Mea culpas

Or is it mea culpae? In any case, my fault.

Twice this week I’ve screwed up on the promotion of the upcoming one-act play festival.

Instead of sending the local paper the article I’d actually written for it, I somehow managed to send a piece I’d written for the newsletter. Said piece was written before we found out the shop which had previously sold event tickets had stopped doing so since lockdown was lifted. (We haven’t used them since March 2020, as all our shows since then and until now have been online.) In addition to naming this shop as a place to purchase tickets, the article I sent said “or online here” because it was meant to be a hyperlink in something else. So the lovely article did not actually direct anyone to an actual place to purchase tickets. Shit.

Then there were the banners for the venue. Previously we’ve used a place in town that is within walking distance of the ferry terminal. It wasn’t until late in the day last week that I discovered said printer is no more. The only other printer in town now is quite a distance from the ferry. Thus my trip to town in the car on Friday. 

I told said printer, both on the phone and in the email I sent with the artwork, that I wanted two copies. Of course, I should have unrolled the banners to check when I picked them up (or looked more closely at the invoice), but $44 sounded about right for two banners, so I didn’t. It wasn’t until I got back and went to the venue with a stapler that I discovered there was only one copy. Fuck. 

So, which side? The side you’d see driving into the village or the side you’d see driving out? Driving out, obviously, as you’re too focussed on errands driving in.

Of course, I wasn’t tall enough to affix them and, even if I had been, the stapler was totally useless. So, a phone call to Joe and an arrangement made to meet back at the venue yesterday morning with a ladder and a staple gun. And an email to the board to apologise for screwing up again. 

All a bit worrying, as I’m not normally a screw up, but apparently I am for the moment. Shit, it seems, does happen and it also seems to be my turn.

Oh, well.