My Editor is an Idiot

It's been a while since I last blogged about my editor. This one, though, you will love.

Yesterday I interviewed a doctor. It turns out I had interviewed her about a year ago, when she was in a group practice. But, you know, after I submit my articles I don't generally read them--just grab a copy for my clip file, mainly to remind myself to send an invoice if my paycheck doesn't arrive. So, I hadn't looked at the article from last year, although I planned to, post-interview, if I needed some background information.

I showed up for the interview, and got the cold shoulder. This is a doctor whose practice opened 2 days ago. She has no patients. There was no one there but the doctor, her receptionist, the doctor's 2 children (who immediately excused themselves to go to the library) and me. But for some reason the doctor made me wait 20 minutes, before she would meet with me. "How rude!" I thought. "What is up with this? Do doctors HAVE to make you wait?"

All shall become clear.

When I finally got her to speak with me, the interview went well. I got everything I need. And then I pulled out my camera.

"You took a lovely picture of us, last year," she said. "But I'd appreciate it if you didn't call me the 'not thin' doctor, this time."

It turns out my editor had printed, as the caption to the photo, the notes I'd sent her to help her identify the 3 people in the picture, all of whom were wearing those white lab coats.

There was a male doctor. OK. And 2 female doctors. One of whom was the lady I saw yesterday. The other was skeletally thin. Mary Kate and Ashley thin. It was actually one of the few instances in which I thought someone was so thin as to be unattractive. So, yes, I had told my editor that she was "the thin one, with darker hair".

And she printed it. For 49,500 families to see.

Hubby, of course, said, "Well, it's not like you said she was The Fat One. And you didn't even mean for that to be published." And he is right, on both counts.

But as a chunky chick myself, I completely understand how that poor woman could remember, a year later, the exact wording she'd read in the paper that morning. I was mortified. If making me wait 20 minutes was the best she could do, heck, that's OK by me.

But let me reiterate: my editor (also a woman, by the way) is an idiot. I'm gonna have to be a lot more careful about how I describe my photos.