{"id":25817,"date":"2016-08-13T23:55:27","date_gmt":"2016-08-14T03:55:27","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/?p=25817"},"modified":"2016-08-13T23:55:27","modified_gmt":"2016-08-14T03:55:27","slug":"the-nutseller","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/2016\/08\/the-nutseller\/","title":{"rendered":"The Nutseller"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>Igor Sweeney looked you square in the Adam&#8217;s Apple if you were one of his underlings.<br \/>\nBut when he was ready to sell, he could make Wilt Chamberlain feel like a shrimp.<\/p>\n<p>For seven months and one day, I observed Sweeney &#8211; Iggstoke to his friends &#8211;<br \/>\nand wondered how, with such a repressed and rotating cast of staff,<br \/>\nhe maintained his exemplary self-regard for his publishing exploits.<\/p>\n<p>Did he not keep his over-worked and over-scrutinized editorial staff<br \/>\non compulsory overtime to send out zip-code ordered issues of the magazine<br \/>\nthat would arrive, gratis and unbidden, to the reception desks of<br \/>\nFortune 500 companies across the city?<\/p>\n<p>Was he not incapable of working diligently with said staff without,<br \/>\nwhen asked a mundane question, bellowing,<br \/>\n&#8220;I&#8217;m trying to concentrate here!&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>My first week, I knew my days were numbered.<\/p>\n<p>He was patron to none but himself.<br \/>\nThe mag, a sham for deals over which even his comptroller raised an eyebrow,<br \/>\ncalled itself the soul of the city.<br \/>\n<em>Dead souls<\/em>, maybe, you thought as you walked into the gulag of dislodged journalists.<\/p>\n<p>His wife, a shrew whose younger visage &#8211; as well as Igor&#8217;s &#8211; graced the first page of every issue,<br \/>\nhad a Girl Scout&#8217;s expertise in office espionage; this I gleaned when a chance Email<br \/>\nbetween myself and my equally incredulous editor<br \/>\nreceived a reply in a dialogue in which she&#8217;d not been copied, or blind-copied.<\/p>\n<p>Were we in an Inc? Or an Ingsoc?<\/p>\n<p>I marveled, to lesser degree, as I neared completion of the real reason<br \/>\nfor my being hired: to clean the online archives of the star columnist,<br \/>\nwhose indifference to fact checking was equaled to his poor grasp of grammar.<br \/>\nMonths of conservative cackling had I cleaned under Sweeney&#8217;s hawk accounting.<\/p>\n<p>One day after my completion, I received my reward:<br \/>\nA summons to the editorial board room, where sat Sweeney and my<br \/>\npoor Horatio editor, now powerless to all but his own leave-taking.<br \/>\nI sat, knowing what to expect.<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;Mel &#8211; &#8221;<br \/>\nAnd, then, I couldn&#8217;t help myself. I started laughing.<br \/>\nEvery time, he began his Mr. Cleaver pretense, I laughed harder.<br \/>\nHe couldn&#8217;t even fire me without my rattling his concentration.<br \/>\nThen, under his breath, I heard, &#8220;This girl is nuts.&#8221;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Igor Sweeney looked you square in the Adam&#8217;s Apple if you were one of his underlings. But when he was ready to sell, he could make Wilt Chamberlain feel like a shrimp. For seven months and one day, I observed Sweeney &#8211; Iggstoke to his&#8230;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":59,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-25817","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-marathon-poem"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25817","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/59"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=25817"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25817\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":26074,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25817\/revisions\/26074"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=25817"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=25817"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=25817"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}