I work as a legal proofreader. My Facebook friends know that when I proof, I will often put up as my status, "Time to make the donuts!" a reference to an old Dunkin' Donuts commercial where the poor baker is running himself ragged "making the donuts."
Yesterday, I did not make donuts.
Instead, I made a metaphorical pizza.
Yesterday I spent approximately nine hours (not consecutive, thank God!) working on a transcript that had an English-Italian translator. The deponent spoke Italian so a translator came in to help with the testimony. The recording I listened to was seven hours long.
I'd already done a spell check and other things I could do without listening to the recording of the deposition, and I'd decided to set aside all of Tuesday to listen to the recording of the transcript and make the necessary changes. The transcript was due today, and despite everything, I got it in.
In Lady and the Tramp, during their famous spaghetti dinner scene, the happy couple is serenaded by someone singing, "they call it La Bella Notte."
There was nothing "bella" about this transcript. I looked up "bad" in Italian and found the word "brutta," and "brutta" was exactly how it went. (Note: This is not meant to be a dig at the people I work for. Since it's the legal profession, fast turnaround times are the norm. I've been proofing for about nine years and I'm used to getting stuff due in 24-48 hours. I'm privileged to be able to work from home and have flexible hours. Plus, the money I earn goes toward paying off debt, which I also appreciate.)
To begin with, I spent the first hour trying to get my printer to print. I eventually got most of the problem solved . . . except for, my printer now will not print a PDF file at all.
When I finally dove into the transcript, it became an example as to why a 15-minute quarter in a football game does not last 15 minutes. I had to stop, make corrections, listen, stop, etc. and the mental effort required to do so took an especial toll on me.
Adding to the frustration was receiving a letter concerning paperwork I thought I had turned in, but which apparently was not received by the party that needed it. The paperwork is on a PDF file, which, as I mentioned before, I can't print out because the printer has decided not to cooperate. Me glaring at it and informing it that I have ways of making it work . . . well, is not working.
There were parentheticals (notations made in the transcript such as (Exhibit 1 Marked For Identification) I needed to take out, and parentheticals I ended up leaving in because I didn't know if I needed to take them out.
And all the while, the voice of the deponent pounding away at me in Italian and the poor translator trying to give an accurate translation. Fortunately, when a deposition involves two languages, the court reporter/transcriber/proofreader only has to worry about getting down the English. (The last time I proofed a deposition that had two languages, the other language was Urdu, which is a national language of Pakistan. My hat is off to anyone that can read/write/translate English and languages such as Urdu, Farsi, Dari, Vietnamese, etc.)
I'd been awake since before 5 a.m., and at one point, needed to go lie down for about an hour because I was just plain exhausted.
I finally finished the "brutta notte" around 10 p.m. or so, told my BFF I was going to bed, and went, fully expecting to have either dreams or nightmares starring Marlon Brando and/or Al Pacino, all set to the theme music of The Godfather.
Well, neither Brando, Pacino, nor The Godfather soundtrack made it into my dreams, and thankfully, I didn't awaken covered in blood and in bed with the head of a decapitated horse.
The final exclamation point came this morning, when I went to a doctor's appointment . . . and was told it was next week.
So, not only was it a "brutta notte", the "brutta" bled over into the next day!
I was able to redeem some of the "brutta" by stopping at Walmart and picking up some needed groceries, and took a nap after lunch.
There are two more transcripts to do before I can relax and enjoy a long weekend. Fortunately, neither of them look like they will have an Italian translator.
In the meantime, if you hear vague mutterings that resemble Italian from the direction of Atlanta, order me up either some spaghetti and meatballs or a pizza and have it sent to me. I'll eat it while watching The Godfather.
Just my .04, adjusted for inflation.
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