this fine suggestion:
How do we fake a heart attack? Or we could just pretend to have a serious nervous breakdown—like in School Ties when the kid loses it because their French teacher is such a hard-ass and the other guys find him in the classroom in the middle of the night, muttering French to himself. And then when they’re carting him out to the ambulance, the teacher shows up, and Brendan Fraser is like, “YOU DID THIS!” in his sexy deep voice (back when he was considered sexy).** Except in our case, we’d be muttering about word repetitions.
So if my next post is about how I’m rich and moving to Paris, you’ll know that act involving curling up in a ball under my desk and frantically mumbling about how we used “über” three times this issue paid off. Literally.
**Editor’s note: Back when Brendan Fraser was considered sexy AND when Chris O’Donnell was a precocious little dreamboat-in-training.