The paper this week is going to be pretty meager story wise, but I’m ok with that. A lot of stories that I planned to write didn’t work out. One being an ammonia spill at Wrangell Seafoods, a seafood processor. The executive assistant there, Julie Decker, the representative I usually talk to (who I also just like in general; her daughter took both of my dance classes) told me she didn’t want to do any more interviews with me, that my stories have caused her to be attacked at work and in the community, that she's taking my spin and perspective in stories personally. There was a lot said, most of which I can’t recall now.

I had gone to the office like she asked, as opposed to a phone interview like we normally do, so we could talk “face to face” and then she brought me outside, and that's where she let me have it. “I wanted to talk to you about the whole news thing with Wrangell Seafoods and myself. I don’t think I can do these interviews with you anymore – ” That’s what I got on my recorder before I realized this wasn’t the interview I had been looking for and shut it off. I kind of wish I had left it on.

I thought I was going to hold it together pretty well. As she was talking, I listened, nodded, felt composed, surprisingly so, but then once I spoke, I didn’t hold it together.

I stood by my reporting, said I reported both sides, that her company has handled things in a sketchy and shady manner by not communicating (the CEO/president and the chair of their board of directors stopped giving me interviews a long time ago).

And I also apologized, as sincerely as possible, because I meant it. I had never meant to hurt her. I don't know. The whole talk maybe lasted eight minutes, maybe five, and we hugged at the end.

That’s one professional relationship I’ve officially ruined during my first ever reporting job. And it doesn’t quite hurt so much as it just kind of sits there, this dull feeling.