my bad

Recently, I had to fill out a vast amount of papers involving all manner of numbers and letters pertaining to me just so that I can play Kristine in Japan.

I am pretty sure it has to do with procuring a working visa.

Anyway.

I suppose since we are a company of talented artists, some of whom went to college and everything but that college may have only required 3 credits of a math or a science or better yet, some sort of hippie science class called perception in which you basically learn about the five senses but not a ton about filling out rote paper work--right, so because of all that our company manager thought it best to give us a cheat sheet of sorts.

He had filled out the entire thing himself, leaving us to copy verbatim what he wrote, with the simple task of swapping his personal information with ours.

I took up my pen, sat down at the desk, and made sure I looked like I belonged in this cubicle. I mean, I had taken perception, after all, I knew how to fill out papers. Shoot, I didn't even need that equivalent to the Japanese Working Visa for Dummies that had been left for me.

Whatever.

I guess I would humor my manager, since he had gone to all that trouble and all.

I sighed and began looking over my shoulder at the cheat sheet, pen scrawling across my own copy of the pages in front of me.

A moment later I sheepishly asked, Uh, do you guys have any whiteout?

Sure, my company manager says, Why do you need it?

Well, I know I have short hair and everything, but I don't think the Japanese are going to believe that my name is Matthew Sherr, I say.

I guess I missed the lesson on effectively swapping out somebody else's personal information for your own when using a cheat sheet for a Japanese working Visa in my perception class. Too bad, because it sure could have come in handy.

But man, do I ever love whiteout.