Lurch is talking again.
“I find Mondays to be the easiest day around here. It seems that Thursdays are really the busiest. Probably with all those rate changes that happen Thursdays.”
“Mondays seem much slower, I don’t know why.”
Listen, Lurch, you’ve been here two months. NOBODY CARES what you find is the easiest day. Least of all the people you’re talking to: managers and senior managers who have been here years.
And the reason Mondays are slow is because the traders haven’t recovered from their weekend hangovers.
Nobody cares. About anything you have to say. Just shutup and work on your funds.
-t
Monday, February 27, 2006
Weekend Warriors
Saturday we painted, all day. Woodwork, walls, ceiling, everything.
I did not get a drop of paint on me.
Sunday we moved furniture. The entertainment center (the entertainment from the Island of Colossal Things) was probably the most difficult thing to move, though the arrangement of the couch, armchair, and recliner proved even more difficult to agree on than the transportation of the colossal entertainment center.
It’s done now though. And with all the furniture finally in the new room we still have room for the ping pong table. Woo!
Next is the upstairs. All the woodwork, doors, windows, etc. The hallway and two bedrooms. Hang a shower door. Move furniture (including but not limited to: two bunk beds (also from the Island of Colossal Things), six mattresses, five bureaus/dressers/chests, and assorted chairs and end tables.
This is a very exciting time.
-t
I did not get a drop of paint on me.
Sunday we moved furniture. The entertainment center (the entertainment from the Island of Colossal Things) was probably the most difficult thing to move, though the arrangement of the couch, armchair, and recliner proved even more difficult to agree on than the transportation of the colossal entertainment center.
It’s done now though. And with all the furniture finally in the new room we still have room for the ping pong table. Woo!
Next is the upstairs. All the woodwork, doors, windows, etc. The hallway and two bedrooms. Hang a shower door. Move furniture (including but not limited to: two bunk beds (also from the Island of Colossal Things), six mattresses, five bureaus/dressers/chests, and assorted chairs and end tables.
This is a very exciting time.
-t
Sunday, February 26, 2006
You can't tell me Armageddon isn't a good movie.
"None of these guys want to pay taxes again...ever."
There's a reason nobody remembers Deep Impact. It's because action/adventure/explosions with Willis/Tyler/Afleck is way cooler than Morgan Freeman and Glenn Close trying to devise a lottery to pick survivors.
Go Bruce Willis! (also Steve Buschemi is wicked cool to.)
-t
"None of these guys want to pay taxes again...ever."
There's a reason nobody remembers Deep Impact. It's because action/adventure/explosions with Willis/Tyler/Afleck is way cooler than Morgan Freeman and Glenn Close trying to devise a lottery to pick survivors.
Go Bruce Willis! (also Steve Buschemi is wicked cool to.)
-t
Friday, February 24, 2006
Ode to OD of the Caffeine variety (I wrote this title after I wrote the post, read it with rhythm)
Ok, I have to get this down before I start freaking out.
My head feels like it’s about to float off of my shoulders, my hands and arms are shaking and jittery, I’m feeling the onset of a pressure headache and have lost feeling below mid-thigh (which is in itself a strange place to lose feeling from).
I got little to no sleep last night. I tried (in vain) to compensate by sleeping through my alarm this morning, not getting out of bed (I won’t say “waking”) until nine fifteen…or was it nine thirty? In any case I was moving extra slowly this morning, so slowly in fact that I did not leave the house until nine fifty-two.
I felt ok. I knew I was tired but didn’t feel it, I knew I needed sleep, but it hadn’t caught up to me yet. I was functioning semi-normally at work (where I arrived more than half an hour late) during the morning hours. I knew I was not running at peak efficiency but could not put my finger on exactly what I was not doing at peak efficiency (I now believe that the task “putting my finger on” something was one of the abilities that was no longer functioning properly).
Near lunch I decided to preempt the inevitable sleep-deprivation crash by ingesting a large amount of a commercially available stimulant, in this case: caffeine.
Large coffee. (for reference’s sake: I normally partake in coffee of the “small” variety perhaps once every two or three weeks due to my propensity for a dependence on the molecule. “Large” is a near-overdose.)
Right now I am freaking out.
Caffeine high. It is decidedly not pleasant. I feel incomprehension looming. I feel like I will lose all awareness of my surroundings in just a few moments. (HA! I will probably still be better at this job than stupid kid ever will be even catatonic.)
I think my brain is shutting down in sections. First, the back section. I can’t feel it. (Yes, I can normally “feel” my brain. Shutup, Adina.)
Next to go will be the middle section.
Then the frontal lobe. Or possibly my ears. (WRONG! Your ears you’ll keep and I’ll tell you why…)
These sentences are getting harder to write. My hands are jumping all over the keyboard. I might start vibrating at supersonic speeds soon, or, you know, explode.
There is a giant vacuum in my skull now. My brain, my brain is gone.
GONE I TELL YOU
My head feels like it’s about to float off of my shoulders, my hands and arms are shaking and jittery, I’m feeling the onset of a pressure headache and have lost feeling below mid-thigh (which is in itself a strange place to lose feeling from).
I got little to no sleep last night. I tried (in vain) to compensate by sleeping through my alarm this morning, not getting out of bed (I won’t say “waking”) until nine fifteen…or was it nine thirty? In any case I was moving extra slowly this morning, so slowly in fact that I did not leave the house until nine fifty-two.
I felt ok. I knew I was tired but didn’t feel it, I knew I needed sleep, but it hadn’t caught up to me yet. I was functioning semi-normally at work (where I arrived more than half an hour late) during the morning hours. I knew I was not running at peak efficiency but could not put my finger on exactly what I was not doing at peak efficiency (I now believe that the task “putting my finger on” something was one of the abilities that was no longer functioning properly).
Near lunch I decided to preempt the inevitable sleep-deprivation crash by ingesting a large amount of a commercially available stimulant, in this case: caffeine.
Large coffee. (for reference’s sake: I normally partake in coffee of the “small” variety perhaps once every two or three weeks due to my propensity for a dependence on the molecule. “Large” is a near-overdose.)
