Exit Interview: The Dub G
Christy Crunch: So Delia, tomorrow is your last day as a reality TV show tape logger at Weller Grossman Productions, aka "The Dub G."
Delia True: Why, yes it is.
CC: Are you sad?
DT: Um, yes and no. Yes, because I’m gonna miss my people. Colorful, creative, open-minded personalities coming and going, voicing their opinions, biding their time in 9-6 timecodes, headphones on head, remote controls in hand, plugged into realness too staged to be anywhere but on TV. As long as they showed up every day, I could stay sane, even after transcribing the tenth straight identical BBQ with Bobby Flay grilling demonstration.
Like superheroes, my co-workers had dimension I had not seen in previous, more career-focused work environments. Being a tape logger was just a front for untapped potential. After being caged in the “Logger Row” microcosm all day under the watchful eye of upper management drive-bys, at night they dispersed, pursuing this untapped potential to its fullest. Calling this “following their dreams” would pile unnecessary cheese on the reality of everything accomplished: stand-up comedy, improv, poetry, short films, film discussion zines, screenplays, movie reviews, talent agenting their cute offspring for TV commercials, reading political nonfiction, running a marathon, acting, rapping, tanning, and typing, of course, we were all typing for seven months we were all just typing, logging tape, tape loggers until the next six o’clock hit.
CC: You finished now?
DT: Uh, yeah. I guess.
CC: You got a little carried away.
DT: So? What can I say? I'm a sentimental girl.
CC: Well, you didn’t answer the second part of that question, the ‘no’ answer of, ‘are you sad?’
DT: Oh yeah, I said ‘yes and no,’ that’s right.
CC: So why are you...not sad? Why are you happy to be out of the tape logger game?
DT: You have to ask? You’ve obviously never transcribed videotapes for seven straight months, typing for eight hours a day and then going home and writing for several additional hours almost every night. My hands are tired. This new job description is basically "heavy filing (so heavy you can't carry it)" but shit, at this point I will enthusiastically trade corporate paper cuts for freelance carpal tunnel syndrome.
Delia True: Why, yes it is.
CC: Are you sad?
DT: Um, yes and no. Yes, because I’m gonna miss my people. Colorful, creative, open-minded personalities coming and going, voicing their opinions, biding their time in 9-6 timecodes, headphones on head, remote controls in hand, plugged into realness too staged to be anywhere but on TV. As long as they showed up every day, I could stay sane, even after transcribing the tenth straight identical BBQ with Bobby Flay grilling demonstration.
Like superheroes, my co-workers had dimension I had not seen in previous, more career-focused work environments. Being a tape logger was just a front for untapped potential. After being caged in the “Logger Row” microcosm all day under the watchful eye of upper management drive-bys, at night they dispersed, pursuing this untapped potential to its fullest. Calling this “following their dreams” would pile unnecessary cheese on the reality of everything accomplished: stand-up comedy, improv, poetry, short films, film discussion zines, screenplays, movie reviews, talent agenting their cute offspring for TV commercials, reading political nonfiction, running a marathon, acting, rapping, tanning, and typing, of course, we were all typing for seven months we were all just typing, logging tape, tape loggers until the next six o’clock hit.
CC: You finished now?
DT: Uh, yeah. I guess.
CC: You got a little carried away.
DT: So? What can I say? I'm a sentimental girl.
CC: Well, you didn’t answer the second part of that question, the ‘no’ answer of, ‘are you sad?’
DT: Oh yeah, I said ‘yes and no,’ that’s right.
CC: So why are you...not sad? Why are you happy to be out of the tape logger game?
DT: You have to ask? You’ve obviously never transcribed videotapes for seven straight months, typing for eight hours a day and then going home and writing for several additional hours almost every night. My hands are tired. This new job description is basically "heavy filing (so heavy you can't carry it)" but shit, at this point I will enthusiastically trade corporate paper cuts for freelance carpal tunnel syndrome.
posted by Jeanie at
10:25 PM
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