01: Modhood at CelticsblogModhood('mehn~hewd)
noun. 1. The state or time of being a moderator.
Doughnut holesIt didn't take long before the mods sent me on my first doughnut run, and I found myself alongside Drucci, scouring the shelves of the local grocery store for the exact pastries required by the staff. The list was rather unending, and we had quite some trouble finding Edgar's exact brand of coffee. And then there was Redz, who wanted the dry matzos that they obviously didn't sell at the place we frequented. I still hope Drucci's french patisseries covered the lack of matzos, since I'm beginning to expect our failure to be the cause of this considerable loss to our squad.
After the aforementioned pastry-run, we got our very own desks and were supplied and instructed with the latest in moderator equipment (all-purpose editing tools, satnav IP generator and of course the feared ban-hammer), we were immediately rushed into Celtics Blog Head Quarters; CBHQ.
Into the Nut HouseLadies and gentlemen, I'll let you in on a little secret: "Loony Bin" doesn't quite cover the sheer chaos that reigns there. While Drucci and myself were carrying the precious 'foodstuffs' to the mess hall, we got knocked into the wall twice before we were even out of the first hallway. First Fafnir came charging past, carrying huge stacks of forum posts, screaming "Coming through! Work work work! Step aside!" followed by a little green man with a gray hat, a suit and a well kept mustache (whom we later learned was known as "Don", or "Donoghus"). The second time we were knocked into the wall had a less physical cause; a huge pink balloon with a face on it (and ears stuck to it) scared the living monkey-droppings out of us when it quit loudly exploded into a a big "WELCOME!!! Is it coffee yet!?!"
After picking the remnants of the upturned box of pie from Drucci's face and shoulders, we walked through the epicenter of the limbo that is CBHQ. There's cubicles for as far as the human eye can see, only slightly lower, scalps moving slowly up and down while they were working their proverbial behinds off. The only system in the utter chaos that reigned here, was the color coordination present on the frames of the cubicles.
Navigating the mazeWhen we passed through the blue colored area, I nonchalantly picked a strawberry from Drucci's back (must have missed it earlier,) drawing a puzzled look from Green17, who momentarily looked up from his typewriter. A heartbeat later, he went back to hammering the keys, falling in tune perfectly with the other typewriters. As we passed the cubicles, I read the names; FLCeltsfan, Greg P, Jimmy T, Master Po, Tenacious T and Bent, and couldn't help but think it was a boy-band. It was probably the rythm of the typewriters, which totally had me which totally had Drucci humming the tune to *N Sync's "Tearin' Up My Heart".
Now this place, as well as being endlessly big, is built like a ****' maze. I had lost my fellow newbie moderator twice before we reached the next section, where IndeedProceed and Chris were playing cards. Inquiring about the stakes, we found out they were actually playing for CB Draft picks. Chris stood near a frantically ranting Edgar, who blurted a long series of words, mostly in some not too comprehensible language that we .. well .. didn't comprehend. Right.
We later learned that he was trying to find out who took his magic 8ball, since he'd have a hard time answering the "Ask Edgar" topic without it.
The next bunch of cubicles was nice and purple, and the sign they put up read "We're Closed". There was loud music coming from the first cubicle, and when we neared it we heard CfanMissippi sing his lungs out. We quickly moved to the second one, finding Dobbs there, and asked him about the singing. "Oh, we're chat mods man! We work a bunch of hours per game-day and that's it." Thirstyboots however, was having none of it, and grimaced at Dobbs while she was tidying up the place with her dust cloth and broom.
Upon leaving this cubicle set, I stumbled, and nearly fell over when Drucci bumped in to me. When I looked down, I realized I had nearly stepped upon one of the many puppies that were sniffing up a rather large garbage can. The dogs were leashed, and a smiling Nickagenta proclaimed; "They sure do love trash!" - "THIS, IS NOT, TRASH." That last line was sort of a hollow sounding, echoing complaint we heard, coming from the garbage can. "ITS WHERE I LIVE, NOW BUGGER OFF!" We never saw the fella inside. Pity.
Order, ORDER!Amidst the chaos, Roy Hobbs was screaming his lungs out. His cubicle was quite recognizable, as his bobbing head was lit by a spotlight, that was effectively aimed at his polished forehead. It gleamed like a gem, and when we got close we started noticing the glistening pearls on his forehead. He was typing as if he was possessed, all the while trying to coordinate the rest of the mod squad, when suddenly a pre-announcement sound rung through the ceiling speakers.
"BENGG BONGGG BIIIINGGGGGGG!!!" and suddenly the place went silent.
"Attention please, all staff report to the Head of Staff, I repeat - report to the Head of Staff!"Mere seconds later, we were caught in a staff stampede and when Drucci and me filed into the office, we looked around us in marvel.
Reporting for duty!The place was decorated expensively, yet without much detail. The walls had flat, light brown wooden panels, the a shade lighter than those on the floor. There were couches on both sides of the room, and the two of us watched while the staff scurried in and sat their bottoms down in what seemed to be 'their' spots. After they all sat down, we sat down somewhat insecure about the whole thing. There was a big desk in the middle of the room, oddly enough, without a chair behind it. Behind the desk, on the wall, was a painting which had all the staff members on it, looking at us. In the middle of the painting, was a huge chair, seen from behind. There was a man sitting in it, that much we could make out by the silhouette of his head, shoulder and arm, but nothing to give away the guys identity.
A slight, soft scratching sound followed by some radio noise, drew my attention to a speaker on the desk, not bigger than a couple of cigar boxes stacked on top of each other.
Jeffs voice came into the room loud and clear: "Good morning, CB Staff."
The answer was unanimous; "Good morning Jeff Clark!"
That's how our first day teed off. It was a slightly shaky, yet very entertaining start. I'm sure there's more to follow sometime soon 
Cheers.
Topic: Kio in pieces 01; Modhood at Celticsblog (Read 4769 times)