Right now I am freaking out.
Caffeine high. It is decidedly not pleasant. I feel incomprehension looming. I feel like I will lose all awareness of my surroundings in just a few moments. (HA! I will probably still be better at this job than stupid kid ever will be even catatonic.)
I think my brain is shutting down in sections. First, the back section. I can’t feel it. (Yes, I can normally “feel” my brain. Shutup, Adina.)
Next to go will be the middle section.
Then the frontal lobe. Or possibly my ears. (WRONG! Your ears you’ll keep and I’ll tell you why…)
These sentences are getting harder to write. My hands are jumping all over the keyboard. I might start vibrating at supersonic speeds soon, or, you know, explode.
There is a giant vacuum in my skull now. My brain, my brain is gone.
GONE I TELL YOU
Not exis-stential, coinci-dental.
Coincidence.
Yesterday I was killing some time online and followed this link from this site to Roger Ebert’s discussion with Daniel Woodburn concerning the use of the words “midget,” and “dwarf,” to describe Little People. You’ll see the discussion was prompted by Ebert’s use of “midget” in a review of Death To Smoochy in which Woodburn appeared.
Six hours later I caught a rerun of CSI on Spike TV. The one where the CSI’s are interrogating Little People about a murder at a Little People convention. “Interesting,” I thought to myself, “I was just reading that Ebert/Woodburn correspondence today.”
An hour after that I caught a Daily Show with Jon Stewart rerun. The guest was ROGER EBERT. Co-in-ci-dence. (?) The wee-folk and the movie-man twice in one day? Very interesting.
And, then, during the course of the interview Jon Stewart, host of the Daily Show, asked Ebert to defend a bad review he’d given for a movie Stewart had appeared in. The movie? DEATH TO SMOOCHY!
Extremely interesting.
Little People,
Roger Ebert,
Death To Smoochy.
Once.
Little People,
Roger Ebert,
Death To Smoochy
Twice.
Coincidentally,
Tom
Yesterday I was killing some time online and followed this link from this site to Roger Ebert’s discussion with Daniel Woodburn concerning the use of the words “midget,” and “dwarf,” to describe Little People. You’ll see the discussion was prompted by Ebert’s use of “midget” in a review of Death To Smoochy in which Woodburn appeared.
Six hours later I caught a rerun of CSI on Spike TV. The one where the CSI’s are interrogating Little People about a murder at a Little People convention. “Interesting,” I thought to myself, “I was just reading that Ebert/Woodburn correspondence today.”
An hour after that I caught a Daily Show with Jon Stewart rerun. The guest was ROGER EBERT. Co-in-ci-dence. (?) The wee-folk and the movie-man twice in one day? Very interesting.
And, then, during the course of the interview Jon Stewart, host of the Daily Show, asked Ebert to defend a bad review he’d given for a movie Stewart had appeared in. The movie? DEATH TO SMOOCHY!
Extremely interesting.
Little People,
Roger Ebert,
Death To Smoochy.
Once.
Little People,
Roger Ebert,
Death To Smoochy
Twice.
Coincidentally,
Tom
Thursday, February 23, 2006
That doesn't sound like thinkin'!
The stupid kid is still putting the wrong trade numbers into his income spreadsheet. Things like “Number of shares purchased” and “Total Purchase Price.”
He also, apparently, doesn’t understand how archiving records works. He has taken all the daily printouts that need to be archived, put them in boxes, and stacked the boxes in the pick-up area.
Boxes that are completely identical, boxes that have no labels. I discovered this when I moved some labeled boxes into the pick-up area and saw this phalanx of blank cardboard. I knew without having to think about it that the stupid kid’s funds were in those boxes.
So, I told him to get the boxes back, and bring them to my cube, where I will label them, as per archiving procedure, because as much as I don’t enjoy archiving if I have to do it I will make sure it gets done correctly. And that means labeling boxes.
He had about ten boxes total, holding the paper backups for approximately four funds over a two year period. He began to move the boxes back to my cubicle and in the process discovered that he was missing two funds.
I told him the funds had to be found. Because they do have to be found. He asked me if I had moved them.
Good luck trying to find two unmarked boxes of funds that disappeared. Moron.
I hate this kid. Seriously, how does archiving work without labeling the boxes!?
I can’t stand it. I’m going to lunch.
-t
He also, apparently, doesn’t understand how archiving records works. He has taken all the daily printouts that need to be archived, put them in boxes, and stacked the boxes in the pick-up area.
Boxes that are completely identical, boxes that have no labels. I discovered this when I moved some labeled boxes into the pick-up area and saw this phalanx of blank cardboard. I knew without having to think about it that the stupid kid’s funds were in those boxes.
So, I told him to get the boxes back, and bring them to my cube, where I will label them, as per archiving procedure, because as much as I don’t enjoy archiving if I have to do it I will make sure it gets done correctly. And that means labeling boxes.
He had about ten boxes total, holding the paper backups for approximately four funds over a two year period. He began to move the boxes back to my cubicle and in the process discovered that he was missing two funds.
I told him the funds had to be found. Because they do have to be found. He asked me if I had moved them.
Good luck trying to find two unmarked boxes of funds that disappeared. Moron.
I hate this kid. Seriously, how does archiving work without labeling the boxes!?
I can’t stand it. I’m going to lunch.
-t
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Off day?
Clock it. Hypermanager just came over to check with some funds with our Bible-gifting group member and discovered…
That he hasn’t come in at all today.
Hypermanager was pissed. “Tom,” he said “check the vacation calendar see if he’s supposed to be out today.”
So I pull up the calendar and right there on Feb 22 it says “Nice Bible-guy is out today.”
I’m practically rolling in the aisles. Hypermanager runs that vacation calendar compulsively and yet, every two or three weeks this will happen: One o’clock in the afternoon he’ll discover someone isn’t here.
So now I’m tying out Bible’s funds and trying not to laugh out loud at hypermanager and his stupid vacation calendar. He didn’t know someone wasn’t going to be here today. That is (what passes for) humor around here.
Ha.
-tgme
That he hasn’t come in at all today.
