I’m going to let you in on a little secret, just between you and me, because we’re such good friends and all: I don’t care. I don’t care about your stupid organisation/fight with the council/ageing mother/pet. I don’t care about your (many) apparent mental problems. I don’t care about why you think your organisation/mother/mental problems should go in the paper.
In fact the only reason I am even wasting time listening to you, your problems and feigning interest in what is a fucking pathetic story is because my editor is off sick and I need all the stories I can get for this week only.
That much said I am not so desperate that I will put up with your fucking shit any longer. If I ask you for a photo then send me a photo. If you say you’ll call me back then Call. Me. Back. If I say I need something by this afternoon that is exactly what I mean. Believe it or not I am actually trying to help you when I tell you what we need, why we need it and when we need it by. Listen to the words that are coming out of my mouth and act accordingly.