This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2016, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.

My first interview with The Tribune's new editor didn't go as well as I had hoped. Jennifer Napier-Pearce assumed command of me and everyone else in the newsroom at 10 a.m. Monday.

I was busy goofing off somewhere else when she was officially "set apart" by Paul Huntsman, our new owner, and his father philanthropist, Jon Huntsman Sr. A few minutes later I started getting texts and emails from co-workers.

My editor: "You better get in here and apologize for missing the meeting."

Another editor: "It's apparent they were disappointed in your no-show."

And this from one of the sports ogres: "Man, where the %&@*! are you? Everyone else is here."

I was speaking to a conference of special education teachers from the Canyons School District at the time of the meeting. Make all the jokes you want about how fitting this seemed to be. You'd be right. It was as if I'd come full circle in my formal education.

Anyway, the interview. When I finally made it into the newsroom, I was latched onto by new management and hauled into a room for a "short and informal" interview regarding forthcoming changes.

Jennifer — excuse me, I mean Ms. Napier-Pearce — graciously asked what I expected of her and The Tribune. Since this was the first time any boss had ever asked for my input, I was caught off guard. I had to scramble.

Me: "Can I expense a Gatling g—?

Her: "No."

We got down to reality. I told her that I wanted to keep my job at The Tribune, and was willing to do anything she expected of me, short of me being eaten by an alligator. I pledged my full allegiance to her, at least to the extent that a guy like me can.

But there is a problem here. Jen was once a Tribune staffer just like me. We were relative equals for a time, which meant that back then I never tried to hide my behavior from her. Misbehaving suddenly became difficult.

Ms. Napier-Pearce told me what she expected of The Tribune's idiot in residence. It isn't a long list, but it is sadly a well-informed one.

First of all, The Tribune will no longer bail me out for any crime I commit (even by accident) above a class B misdemeanor.

No more ridiculous excuses for not making deadlines such as "Dammit, stop texting me. I'm sneaking up on Big Foot right now."

Future purchases of medicinal marijuana with my expense account card would be deducted from my salary.

Finally, if there was truth to the rumor she was hearing that Sonny and I planned to take our bowling ball cannon to the county landfill to see what 15 pounds of marbles will do to a flock of seagulls, we were to end it now.

Well, OK then. It's clear even to me that there will be changes at The Tribune. Most of them will probably benefit readers, including a better website, more investigative journalism, and news slanted for millennials.

For me personally, the news is semi-good. I still have job. The only downside is that I'll be working for someone who knows me a little too well. This means I'll have to become more sophisticated in my reporting of the rude.

Things were working well for me under my old owner, Terry Orme. He was a great boss, and I owe him a lot. He proved time and again to be a great master.

Well, I no longer have a master. From now on, I'm telling everyone I have a new mistress.

Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby@sltrib.com or facebook.com/stillnotpatbagley.