Hypermanager was pissed. “Tom,” he said “check the vacation calendar see if he’s supposed to be out today.”
So I pull up the calendar and right there on Feb 22 it says “Nice Bible-guy is out today.”
I’m practically rolling in the aisles. Hypermanager runs that vacation calendar compulsively and yet, every two or three weeks this will happen: One o’clock in the afternoon he’ll discover someone isn’t here.
So now I’m tying out Bible’s funds and trying not to laugh out loud at hypermanager and his stupid vacation calendar. He didn’t know someone wasn’t going to be here today. That is (what passes for) humor around here.
Ha.
-tgme
Covertly sneaking out the back...
Yesterday afternoon hypermanager came over to my desk with a stack of variance reports. He asked me to stay late so he could show me how to read the reports and then how to correct the discrepancies.
As he stood there at my desk he started pointing items out.
“This is off exactly the same amount as this, but in the opposite direction, so we just move this money over here and it will balance… Same thing here, and here. Ok, now, don’t worry about this stuff up here, they don’t offset and I already know what’s wrong with that, it will only confuse you.”
Next page of the report.
“Ok, don’t worry about that either, that will confuse you too.”
Next page. Same deal.
Turns out hypermanager thinks I would only understand that first entry, ok, fine. I’m not really looking to learn anything else at this point, because I hate it here, so if he thinks it’s confusing and doesn’t want to explain it, that is ok by me.
End of the night rolls around. I discover a mistake on one of my funds, it delays the end of night email by ten minutes, which was ok, because we were actually a little ahead of schedule.
The mistake took ten minutes to fix and people seemed to be rushing around, plus I didn’t want to be here, and I decided I didn’t want to stay late and watch hypermanager explain an entry he made into the system and then not explain the eight other entries he was about to make.
So I left.
I felt like a bad employee. I didn’t care. This is the long, slow spiral into oblivion. It is a slippery spiral slope. I need to get out before there is no escape.
Be careful, readers. I don’t want to pull you in with me. Run. Be free. Someone needs to be happy and productive at work. (PS, if you are a happy and productive person at work, are you hiring?)
-t
As he stood there at my desk he started pointing items out.
“This is off exactly the same amount as this, but in the opposite direction, so we just move this money over here and it will balance… Same thing here, and here. Ok, now, don’t worry about this stuff up here, they don’t offset and I already know what’s wrong with that, it will only confuse you.”
Next page of the report.
“Ok, don’t worry about that either, that will confuse you too.”
Next page. Same deal.
Turns out hypermanager thinks I would only understand that first entry, ok, fine. I’m not really looking to learn anything else at this point, because I hate it here, so if he thinks it’s confusing and doesn’t want to explain it, that is ok by me.
End of the night rolls around. I discover a mistake on one of my funds, it delays the end of night email by ten minutes, which was ok, because we were actually a little ahead of schedule.
The mistake took ten minutes to fix and people seemed to be rushing around, plus I didn’t want to be here, and I decided I didn’t want to stay late and watch hypermanager explain an entry he made into the system and then not explain the eight other entries he was about to make.
So I left.
I felt like a bad employee. I didn’t care. This is the long, slow spiral into oblivion. It is a slippery spiral slope. I need to get out before there is no escape.
Be careful, readers. I don’t want to pull you in with me. Run. Be free. Someone needs to be happy and productive at work. (PS, if you are a happy and productive person at work, are you hiring?)
-t
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Fisecalicurity
In the interest of full disclosure, and because I know you all like reading about my financial irresponsibility:
Last week my laptop died so I went out and bought a very nice, very expensive, new computer. In so doing I reduced the balance of my checking account from somewhere in the teen-hundreds to exactly $4.63.
So I then (almost immediately, I love online banking) transferred a substantial amount of my savings into the near-empty checking account, and then proceeded to purchase:
One new movie on dvd (Heist, starring Gene Hackman – thought it’s not really new, I’ve had a copy on dvd for like three years, but just found out the other day that it’s got a GIANT scratch right in the middle of the movie…it’s like a two chapter long scratch.
Two new video games (Burnout 3: Takedown a racing game where you get bonus points for causing fiery wrecks, and Ninja Gaiden Black, apparently the absolute coolest ninja game anywhere combining the coolest ninja moves and powers from the best ninja anime, kung fu movies, and unsubstantiated rumors into one neat package, plus magic and demons.)
And one new controller for my Xbox (because it’s tough to play two player games with only one controller.)
Do you guys remember that time I spent like a thousand dollars on ebay in like forty minutes?
I do. This is a lot like that.
-tgme
Last week my laptop died so I went out and bought a very nice, very expensive, new computer. In so doing I reduced the balance of my checking account from somewhere in the teen-hundreds to exactly $4.63.
So I then (almost immediately, I love online banking) transferred a substantial amount of my savings into the near-empty checking account, and then proceeded to purchase:
One new movie on dvd (Heist, starring Gene Hackman – thought it’s not really new, I’ve had a copy on dvd for like three years, but just found out the other day that it’s got a GIANT scratch right in the middle of the movie…it’s like a two chapter long scratch.
Two new video games (Burnout 3: Takedown a racing game where you get bonus points for causing fiery wrecks, and Ninja Gaiden Black, apparently the absolute coolest ninja game anywhere combining the coolest ninja moves and powers from the best ninja anime, kung fu movies, and unsubstantiated rumors into one neat package, plus magic and demons.)
And one new controller for my Xbox (because it’s tough to play two player games with only one controller.)
Do you guys remember that time I spent like a thousand dollars on ebay in like forty minutes?
I do. This is a lot like that.
-tgme
I lov the smell of spent powder charges in the morning
I was busy banging my head against my desk because Lurch and Pony Boy in the next cube over were talking about the theater.
“I’m not really a theater guy, I’d rather a good ball game, you know? Or just go home and watch some television.”
Cretins.
The subject then changed to Pony Boy’s weekend which had been consumed by a Mousetrap drinking game. This led to a brief period where the two reminisced about how difficult that game was to set up, especially “the man on the see-saw” and “all those pieces that fit together.”
The conversation didn’t make me want to go play some Mousetrap so much as it made me want to go drinking. Right then.
