All the day long, I am as dogmeat.
From the grad students: “I need a key to my office, dogmeat, and a code for the copier, and a mailbox.”
From the professors: “Dogmeat, fax this for me and also I want a copy of my evaluations from the last six years.”
From some staffers: “DOGMEAT! DOGMEAT! DOGMEAT! ARRRR!” (The noise of them taking the back of my shirt between their teeths and shaking me around the room.)
Only Tracy, Erica and Jennifer are sweet and kind. For them, I take away the food trash and run errands with a smile. But all day, dogmeat. I am battered and bruised.
Next blog: unemployment makes for cheerful dogmeat.
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