For eons people have wondered what makes us tick. How we can go about churning out inkblots of genius on paper week-in, week-out with such nonchalance. But we've always humbly held back, further heightening our mystique and greatness. We felt the world wasn't ready for such knowledge, and that divulging it could be catastrophic. That stance still holds, but here we are anyway, giving you a peek behind the curtains, into the workshop where we iron out words that invoke stronger feelings than the Pope's midnight amble through the woods does.
Thursday- We do not conform to the pre-supposed ideals of society. For us, the week starts on Thursday. While everyone is looking forward to a relaxing weekend, we prepare for the trenches…..at 2 in the afternoon. Because that's when we wake up and groggily flip through the week's RS. We spot the mistakes and curse loudly. No doubt, some blithering fool messed up in some way or the other. Our favourite recipients of blame are the graphics team. Articles got switched? Blame them. Typos in the pieces? Blame them. World hunger? Well, they eat a lot so I suppose you can blame them for this, too.
Thursday is the day of the team meeting. This is when everyone who's slightly touched in the head assemble in one room to talk about ideas. We usually start the proceedings by yelling at them for their laziness. Demoralised, the writers give us some ideas we don't really listen to, instead choosing to spend our time making lame jokes everyone's forced to laugh at. There are occasionally a few good ideas, but the discussions degenerate quickly into cupcakes and unicorns. The Editor usually goes into his monologue about cars at this point and Orin begins to laugh at something until she's crying and laughing at the same time. That's our cue to disperse.
Friday- I must send the article memo to the writers. I must send the memo. Wait, wasn't he supposed to send the memo? That's right.
Saturday- Dammit, I was supposed to send the memo. Frantic rush to the office to find out whatever random articles were assigned and then send the memo. Check the mailbox two minutes after sending and curse loudly at the writers' inefficiency.
Sunday- The day begins like any other for us. At 2 in the afternoon. The day's itinerary includes shuffling to work, flipping through the latest edition of Star Campus and feeling better about ourselves. At the office, we are prudent enough to take precautions should the Editor see us on Facebook during working hours (which is likely because we're always on it). Preventative measures include hiding under the desk with the monitor. It doesn't usually work and Shaer gets beaten up with a tripod. Managing free, creative spirits like ourselves can take its toll on a person and the Editor unwinds after a long day of tripod wielding by listening to Boyfriend by Justin Bieber. Before leaving, we prepare pictures for the next issue by failing to pull Marilyn Monroe poses as our resident photographer shows off his Instagram skills. Hard day at work.
Monday- Wake up at 2 and meet up with our fellow sufferers from Campus and Lifestyle for a particularly late brunch. Because catching up is hard work, this usually takes till 4 in the afternoon. We then take an ice-cream break before heading to our cubicles. The Editor's usually already there, hard at work. Only 'work' entails photoshopping pictures of people and placing them in precarious positions (I distinctly remember one with the owner of Rana Plaza and a shark from Jaws). At this point, we start listening to some music or try out a new game or two. What? You think we don't work? How else do you get an album reviewed or a game reviewed each week? We take no pleasure in choosing it over actual work, but it must be done. By the end of the day, we can hear the graphics team grumbling audibly. We alleviate their troubles by telling them everything's in. They check and see nothing's there but we've already left.
Tuesday- Blatant panic. But only after waking up at 2 and arriving at the office fashionably late. With nothing planned, we start chucking articles in folders randomly, sometimes choosing them because we think the writer's pretty. But panic never helps anyone and we indulge in some office golfing to relieve the stress, followed by a short visit to the canteen. Once we're feeling better, we get to work again. That's when we realise that none of the articles fit. Without regard to the writer's creative property, we brutally mutilate them and cut them short. We furtively glance at the Editor to ask for help but he's still putting the final touches on his latest photoshop victim. But somehow, out of the chaos, a pattern emerges, like light finally set free. And we marvel over it, and the words in front of us- in the canteen, of course. It leads to deep conversations about life, love and cars, and the week's issue finally takes shape. After that, it's just a matter of minor editing, where we completely avoid correcting typos and curse words. We pat ourselves on the back for a job well done as Justin Bieber's coiffed poster flutters gently in the air-conditioned room. All is well. And if it's not, it's obviously the graphics team's fault.
Wednesday- The final day of a grueling week. This is the day the Editor calls us up and yells at us for not putting up the promo on the Facebook page. We blame the graphics team. Upload the photo, get a few likes and be all like “Yea, that's how it's done”. That is, of course, before we get flaming comments for advertisements on the paper. Now that you know how hard we work, I'm sure you can forgive us for trying to earn a little money.
Scratch, rinse and repeat.