Then Lurch started talking about plans for the next long weekend, which doesn’t occur until Memorial Day in May. Lurch decided to get a jump on things and take Patriot’s day off in April.
Which reminded me, I usually take Patriot’s Day off, and by usually I mean:
I have not missed a reenactment of the battle of Lexington and Concord (held at 5:30AM, sharp, on Lexington Green) and the subsequent Patriot’s Day parade though Medford Square, and the subsequent viewing/cheering for the Boston Marathon on Beacon Street in Boston in thirteen years.
Last year I called in sick so I could make it to the battle, parade, and marathon. Which got me thinking to my plans for this year: take a vacation day, or call in?
So I checked the vacation calendar, because if it’s empty I’ll put in for a day now and not have to worry about it. The calendar isn’t empty, the two spots are already taken, and not only do I have to come in to work that day, I’ve been enrolled in an HR class by my manager.
So it looks like I’ll be missing that class.
Actually, after thinking about it for a little bit, I realized that calling hypermanager on April 17th and telling him I’m too sick to come to work is really a worst-case-scenario.
Because ideally, I won’t be working here in April.
-t
“I’m not really a theater guy, I’d rather a good ball game, you know? Or just go home and watch some television.”
Cretins.
The subject then changed to Pony Boy’s weekend which had been consumed by a Mousetrap drinking game. This led to a brief period where the two reminisced about how difficult that game was to set up, especially “the man on the see-saw” and “all those pieces that fit together.”
The conversation didn’t make me want to go play some Mousetrap so much as it made me want to go drinking. Right then.
Then Lurch started talking about plans for the next long weekend, which doesn’t occur until Memorial Day in May. Lurch decided to get a jump on things and take Patriot’s day off in April.
Which reminded me, I usually take Patriot’s Day off, and by usually I mean:
I have not missed a reenactment of the battle of Lexington and Concord (held at 5:30AM, sharp, on Lexington Green) and the subsequent Patriot’s Day parade though Medford Square, and the subsequent viewing/cheering for the Boston Marathon on Beacon Street in Boston in thirteen years.
Last year I called in sick so I could make it to the battle, parade, and marathon. Which got me thinking to my plans for this year: take a vacation day, or call in?
So I checked the vacation calendar, because if it’s empty I’ll put in for a day now and not have to worry about it. The calendar isn’t empty, the two spots are already taken, and not only do I have to come in to work that day, I’ve been enrolled in an HR class by my manager.
So it looks like I’ll be missing that class.
Actually, after thinking about it for a little bit, I realized that calling hypermanager on April 17th and telling him I’m too sick to come to work is really a worst-case-scenario.
Because ideally, I won’t be working here in April.
-t
Saturday, February 18, 2006
How to dismantle an atomic bomb, I mean Sony Vaio, and then what to do after all means of repairing it have been exhausted
My laptop doesn't work. It died. Hit the power button it goes "rrr-rrr-r-gliccck-cck-rr-cck-cc-ck."
Well, that's what it did last night. Now it doesn't even do that.
The only reasonable solution to this problem? Simple.
Take it apart.
Now I have pieces of a laptop that doesn't work. The next logical step?
Why, pay top dollar for a brand spanking new computer! This one: 14" iBook G4
Upgrade to 1GB memory (because too much is never enough)
Upgrade to 100GB HD (because if you think 40GB is plenty you're fooling yourselves)
Because I figured "I'm 29, who needs a savings account?"
Not me. BAM!
-tgme
Well, that's what it did last night. Now it doesn't even do that.
The only reasonable solution to this problem? Simple.
Take it apart.
Now I have pieces of a laptop that doesn't work. The next logical step?
Why, pay top dollar for a brand spanking new computer! This one: 14" iBook G4
Upgrade to 1GB memory (because too much is never enough)
Upgrade to 100GB HD (because if you think 40GB is plenty you're fooling yourselves)
Because I figured "I'm 29, who needs a savings account?"
Not me. BAM!
-tgme
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Sabbatical
Instead of going to get something to eat on my lunch break I went to spend money.
Because it’s cathartic. And damn I needed catharsis today. (I wasn’t sure if “cathartic” meant what I thought it did, so I looked it up, that’s where I found “catharsis.” Also, it did mean what I thought it meant: “a purification or purgation that brings about spiritual renewal or release from tension.")
So I took a walk and ended up at Barnes & Noble. Exactly where I’d ended up yesterday at about the same time feeling about the same way.
Actually, it’s been pointed out that spending money isn’t really cathartic. So, I was in want of catharsis, but I was not in a position to get any short of deciding to immediately turn around, punch the stupid kid in the face, tell off my boss, and then quit with something like “I quit! You, you, and you I’ve always liked I’ll be at the bar down the street for the rest of the day, I’d be happy to see you join me. The rest of you? Screw.” That would have been cathartic.
So, bookstore, yesterday and today. Yesterday, though, I ended up not buying books, because who needs more books? I’ve still got three big ones sitting next to my bed I have been planning to read since December. Today, I did buy books. I looked around in Mystery, and then a little in Science Fiction, and then a little in Mystery again. At some point, I can’t quite remember where, I thought I heard someone call my name.
As I exited the store after making a purchase (with my 10% off membership card! How exciting) I turned and saw the stupid kid exiting right behind me. Using my Holmesian powers of deduction I concluded it was he, stupid kid, who had called my name in a futile attempt to get my attention, and perhaps engage in some sort of book-themed conversation outside of the office.
I hate the stupid kid.
Now, there may be some of you out there thinking to yourselves “This Tom must be a horrible person, he seems so negative and hateful.” To you people I say, you are probably right.
But, there was a time when I was happy, fun-loving, and generally looked at the world through rose-colored, slightly opaque, UVA/UVB blocking lenses. Those times are past. I’ve lost those glasses, alas.
Anyway, back to my story about just wanting to escape for maybe an hour and perhaps purchase a work or two of fiction that would then enable me to escape for a few hours later that was interrupted by the stupid kid.
