And that means it's time for me to waste some time at work again.
Today, I will talk about my desk and all the things that make reporting the news possible. This will be an introduction to my life as a reporter in south eastern Kentucky, something you probably think you know a lot about, but I can gaurantee you are ignorant of the ways of reporting in the mountains.
I am typing this on what I can only assume is the oldest still-operating desktop computer in eastern Kentucky. It's an HP Compaq, to give you a visual, and the monitor was made a company called, Envision. Never heard of them? Neither have I. When I began working here a little less than a year ago, my editor, whom I'll refer to as Big Brother (not because of George Orwell's classic novel, but because he reminds me of my big brother), literally took it off the desk of the publisher (whom I've only ever seen a handful of times over the past year) and gave it to me to use.
It's an alright computer if the only thing you're going to use it for is typing stories. I can't ask this computer to perform more than two tasks at once, and two tasks is really pushing it. The keyboard has also seen better days. While the sound of clicking keys and the occassional clash of the space bar makes me feel all reporter-y, I've had to prop up the right side of the keyboard with a clippy magnet one would use to clip notes in while hanging from the refigerator. Otherwise typing would be impossible on this thing.
My work computer has been infected with a total of three trojan viruses since my first day, causing me to have to use the Ad Manager's laptop for a day or two while the desktop was being disinfected.
I was told my first week by the publisher, whom I'll refer to as Lost (because he's a huge Lost fan, but also because he is constantly lost on several levels), that he would buy me a Mac because when he asked me what kind of person I was (not philisophically, or anything - that would cause Lost to become lost), I told him Mac. I have yet to receive this new toy.
And this brings me to the first rule of being a reporter: If you ask for new equipment, you will not receive it - ever. What will happen is the publisher will hear what you asked, then stowe that question away in the back of his mind somewhere in the spaces that should be filled with knowing how to be a publisher, and that question will collect dust and wither and grow old and moldy there until it finally rots someday alongside all the questions your editor asked your publisher about ethics.
On top of my desktop sit two paper cranes I made out of a used Post-it note and a used sheet of paper. These two remants might eventually make it into the drawer where I keep all the other origami I made before I decided writing in a blog would be a better use of my free time at work. I like origami and I like my two cranes. They will probably remain there until I leave this job.
My phone is next to the computer, and perhaps surprisingly, the phone cord is not a tangled mess like everyone else's in the office. I'm not sure why this is, but I rather enjoy not having to lay my head on the desk to use the phone because the cord won't untangle enough to allow me to sit up.
I keep my reporter's notebook beside the phone, just in case someone calls me with a hot tip that I need to jot down quickly. I don't know why I think someone will just call me up to give me information (although that has actually happened a couple of times), but I like having a reminder sitting there that tries to convince my brain that this job really is exciting.
My Roladex sits close to the phone as well for obvious reasons. That Roladex is not the most essential tool in my arsenal, but it is pretty vital. All the contacts I've made over the past year and some that were already there before I got here can be found in that Roladex. Sure, it's old-school journalism, but I don't care. It gets the job done and it keeps me from having to deal with whtiepages.com or the phone book. I've also made little notes on some of the entires for the person who takes my place here when I leave. Things like, cell phone numbers and "Best way to get in touch," or "call this number first." Journalism is a hard effing job, and it's even harder in the mountains, so I figure the least I can do is make things a little easier for the next lone staff reporter at The Herald (not the actual name of the paper).
Last, but definitely not least, I recently filched some things from the supply closet, and one of those things was a pack of orange Post-it notes. It's a brand new pack, fresh out of the plastic and I honestly think of ways to avoid using them. It's so pretty and neat hanging out over there, I don't want to distrub it. I'm a sucker for new office supplies and my favorite color is orange, so this is pretty close to nirvana for me. I might save this particular pack of Post-its until my last two weeks, then make a whole bunch of paper cranes out of them and leave them all over the desk as a going-away present from me to the office.
Only time will tell.
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