The shipping guy left at my job. I’m the image librarian. The marketing person. And for now I’m the shipping guy, too. Which means I convey e-mail messages like this:

The labels that stick on envelopes should be printed black + 2 Pantone colors (matching your supplied sample logo) 1000 sheets of 68 x 102mm 8-up sheet (1,537 this time plus future mailings). Then black addresses on the logo label for this 1,537. One label stick on one envelope. Sticker paper sample and blueline will be sent to client in Paris for the 8-up label for approval. All additional catalogues and invitations sent directly to NYC and London will also need to be placed in envelopes and stickered with blank mailing labels.

It may sound nutty, but there’s something surprisingly gratifying in writing bullet-point messages about quantity and carton weight, sending PDFs of destination addresses, requesting quotes, that sort of thing. It’s the part of me that wants to be a tax preparer, the part that aced algebra in high school and logic in college.

In general I consider myself to be floaty verbal communicator. Somebody who thinks about vintage birds sailing on a string of balloons or pickled beats with licorice arms and legs dancing in the streets.

But this shipping stuff, I could really do this. Because it’s like every day is a post-it note, and you cross it off. You go home, wash your hands, make dinner, roll up your sleeves, tie on a bib, and dig in.

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