So, I continue to walk down the sidewalk and take an abrupt turn, away from the office, and the stupid kid stops following. Having avoided him I then walked a little more before turning and trudging (real, actual trudging) back to my place of employment and the monumentally dumb project I’d been assigned right before lunch by hypermanager without guidelines that had sparked the escapade.
I get back. The project is no less impossible despite a brief retreat to the outside world. And then the stupid kid comes back! With a problem! BECAUSE HE IS STUPID AND I HATE HIM.
And, as I am in the middle of instructing him, for the third time, HOW TO ADD, he says
“So what books did you get?”
And he was lucky I was in the act of reaching with my right hand across my body to the other side of the desk for a pencil, because if he had not caught me in mid-motion away from him I swear my reflex would have been to punch him in the head. Lucky for him my reflexes are not what they once were, having been dulled by a year of corporate drudgery.
I said “Two books by James Ellroy.” And stopped talking to him. He waited to see if I’d say anything else, then he walked away.
I imagine that if he has a blog, and posts about work, it would not paint me in a positive light. “Tried to make friends with my supervisor again today, I asked him about books he’d purchased at Barnes and Noble, thinking that maybe today he would finally open up, and share just a little bit with me. I know I haven’t been successful before, and that maybe all the little trips over to his desk aren’t as endearing as I hope they are, but right now he’s my boss, and I don’t want a boss…… I just want a friend.”
I did not hate my job until stupid kid showed up. I knew it wasn’t the best job, I knew finance isn’t my favorite thing, but I did not know hatred until stupid kid joined the group.
Because it’s cathartic. And damn I needed catharsis today. (I wasn’t sure if “cathartic” meant what I thought it did, so I looked it up, that’s where I found “catharsis.” Also, it did mean what I thought it meant: “a purification or purgation that brings about spiritual renewal or release from tension.")
So I took a walk and ended up at Barnes & Noble. Exactly where I’d ended up yesterday at about the same time feeling about the same way.
Actually, it’s been pointed out that spending money isn’t really cathartic. So, I was in want of catharsis, but I was not in a position to get any short of deciding to immediately turn around, punch the stupid kid in the face, tell off my boss, and then quit with something like “I quit! You, you, and you I’ve always liked I’ll be at the bar down the street for the rest of the day, I’d be happy to see you join me. The rest of you? Screw.” That would have been cathartic.
So, bookstore, yesterday and today. Yesterday, though, I ended up not buying books, because who needs more books? I’ve still got three big ones sitting next to my bed I have been planning to read since December. Today, I did buy books. I looked around in Mystery, and then a little in Science Fiction, and then a little in Mystery again. At some point, I can’t quite remember where, I thought I heard someone call my name.
As I exited the store after making a purchase (with my 10% off membership card! How exciting) I turned and saw the stupid kid exiting right behind me. Using my Holmesian powers of deduction I concluded it was he, stupid kid, who had called my name in a futile attempt to get my attention, and perhaps engage in some sort of book-themed conversation outside of the office.
I hate the stupid kid.
Now, there may be some of you out there thinking to yourselves “This Tom must be a horrible person, he seems so negative and hateful.” To you people I say, you are probably right.
But, there was a time when I was happy, fun-loving, and generally looked at the world through rose-colored, slightly opaque, UVA/UVB blocking lenses. Those times are past. I’ve lost those glasses, alas.
Anyway, back to my story about just wanting to escape for maybe an hour and perhaps purchase a work or two of fiction that would then enable me to escape for a few hours later that was interrupted by the stupid kid.
So, I continue to walk down the sidewalk and take an abrupt turn, away from the office, and the stupid kid stops following. Having avoided him I then walked a little more before turning and trudging (real, actual trudging) back to my place of employment and the monumentally dumb project I’d been assigned right before lunch by hypermanager without guidelines that had sparked the escapade.
I get back. The project is no less impossible despite a brief retreat to the outside world. And then the stupid kid comes back! With a problem! BECAUSE HE IS STUPID AND I HATE HIM.
And, as I am in the middle of instructing him, for the third time, HOW TO ADD, he says
“So what books did you get?”
And he was lucky I was in the act of reaching with my right hand across my body to the other side of the desk for a pencil, because if he had not caught me in mid-motion away from him I swear my reflex would have been to punch him in the head. Lucky for him my reflexes are not what they once were, having been dulled by a year of corporate drudgery.
I said “Two books by James Ellroy.” And stopped talking to him. He waited to see if I’d say anything else, then he walked away.
I imagine that if he has a blog, and posts about work, it would not paint me in a positive light. “Tried to make friends with my supervisor again today, I asked him about books he’d purchased at Barnes and Noble, thinking that maybe today he would finally open up, and share just a little bit with me. I know I haven’t been successful before, and that maybe all the little trips over to his desk aren’t as endearing as I hope they are, but right now he’s my boss, and I don’t want a boss…… I just want a friend.”
I did not hate my job until stupid kid showed up. I knew it wasn’t the best job, I knew finance isn’t my favorite thing, but I did not know hatred until stupid kid joined the group.
The quiet girl
I used to supervise the end-of-the-night processing. It was a responsibility that would keep me here until 6:30 PM, and sometimes later.
Hypermanager likes to rotate that responsibility through each of the three seniors in the group. I left for vacation last week, and the processing shifted to Grace.
Grace is quiet. Very quiet. So quiet that we don’t usually know she’s here until she sends an email out to the group from two cubes away.
I’ve always admired her behavior at work. She comes in, doesn’t talk to anyone, does her job, and leaves at exactly six o’clock.
But, last night, she was pissed.
End-of-the-night processing has kept her here until six thirty everyday since she took over. “I am sick of being here so late.”
That’s the most she’s ever said out loud. It’s the angriest I’ve ever seen anyone here (except me). It seems like this job has been designed to beat intelligent people into submission, rewarding their loyalty to the company with overbearing management, vague project outlines, and near-constant criticism.
We need to stop believing what our parents told us, because it is most definitely not “what can you do for your company?” That philosophy died with the space program.
It’s not just me. I’m not crazy or biased, this job does suck. And it doesn’t’ get any better when you get to leave on time.
t-
Hypermanager likes to rotate that responsibility through each of the three seniors in the group. I left for vacation last week, and the processing shifted to Grace.
