BELLY OF THE WHALE


I have made a list of things to do today. It looks remarkably like a list of things I don’t want to do.

I haven’t been able to get to this list yet today because I am swamped with other piddly shit. I’m sitting on the phone right now listening to Beethoven’s 5th Symphony, its 4- note tattoo of the harbinger of fate periodically interrupted by a thirsty-sounding man’s voice reminding me how important my call is. There’s an irony in this somewhere. No – not irony. Fitting.

At stake at this call is only 3 months of work. I guess somebody should have told me the Fire Marshal had never signed off on the plan for this building. Things kinda fell in my lap 90 days ago and was left in charge of this design project with little direction, other than “full speed ahead” and “this is a great opportunity for you” and “don’t fuck with me.” So I did what has been termed a yeoman’s job of keeping the job on time, on budget, and on track for 90 days and just a few minutes ago found that I couldn’t find the fire marshal documentation approval on the plan. I couldn’t find it because it didn’t exist. It must have slipped their mind.

The building is a fireworks warehouse. Fuck me.

Three rules