Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha.

The name-changing idiots are at it again. All right, they were “at it” a bunch of years ago, but since what used to be called “Secretary’s Day” is just a hop and a hiccup away, I will treat this appellation aberration as a relatively new phenomenon.

First, I should explain that I became a secretary after I decided to become a writer. Or, as my mother wisely advised, “Just in case your first book doesn’t sell, go to secretarial school and learn to type. A typist can always get a job.”

Mom was right. I went. I learned. I got good jobs. And other than the occasional overtime, I only worked from nine to five. Which left me hours and hours and hours to write.

FilmFair was probably the best job I ever had. Everybody there was a prima donna, a dreamer, or a drunk. Like me, they all had gigantic schemes (to be directors, cameramen, producers, writers). They were dramatic, impossibly kind, and infinitely picturesque. It was at FilmFair that I learned a good boss will make coffee for an overwhelmed secretary, and there that I decided if I ever had a company of my own, I would always have a pot of coffee ready in the morning for when my own secretary came in.