The Four Week Extension
Phil sat at his desk with his head down over a couple spreadsheets. His trademark pencil tucked behind his ear, Phil ran an index finger up and down both documents.
Phil: “Pull up an apple box.”
He said this to the documents.
Me: “Last time I did that I ended up working, for two weeks, on something for which I was completely unqualified.”
He leaned back in his chair.
Phil: “This will be different.”
Me: “Good.”
Phil: “This will take you about four weeks.”
Me: “Come on. Don’t mess with me, Lofaro.”
Phil, one of the more straightforward people on planet Earth, picked up one of the spreadsheets and waved it in my direction.
Phil: “We’re expanding the studio. I’ve gotten the funds to add six stages to the production schedule, but I need you to stick around, supervise the buildout, and, most importantly, purchase the lighting, grip, and camera gear.”
The apple box tipped over with me on it.
Me: “Supervising facilities construction and hardware procurement? Can I check my resume again? Would you like to know exactly how much experience I have in those two fields.”
Silence took over Phil’s office.
Me: “Alright, I will tell you how much, since secretly you want to know.”
More silence.
Me: “None.”
Phil: “Bo, the head of construction will handle most of the details for the build out, which is happening on the indoor parking lot by the way. But just to show you how much I don’t want to overtax you, I’ve already arranged for Shane to have all the employees currently using it to move their cars to nearby lots. You don’t have to worry about that.”
Me: “Uh, thank you?”
Phil: “You’re welcome. And I’ve also gotten your salary approved for the next four weeks. And guess what else?”
Me: “Can’t imagine.”
Phil: “I’ve gotten you a new parking space.”
Me: “But I don’t park in the indoor lot, which is the only lot closer and nicer than the one I already have.”
Phil: “I know that. You have a spot at 7th and Folsom.”
Me: “And?”
Phil’s phone rang.
Phil: “How much? Okay. How soon? Okay. What do I have to do? Alright. Consider it approved. I’ll generate a P.O., but this is no surprise.”
Phil hung up and slapped himself on the forehead. He turned back to me.
Phil: “I need to give your spot to one of the animators I’m moving out of the indoor lot. I’m trying to cut down on the number of complaints about the change.”
Me: “Speaking of complaints.”
Phil: “You don’t have any. Here’s a list per stage of everything we need.”
He held one of the spreadsheets, which he turned out to face me. Until then I had no idea that Phil had mastered JRR Tolkien’s Elvish language.
Me: “That is really not help—”
Phil sprang out of his seat and made for his office door.
Phil: “Have to go downstairs to the loading area. I understand it’s going to have a construction trailer parked inside of it for the next year.”
Me: “Do I want to know?”
Phil: “If you must. The armature department needs a private place to work away from the rest of the fabricators.”
Me: “We have an armature department?”
But Phil had left his office. Somehow as he shot by me, he deposited the spreadsheet in my hand. I perused its contents.
TOMORROW: THE DREADED SPREADSHEET
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