Yeah, copy editors, juggling the final barrage of stores stories like a fist-full of fiery batons on a deadline halfway between dusk and dawn, and bearing down like a bullet train, loathe this stuff. A dispatch filed with 5 minutes to spare, and they dive in with one last slurp from their now-tepid, sour coffee dispensed from the stained cauldrons of the linoleum lunchroom at the far end of a hallway now squeezed tight by a cleaning crew, their vacuums already humming diabolically around the surrounding desks, abandoned long ago, in daylight.
I'll be working tonight.
"Yeah, hi. Quick question. What was the score?"