A conversation

While attending a seminar at a printing company in upstate New York, part of our agenda was to take a tour of their massive print facility. Of the 30 or so attendees, nearly all represented magazine publishers. I found their line of work fascinating and asked them questions about how they do their business.

One young woman, from the Michigan headquarters for a magazine that shall go unnamed, was a feisty gal with no apparent internal editor. She enjoyed telling me about the chain of events that resulted in her promotion. As we walked through the plant behind the rest of the group, we talked—

Me: How long have you been working in this capacity?

Michigan: I've been doing this about six months. The old guy who used to handle this job died.

Me: Oh my goodness, that's awful.

Michigan: No it's not. He was a very bad man. Let's not go there.

Me: Oh, sorry. Sure. Of course.

Michigan: It's great that he died. I'm really glad.

Me: (silent blinking)

Michigan: He drank a lot. I think he drank himself to death. I'm glad he's dead.

Me: (both eyebrows raised)

Michigan: I prayed that he'd die and he did. God killed him for me.