Grace is quiet. Very quiet. So quiet that we don’t usually know she’s here until she sends an email out to the group from two cubes away.
I’ve always admired her behavior at work. She comes in, doesn’t talk to anyone, does her job, and leaves at exactly six o’clock.
But, last night, she was pissed.
End-of-the-night processing has kept her here until six thirty everyday since she took over. “I am sick of being here so late.”
That’s the most she’s ever said out loud. It’s the angriest I’ve ever seen anyone here (except me). It seems like this job has been designed to beat intelligent people into submission, rewarding their loyalty to the company with overbearing management, vague project outlines, and near-constant criticism.
We need to stop believing what our parents told us, because it is most definitely not “what can you do for your company?” That philosophy died with the space program.
It’s not just me. I’m not crazy or biased, this job does suck. And it doesn’t’ get any better when you get to leave on time.
t-
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
PC Load Letter
Tell me you know how to work a printer.
I don’t mean Office Space “what the fuck does PC load letter mean?” printers (even though pc load letter means the printer is out of paper, moron), I mean, you know, having the ability to read.
Three times today. Three times.
Thing the first:
The stupid kid comes up to me this morning, wearing the absolute brightest pink shirt I think it is humanly possible to manufacture, I’m talking a supernova of brightness radiating from this very bright, very pink, very bright shirt (with dark green pants and black shoes), and says, “You know those interest lines I asked you about last week? Well, they’re still out there.”
So I say “You told me last week that those lines tied to the payments, all you have to do is let the kid on the other side of the floor know they match and he’ll clear the lines.”
And he replies “Um, ok, but, uh, could you check them – the lines – and see if they’re really tied?”
They don’t.
Mutual funds buy securities, the securities accrue interest, and that interest is paid to the mutual fund on a determined date. We track the security, the days accrued, and the interest rate to calculate the expected payment. Then, we get paid. Simple.
To check if the interest line matches the payment you check the interest line function. To check the payment you check the interest received function.
Two screens. Two numbers. Are they equal, or not? SIMPLE.
If the payment matches the accrual, we clear the line and take in the money. If not, then it’s my job to do the research, determine what went wrong, and fix it. My job gets a little harder when the stupid kid tells me things are clear and I believe him. So really, is the mistake his fault? Or, is it my fault for not checking his work because I assumed he had the comprehensive power to compare two numbers? I leave that to you.
The second thing:
Securities accrue in one of three ways
-30/360 – payments are calculated as if there were thirty days in each month and three hundred sixty days in the year.
-act/360 – payments calculated based on the actual number of days in the month and as if there were three hundred sixty days in the year.
-act/act – payments calculated based on the actual number of days in the month and the actual number of days in the year.
The stupid kid asked me if it was ok that something booked “act/365” was correct because it should be “actual/actual,’ with the actual number of days in the year.
Turns out that yes, it was booked correctly, because 365 is the actual number of days in the year.
Don’t forget, this is the kid who couldn’t remember if there were 52 or 54 weeks in the year. He thinks it’s 52, but it might be 54, like a deck of cards.
Three:
The stupid kid came over to my desk at the close of the day, people are running around trying to finish funds. “Hey, um,” he said, “I just wanted to let you know I think the printer is broken or something. It’s flashing a message on the screen.”
The message was “PC load letter.”
No, not really, but I know you were all hoping it was. You were sitting there wishing, with all your might, that the stupid kid did not, can not, understand “PC load letter.”
“Come on, Tom, have you, please, please, set this post up with the mention of Office Space, and the title, and our previous knowledge of the stupid kid, please tell me that’s the message he got.” That’s what you were thinking.
Sorry to disappoint, but we have nicer printers:
“Printer is out of paper.”
I don’t mean Office Space “what the fuck does PC load letter mean?” printers (even though pc load letter means the printer is out of paper, moron), I mean, you know, having the ability to read.
Three times today. Three times.
Thing the first:
The stupid kid comes up to me this morning, wearing the absolute brightest pink shirt I think it is humanly possible to manufacture, I’m talking a supernova of brightness radiating from this very bright, very pink, very bright shirt (with dark green pants and black shoes), and says, “You know those interest lines I asked you about last week? Well, they’re still out there.”
So I say “You told me last week that those lines tied to the payments, all you have to do is let the kid on the other side of the floor know they match and he’ll clear the lines.”
And he replies “Um, ok, but, uh, could you check them – the lines – and see if they’re really tied?”
They don’t.
Mutual funds buy securities, the securities accrue interest, and that interest is paid to the mutual fund on a determined date. We track the security, the days accrued, and the interest rate to calculate the expected payment. Then, we get paid. Simple.
To check if the interest line matches the payment you check the interest line function. To check the payment you check the interest received function.
Two screens. Two numbers. Are they equal, or not? SIMPLE.
If the payment matches the accrual, we clear the line and take in the money. If not, then it’s my job to do the research, determine what went wrong, and fix it. My job gets a little harder when the stupid kid tells me things are clear and I believe him. So really, is the mistake his fault? Or, is it my fault for not checking his work because I assumed he had the comprehensive power to compare two numbers? I leave that to you.
The second thing:
Securities accrue in one of three ways
-30/360 – payments are calculated as if there were thirty days in each month and three hundred sixty days in the year.
-act/360 – payments calculated based on the actual number of days in the month and as if there were three hundred sixty days in the year.
-act/act – payments calculated based on the actual number of days in the month and the actual number of days in the year.
The stupid kid asked me if it was ok that something booked “act/365” was correct because it should be “actual/actual,’ with the actual number of days in the year.
Turns out that yes, it was booked correctly, because 365 is the actual number of days in the year.
Don’t forget, this is the kid who couldn’t remember if there were 52 or 54 weeks in the year. He thinks it’s 52, but it might be 54, like a deck of cards.
Three:
The stupid kid came over to my desk at the close of the day, people are running around trying to finish funds. “Hey, um,” he said, “I just wanted to let you know I think the printer is broken or something. It’s flashing a message on the screen.”
The message was “PC load letter.”
