For the last few months this night has been their raison d'être. And even if this one night only event has undoubtedly shaved years off their life, they can't enjoy their work one bit. Instead, they keep smiling and laughing and texting friends to show up to the sparsely attended party, all the while craning their neck searching out the editor who won't show up.

The other publicist you run into is the one who fucking straps up for these events like they're off to war. Press releases are memorized, the names of certain editors' children and significant others are studied, and cocaine is procured in case their pitch's target is known to dabble. Trust us, they dabble.