Friday, August 30, 2013
The copier ate my originals. And they had ink signatures on them.
I got them out the other end - they were stuck, I pulled them loose as carefully as I could and then - just look. Macerated, torn, crumpled, all but digested, but oh okay. I guess it is recoverable.
This will not mar the accord. I will be able to smooth, flatten out, scan, then clean up the digital rips without altering a jot of language - who is to know the difference? And nothing at all shady about this.
But somewhere, in the back of my mind, in my cabinet of ink originals, this thing is going to sit. This contract is going to look so dumb, if they ever ask to see it again! It will look - what? Deliberately demolished! Smooshed, halfway torn in half and a big corner off, floating separate in the clear cellophane envelope we use to keep it together.
It will look like we're the kind of outfit who is like "got one signed! A sacred agreement - HERE'S HOW WE TREAT THESE!!"
Man, I hate what this piece of paper, looking like this, says about me.