The gossip truth.

Forgive me if I've told this story in this space before, but I think it's interesting.

In my checkered career in publishing, I've done a number of different jobs, including proofreading, writing, copyediting, and fact-checking. I was a fact-checker before the term became a synonym for confirmation bias. I've had at least one shouting match with an editor who wanted to run bad information because the truth ruined the story. Try that at the Washington Post these days and see how long you have a job.

Probably the strangest week in my career, though, was spent as a fill-in fact-checker at a popular weekly celebrity gossip magazine. I disdain celebrity and I eschew gossip, but I was desperate for work at the time. 

Why was it so strange? Because absolutely everything I expected about the job was the opposite of what it was. Here's what I mean:

1) It was dull.

I thought the work would be frantic, and maybe impossible. "I just got word that Alexis Bigbutt is pregnant! The father is Jimmy Cueball! We need to confirm that!" But no. When those kind of pieces would come in, the writers -- the life's blood of the business -- would just say "That's from one of my confidential sources," and that would be it. We'd just shrug and make sure all the names were spelled right and the ages were correct. Maybe it would have been more interesting for me if I knew who anyone was. But I could not get shocked at news about Gunnah Rimez's drug arrest or the hysterics on Real Housewives of Scranton. 

2) It was quiet.

Consequently, there was none of the running around one might expect of a weekly gossip sheet. The photo editors probably worked harder than anyone, but they kept to their own corner of the floor. Everything else was as quiet as a bank vault. I barely got to know the two women in my department. We took care of whatever crossed our desks, then it was back to Internet surfing.

3) The place was dark.

Everyone thinks Manhattan magazine offices are bright and sunny, because they believe everything they see on TV. This was an old building and the managers had all the windows. Those of us in the pit in cubicle city got no sun at all. Not that I was jealous -- we were on a low floor of the building, sandwiched in the middle of the block, so on two sides there were no windows and on the other sides you just looked at the buildings across the street.

4) Everyone was really nice.

Really, not a soul was mean or brash or snarky or creepy or crude. I don't even think anyone stole lunch from the fridge. The celebs may have hated the rag (although in fact they love gossip media -- it's all publicity), but it wasn't because the editors were cruel. It was a friendly office. 

I'd like to say they also paid way above the going rate, but they didn't; it was good, as I recall, but not generous.

After my week, they thanked me and said they'd let me know if they needed me again. In fact, I did get a call not long after, but in the meantime I had gotten a temp job that meant more hours for a longer stretch, so I had to turn them down. 

A few months later I was back in the book end of the business, working for an academic press in an office that was even darker and quieter, but less friendly. Everyone had a resentment. It also had the slowest elevators of any building I've ever worked in, and we were near the top floor, so it took forever to yabba-dabba-doo and get out of the place at quittin' time. (The actual top floor was a 17th floor penthouse, believe it or not, where a mysterious personage dwelled. On a dare I rode up to that floor, but I could see was a dark foyer and a front door with frosted glass.) 

All that is another story, however.