Every year when much of the staff heads down to San Diego, there are always a few poor souls who have to stay behind and (theoretically) hold down the fort, answer phones, get books out the door to printers, etc. But how much work really gets done? This year we installed hidden cameras and decided to monitor the emails of those who stuck around. It's not pretty:
If you see a sudden surge in sloppily produced books from Fanta in about three months, you'll know it was because the entire art dept (including Adam Grano, above) worked drunk during Comicon (side note: this also explains much of our output from about 1994-1999).
Anyone who thinks they spoke to Gary Groth on the office phone last week and wondered why he was slurring his words and going on and on about the ninja turtles might want to call back this week. Anyone who needs to speak to Jacob Covey soon might want to try the unemployment office.
I have no idea what's going on here but it clearly involves a level of frivolity not tolerated in the office. Jenny Catchings and Eric Buckler, start updating your resumés immediately.
Here's TCJ Editor Michael Dean looking into the security cam just before getting up to cover the lens with what appeared to be whipped cream; I don't even want to know what happened next and neither do you.
I intercepted this missive from Grano's email account with the subject header "backyard cosplay NOW".
Note to Kim: next time you leave town, lock the door to your office.