Work on proposals, they said! It's exciting, they said

 (But it's actually a horrible, soul-crushing nightmare, your humble scribe asserts. She does it only because she has to.)

Warning: Numerous occurrences of language that would not make my mother proud. If you're sensitive to it, or easily offended, scroll on past because I.AM.SPITTING.NAILS and I trashed ALL my filters.

Your humble scribe last Tuesday/Wednesday-ish: We really need to finalize this proposal by Thursday. They require hard copies; we can't submit electronically; and we have to plan for shipping delays.

External forces: Yes, you're right. We need to print and ship by noon Friday, Monday morning at the VERY LATEST. We'll get you everything by Thursday night.

Thursday/Friday: Crickets and tumbleweeds.

YHS Monday: Uhhhh . . . it's noon Monday. Where are my cost proposal and schedule?

EF: Yeah, I'll get them to you by 5:00 p.m.

YHS Monday at 9:00 p.m.: I really REALLY need that information. We need to PRINT AND SHIP to make the Friday 2:00 p.m. deadline.

EF: Working on it.

YHS Tuesday 10:00 a.m.: SERIOUSLY. We are going to MISS THE DEADLINE so if you people seriously want this contract, STOP fucking around with inconsequential details and SEND ME THE GOTDAMNED MISSING PIECES. We have no guarantee there won't be shipping delays.

EF: Relax. There won't be any shipping delays; it's MAY. Will send in 10 minutes.

YHS under her breath: Yeah, because every fucking shipping delay in the past two years has been on account of SNOW, you asshat.

EF: Just sent it! We're all done now, right?

YHS: NOOOOO, Jethro, YOU are all done. I am NOT ALL FUCKING DONE. I need to edit the shit you wrote, make the PDF, print the bastard, and package everything up in the way the customer specified.

YHS Tuesday noon: Hi, FedEx, I need a miracle, please. Can you get this to Ukiah by 2:00 Friday afternoon?

Nice FedEx guy: Sure we can, unless there are shipping delays but obviously those are out of my control. I'll do everything I can. That will be 17 million dollars, a batch of chocolate-chip cookies, and your firstborn.

YHS: Here you go <hands over credit card>. Oh, you can only have my second-born. Firstborn's taken.

NFG <chuckling>: Fair enough -- second-born it is! Okay, we've got this. Delivery is guaranteed by 4:00 Thursday.

FedEx email to YHS an hour ago: Your delivery will be delayed until 4:00 p.m. Friday.

YHS <rushes to FedEx store, breathless and with dripping hair>: Hi, I'm afraid there's a problem. You promised! HALLLLP!!! I now need this to go overnight, please. And it HAS TO BE THERE by Friday morning; I don't care how much it costs.

Different nice FedEx guy: Okay, we can have it there by 10:00 Thursday morning, but it'll be 17 million dollars in gold, a lifetime supply of the finest foods and drinks, and first-class accommodations at the destination of my choice.

YHS: You can have it all <hands over credit card>. Just get it there by 2:00 Friday.

DNFG: Yes, ma'am. It WILL be there by 10:00 tomorrow morning. You're catching the last overnight shipment.

YHS <silently, to herself>: I HATE this bullshit. Dog shit, monkey shit, camel shit, hippopotamus shit, tiger shit, parakeet shit, shark shit . . . I'm too old for this and I don't make enough money.

Narrator: Your humble scribe spent the rest of that day cursing and stress eating.