A few mornings ago, I was in Starbucks with Harold. Also, the sun came up that day. But on this particular day, the guy on the register was so horribly unpleasant that it stands out from my usual Starbucks visits. The cashier was completely antisocial, grunting his responses to customers, when he wasn’t rolling his eyes and scolding his coworkers, but in his defense, he seemed to be the only employee who hadn’t started yesterday.
“That could be me,” I wailed. “This June content could fail and then I’ll lose my job and I’ll never be able to find another job I like this much, actually, I’ll never be able to find another one at all, and then I’ll have to work in the Starbucks and I’m going to be cranky all the time, and I’ll be working with monkeys and I’d be broke all the time again, and I would hate that even more now that I’ve done something else!”
(Oh, no, looking for work in Raleigh did no lasting damage to my psyche at all. None. Totally over it. Why do you ask?)
Harold said all the right things (That won’t happen. That won’t happen. No, seriously, Meg, listen to me. That won’t happen.) but here is the thing about high-risk, high-visibility deadlines: They are high-risk, high-visibility deadlines.