Not entirely sure I’m ready to take on that challenge.
I mean, my particular blog is pretty small-time and likely to remain that way–well, probably forever. Self-marketing is not a skill I’m particularly anxious to acquire.
My goals are more modest, I think.
Guess I’d just like to entertain a few folks. That makes me happy, and is something I enjoy.
Feed the World? Naw. Feed my houseguests? Sure!
What change, big or small, would you like your blog to make in the world?
I wanted to dash the bureaucrat’s tiny brain against the office wall.
My required license renewal. Generally no big deal, but these government employees… How is an guy supposed to keep his temper in a situation like this?
Hurry up and wait, take your file to window four and stand in line. Window four is closed for lunch now, please go to window seven. Shuffle shuffle. Do you have your form E-14 Long, sir? No? Well, you’ll have to pick one up at window three and fill it out before we can process your file. Shuffle shuffle, write write write. Why did you fill out E-14 Long? You’re supposed to have the yellow one, E-14 Short.
I’m a patient ogre, really I am. Except when faced with this kind of meaningless red tape.
Finally, this last guy, a weaselly-looking little troglodyte with a nameplate that read “Zamora, Gate Keeper Third Class”. Everyone knows that trogs and ogres don’t get along, but this one went above and beyond the call.
“Mister Bludgerock, is that you sir?”
My eyes rolled, but I nodded.
He flipped through the 17 forms, in triplicate, shaking his head and tut-tutting to himself. Finally he turned back to me and said, “Unacceptable.”
“We’ll have to fill out all of these forms again, Mister Bludgerock. Your signature, you’ve used your own initials in it, see?”
His scaly fingernail hovered over my signature, “C. D. Bludgerock”, as he shook the forms at me.
“A clear violation of company policy, this cannot be endured.” He placed his hand reverently on his thick copy of the company policy manual, his doctrine.
It was at this point that I pulled the troglodyte over his desk and lifted him high. But I hesitated for a moment.
I’m sure there would be a bureaucratic price to pay. More forms to be filled, and more queues to be endured. Zamora kicked and gurgled while I considered. His face was now turning a decidedly darker shade.
In the end, my Uncle B. decided it for me. “Don’t fool with fools who’ll turn away,” he’d said.
So what else could an Ogre do? I painted the wall with pinhead and walked out.
Thanks for the advice, Brian.
ParkInkSpot 