By: The Designer

The hell of it is, the nameless person who referred to me as a 'newsletter nazi' probably said it in jest. However, deep within every joke is a plectrum of assent (whether true or false) that plucks tightened catgut strings of the subconscious. This is why the joker believes the joke to be funny. Newsletter nazi has no referent unless you know that I volunteered to edit a monthly newsletter for an organization with which I am affiliated. I had the equipment and the skill. I was also abundantly qualified, having been the editor several years before. I committed to a year, but at the end of that year, I volunteered to do another -- just as I had done previously. In each monthly edition, I prominently published the date and time for the deadline for articles and artwork for the next issue. Nevertheless, a few people don't notice deadlines -- in spite of the ubiquity of clocks and calendars in our society. I encountered these folks during my first two-year stint. It seemed that each month, someone would call me up on the morning after the deadline -- after I had stayed up most of the night doing the editing and layout. They would try to sweet-talk me into putting their extraordinarily important and timely article into the newsletter. Imagine yourself in this position. If you grudgingly acquiesce, then you are going to discard a bunch of the time you have already taken, just to rework the layout. More importantly, you are being unfair to the responsible people who did whatever was necessary to get their pieces in on time. If you politely refuse, you are an unsympathetic asshole. I admit that during those first two years, I regularly gave in to their bleating. When I did, I was angry -- with myself for being such a dupe, and with the people who took advantage of my compassion. I did finally learn, however. The next time I volunteered, I did so only with a proviso that the deadline was sacred. I set it up so I didn't even have to decline the whiners in person. All material was collected by an intermediary, who then delivered the material to me. His primary value to me was to keep me out communication with those who might try to beg for mercy. It worked beautifully. I only occasionally heard about -- but not from -- those who could not quite get their shit together. The process of putting together a newsletter was nearly as smooth as a Jaguar with electronic ignition. When it was finished each month, it was truly finished. I never again had to choose between disappointing someone with good intentions and bad time-management skills or wasting my own time. After two years, another volunteer stepped up to take the project on, and I was happy to be able to turn it over to him. A Nazi train in 1939. It arrived on time. The side reads: "We are going to Poland to thrash the Jews." Then, the other night I was referred to as the newsletter nazi. I assure you, I have never attempted to dominate Europe, nor have I killed even one Jew, Gypsy, gay or Jehovah's Witness. Perhaps this title was meant as an honorific, in reference to my fascist-like efficiency since -- in spite of all their abominations -- the Nazis did keep the trains running on time. Keeping the cogs aligned and the bearings greased is important. I have long believed that people can be generalized into two categories: 1. Those that keep the wheels turning, the pumps pumping, the generators spinning, the stereotypes printing and the crops growing. 2. Those that ride in comfort, take their evening baths, flip on a light switch when night overtakes day, and enjoy a nice little snack over the evening newspaper before bed -- willingly oblivious to what had to occur for any of these goods and services to be provided. I have always thought it pragmatic to have at least a general knowledge of these things. Someone once asked me if I could "squeeze" a late article into a newsletter I had completed. (There is a form of mental vacancy that goes far beyond simple ignorance.) One of the many trees from which all manner of things are available -- apparently by magic. Sure, I can be a bit despotic in a meeting when those who have mistaken movement for action are wasting my time. Yes, I can suddenly turn pitiless, when I perceive that someone has mistaken my sympathy for a blank check. Certainly, I am more comfortable dealing with cold facts, than with people's opinions about the fundamental injustice of the universe. On the other hand, when I agree to take on a task, anybody who knows me can be certain that it will be performed as correctly and expeditiously as possible. For the years that I was the editor of this newsletter, my conscience never kept me awake, telling me that I should have put a little more effort into it to make it look better. At the end of my tenure, I even heard some nice public recognition from the president of the organization -- totally unnecessary and sincerely appreciated. To that person that carelessly flipped those two words at me: If you meant it as a joke, thank you for motivating me to reconsider those two years. I am still proud of how well I performed my job. If, on the other hand, your words were a last-ditch snivel because you cannot understand the necessity of deadlines -- well, making the task appear so effortless was probably a byproduct of my proficiency. I will accept the compliment.