No, not really, but I know you were all hoping it was. You were sitting there wishing, with all your might, that the stupid kid did not, can not, understand “PC load letter.”
“Come on, Tom, have you, please, please, set this post up with the mention of Office Space, and the title, and our previous knowledge of the stupid kid, please tell me that’s the message he got.” That’s what you were thinking.
Sorry to disappoint, but we have nicer printers:
“Printer is out of paper.”
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
The "luger" jokes are inevitable, but you won't hear them from me
Actual transcript*:
“Well, thank you for asking, Bob, I’ve done some research on this subject and it appears skeleton luging, or “skeleton,” actually came about as sort of a “frat-boy dare.” It was very much a “hey, let’s see what happens if we fly down this amazingly steep sheet of ice head first” moment and it caught on, and Bob, you can see the result: Skeleton fever is sweeping the Olympics. It may be true the sport lacks some of the historical significance of something like the marathon or cross-country skiing, but what it lacks in history it more than makes up for in excitement and fun!”
-Olympics correspondent when asked about the history of skeleton luge.
*not actually a transcript of anything.
“Well, thank you for asking, Bob, I’ve done some research on this subject and it appears skeleton luging, or “skeleton,” actually came about as sort of a “frat-boy dare.” It was very much a “hey, let’s see what happens if we fly down this amazingly steep sheet of ice head first” moment and it caught on, and Bob, you can see the result: Skeleton fever is sweeping the Olympics. It may be true the sport lacks some of the historical significance of something like the marathon or cross-country skiing, but what it lacks in history it more than makes up for in excitement and fun!”
-Olympics correspondent when asked about the history of skeleton luge.
*not actually a transcript of anything.
The Tax mon
Well, my recruiter sucks.
I told him I liked being challenged, I liked solving problems, that I’m never quite as happy as when I take a situation in which no one knows what is going on and figure out what is going on and how to fix it.
He asks if I like reading and law. I tell him “look at my resume, do you see “studied law in college for fun” on there? No. It says “studied math – MATH.”
So, what does he do? Sets me up with an interview for a position in TAX LAW. wtf, mate.
You know what they do over in tax law? One, crunch numbers (I can do that, I’m good at that, well, actually anybody can do that because Excel is good at that); and Two, read books full of laws!
So, you know what, fine. I went to the interview, because I desperately want out of my current job, and also they were promising a 25% increase in salary which means I can finally afford my dream of owning an original Street Fighter II Turbo arcade game.
I sit down, pleasantries are exchanged, and then they start talking about tax law. I am pretty sure I dozed off during the introductions. That’s not to say tax law isn’t fascinating stuff when presented by a short dark man with a heavy Jamaican accent, it could just be that I was tired.
But, worse than being boring, are the hours. The “busy season” begins in September and ends in April. Listen, folks, if the “season” lasts eight months of the year that’s “normal” and the rest of the time is the “un-busy season.”
Also, it appears every day nine a.m. to four p.m. qualifies as “un-busy” when your “busy season” typically means six-day workweeks from nine a.m. to ten p.m.
That’s eight months of sixty-plus hours a week.
The highlight of the interview came when the head of the department described his commitment to the job:
“Will you come in here and give 110%? 120%? I do. When you devote your life to this job, like I do, it’s about dedicating your life, your time, to this group. And what do you get in return? I say to you ‘In ten years you should be sitting in this chair.’ and you have two choices, work hard to achieve it, or get kicked out the door.”
Good. Now reread that with a heavy Jamaican accent. Also, it should be noted “And what do you get in return?” was a rhetorical question, but the answer is apparently worth your time, your life, and a mathematically impossible percentage of your effort.
-t
I told him I liked being challenged, I liked solving problems, that I’m never quite as happy as when I take a situation in which no one knows what is going on and figure out what is going on and how to fix it.
He asks if I like reading and law. I tell him “look at my resume, do you see “studied law in college for fun” on there? No. It says “studied math – MATH.”
So, what does he do? Sets me up with an interview for a position in TAX LAW. wtf, mate.
You know what they do over in tax law? One, crunch numbers (I can do that, I’m good at that, well, actually anybody can do that because Excel is good at that); and Two, read books full of laws!
So, you know what, fine. I went to the interview, because I desperately want out of my current job, and also they were promising a 25% increase in salary which means I can finally afford my dream of owning an original Street Fighter II Turbo arcade game.
I sit down, pleasantries are exchanged, and then they start talking about tax law. I am pretty sure I dozed off during the introductions. That’s not to say tax law isn’t fascinating stuff when presented by a short dark man with a heavy Jamaican accent, it could just be that I was tired.
But, worse than being boring, are the hours. The “busy season” begins in September and ends in April. Listen, folks, if the “season” lasts eight months of the year that’s “normal” and the rest of the time is the “un-busy season.”
Also, it appears every day nine a.m. to four p.m. qualifies as “un-busy” when your “busy season” typically means six-day workweeks from nine a.m. to ten p.m.
That’s eight months of sixty-plus hours a week.
The highlight of the interview came when the head of the department described his commitment to the job:
“Will you come in here and give 110%? 120%? I do. When you devote your life to this job, like I do, it’s about dedicating your life, your time, to this group. And what do you get in return? I say to you ‘In ten years you should be sitting in this chair.’ and you have two choices, work hard to achieve it, or get kicked out the door.”
Good. Now reread that with a heavy Jamaican accent. Also, it should be noted “And what do you get in return?” was a rhetorical question, but the answer is apparently worth your time, your life, and a mathematically impossible percentage of your effort.
-t
Monday, February 13, 2006
Dazed and Confused
You get hired for a new job, what’s your first responsibility? Orientation.
You sit through two days of boring PowerPoint presentations designed to familiarize you with the inner workings of the company, corporate policy, and, of course, dress code.
Well, I think, when you leave a job, they should force you to attend Disorientation.
Imagine it: A day long program designed to confuse you so much that you forget everything you’ve ever known about working. You won’t know if the Inbox is on the right or the left, you won’t be able to remember if the cover sheets get stamped twice then stapled in the upper right-hand corner of the reports or if they should be stamped in the upper right hand corner and paper-clipped to the top sheet.
