I don't mean that figuratively. I literally mean that Wednesdays are hell in this office. It's the day our paper is published, and I think of it mostly as a decompression day after Tuesday, which is also hell, most of the time.
Wednesdays are full of sitting around the office, listening to the police scanner plaring behind me, and doing the following on a continuous loop which restarts every five minutes or so: checking my six email accounts (two for school, two for the paper and two for personal use), checking/updating my Facebook and reading online news articles about current events and - ocassionaly - about the top ten careers that I could be a part of and be making about 42 times the amount I'm making now.
Sometimes, I have something to do. Sometimes, I have nothing to do. But, instead of searching for something to do in the case of the latter, I just sit at my desk and continue to ruin my eyesight by staring at the computer all day.
It's clearly a grand life, the life of a small-town journalist.
Our ears perk up like a dogs when we hear and of the following on the scanner: structure fire, 10-46 (car accident with injury), shoplifting (because it usually means the shoplifter is either taking or dealing drugs) or anything about crazy pill-heads/drunks/people doing something ridiculous.
For instance, today I heard on the scanner that a man had been at the local senior citizen's center and had done something to upset the other people there, or they had done something to upset him - that detail is fuzzy. Somehow the police got involved and arrived at the center only to find out that the man did not want police assistance. This man walked all the way to his house from the senior center, even though the cop offered to drive him. The distance on this jaunt beside the four lane highway was probably about three miles. But he walked the whole way.
It made me wish I was out there walking with him. Anything is better than sitting in this office on a Wednesday.
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