How long has it been since original, first-broadcast programming aired on the major networks? That writers' strike went on for months. Yes, there was an endless parade of reality programming, but I'm talking the good stuff. Specifically, THE OFFICE. I swear, Ryan was still a Temp the last time I watched.
Oh, how I was looking forward to this evening. A new episode! On at 8 p.m., right as the kid would be going to bed! The joy I get from those precious 30 minutes each Thursday (I'm sure it's technically 22 minutes, what with commercials, but who's counting) could be considered -- a la MasterCard -- priceless.
And then a giant line of tornadic thunderstorms parked itself right over us, and we were treated to several hours of weather coverage. Even after the tornado warnings expired -- the magical rule the stations adopt for when to get their butts off the air -- they wouldn't sign off. Trained spotters insisted they saw funnels near the airport; the National Weather Service didn't believe them, yet the obsessively dedicated meterologists (who need to, perhaps, get lives) refused to relinquish control of the station.
Until 8:28 p.m. As the credits were rolling.
Never fear, the anchor told us, we will be able to watch the interrupted programming in its entirety.
Starting after midnight Sunday morning, following Saturday Night Live.
It's amazing how un-funny a quest for sitcoms can be.
However, in a strange twist, my life has begun to imitate art. I haven't met Michael Scott yet, but I did see a cute, tall guy who looks a little like Jim and there seems to be a whole village of cubicles filled with Phyllis-es.
You see, I started a new job this week, serving in an administrative support role for a local HR management company. Just call me "Ryan."
I'm a Temp.
If all goes as it does on TV, in two seasons, I'll be running the company.