For three long days I imprisoned myself in my uncle's house, agonizing over my situation. Monday I meekly went to work, expecting calamity, only to find a fate more sinister, more abhorrent, more punitive than I could ever imagine. Truly, the very worst had happened.
A few pats on the back from my peers, but nothing from above. Ditto Tuesday. And Wednesday. Didn't anybody care?
Thursday I made an appointment with one of the suits. I didn't want to have gone through all that guilt without some formal scolding. Scold me he did, but he said something quite revealing as well. He said the reason there weren't serious sanctions was because the article had only been printed on the web. "If it's not in print, it doesn't count."
And there was the rub. The reason I wasn't tossed on my butt was precisely the same reason I had gotten so frustrated in the first place: the web doesn't count. The President's got more important things to worry about than entertaining geeks like me, and the resources needed to make the site right again were better used elsewhere.
This was a hard pill to swallow. For several years most of my existence has been online. My stories are published solely on the web. I can't remember the last time I've needed a hard copy of my resume. It even seems that I know more people over email than in real life.
I am decidedly not in print. Do I still count?
Every once in a while I go back to the White House site. I see that nothing's been added in a while and, three months later, most of my projects are still on the wrong side of the firewall.
But I'm not pissed any more. I just have fewer illusions.
Have you ever gotten a dream job?