Imagine a program designed to confuse you to the extent that you will not be able to get dressed in the morning. Shoes before socks? Tie, then shirt? You’ll never know!
The purpose of Disorientation is to effectively ruin you for your next job – it’s the only way of making sure internal company secrets don’t get leaked to competitors.
An effective disorientation program would take about four and a half weeks to wear off. You should be so confused you won’t even be able to take care of yourself. You’d need to move back home with your parents so they can take care of you for a little while, setting up schedules, handling your laundry (you’d never remember to separate the whites and the colors), and generally supporting you in this disoriented phase.
Like high school.
This is a great idea. I’m typing up a memo to human resources right now.
-t
You sit through two days of boring PowerPoint presentations designed to familiarize you with the inner workings of the company, corporate policy, and, of course, dress code.
Well, I think, when you leave a job, they should force you to attend Disorientation.
Imagine it: A day long program designed to confuse you so much that you forget everything you’ve ever known about working. You won’t know if the Inbox is on the right or the left, you won’t be able to remember if the cover sheets get stamped twice then stapled in the upper right-hand corner of the reports or if they should be stamped in the upper right hand corner and paper-clipped to the top sheet.
Imagine a program designed to confuse you to the extent that you will not be able to get dressed in the morning. Shoes before socks? Tie, then shirt? You’ll never know!
The purpose of Disorientation is to effectively ruin you for your next job – it’s the only way of making sure internal company secrets don’t get leaked to competitors.
An effective disorientation program would take about four and a half weeks to wear off. You should be so confused you won’t even be able to take care of yourself. You’d need to move back home with your parents so they can take care of you for a little while, setting up schedules, handling your laundry (you’d never remember to separate the whites and the colors), and generally supporting you in this disoriented phase.
Like high school.
This is a great idea. I’m typing up a memo to human resources right now.
-t
Pre-interview
If I could just sit here and listen to my music and not have to interact with my coworkers I probably would not hate coming in to work as much as I do. Tomorrow I have an interview with the tax division of another financial firm, and if you think mutual funds are exciting, just wait until you start reading up on taxes.
But I really don’t care at all what I do, data input and interpretation is data input and interpretation, no matter the industry. It’s about coworkers, environment, dress code, commute, and salary. I’ll take the boredom and tedium of taxes over the boredom and frustration of mutual funds if it means another ten thousand dollars a year.
Well, I’ll take it for the first six months anyway, then we’ll see what happens.
In the meantime I’m just trying to find that nice balanced volume level between “drowning out the sounds and conversations of coworkers” and “permanent ear damage,” and if I err on the louder side, I’m sure you’ll understand.
-tgme
But I really don’t care at all what I do, data input and interpretation is data input and interpretation, no matter the industry. It’s about coworkers, environment, dress code, commute, and salary. I’ll take the boredom and tedium of taxes over the boredom and frustration of mutual funds if it means another ten thousand dollars a year.
Well, I’ll take it for the first six months anyway, then we’ll see what happens.
In the meantime I’m just trying to find that nice balanced volume level between “drowning out the sounds and conversations of coworkers” and “permanent ear damage,” and if I err on the louder side, I’m sure you’ll understand.
-tgme
Friday, February 10, 2006
God's house and good graces
Greetings, readers.
I have been marginally busy these last two days, and beyond the usual griping about work I don’t have much to say about it.
Instead, I will update you on other, outside-of-work-related topics:
1. Growing the hell up -
Very soon I may have an apartment of my very own. In this particular case “very own” means something like “sharing with two lovely roommates who were kind and generous and good friends who came with the sweet apartment hook-up totally out-of-the-blue, which is what nice people do”
That was a bit of a run on.
Anyway. Brand new place, hardwood floors, ample street parking, etc. Basically this is the apartment Jesus was living in before he decided to grow up, settle down, and move to the suburbs. Seriously, the only trouble I expect is from a few apostles coming by the first week or so trying to mooch off of us new tenants.
2. Getting richer –
Very soon I may also have a new job. It is very possible I will like it more than the job I currently have. It is also possible I won’t hate it at all.
The new job, if I get it, will pay something like twenty-five percent more than I’m getting paid here and now.
The rich get richer. The moderate-income get moderately-more-incomed.
3. Learning to deal with disappointment.
It is also possible that neither of these things happen.
Maybe it turns out that the previous resident of our apartment wasn’t Jesus, but in fact Andrew, or some other deadbeat apostle who liked to smoke up with the neighborhood Jews, deal meth out of the kitchen, leave food lying around, and keep a coven of pet rats.
Maybe it turns out that the new job isn’t just as miserable as this one, but worse (I cannot possibly imagine how, but I don’t like exercising my imagination in that direction. I’d much rather imagine having the ability to fly, see through walls, or shoot Skittles out of my nose), but maybe it could be worse.
The silver lining, for you, readers, is that if I do take a job I hate more than this one you’ll have some really nice angry posts to look forward too, and if I don’t end up in the new apartment, you can keep yelling at me to get up and get looking for a space of my own.
To sum up, it’s very possible that within the next week or two my life could take a dramatic shift, and you all are along for the ride.
-t
I have been marginally busy these last two days, and beyond the usual griping about work I don’t have much to say about it.
Instead, I will update you on other, outside-of-work-related topics:
1. Growing the hell up -
Very soon I may have an apartment of my very own. In this particular case “very own” means something like “sharing with two lovely roommates who were kind and generous and good friends who came with the sweet apartment hook-up totally out-of-the-blue, which is what nice people do”
That was a bit of a run on.
Anyway. Brand new place, hardwood floors, ample street parking, etc. Basically this is the apartment Jesus was living in before he decided to grow up, settle down, and move to the suburbs. Seriously, the only trouble I expect is from a few apostles coming by the first week or so trying to mooch off of us new tenants.
2. Getting richer –
Very soon I may also have a new job. It is very possible I will like it more than the job I currently have. It is also possible I won’t hate it at all.
The new job, if I get it, will pay something like twenty-five percent more than I’m getting paid here and now.
The rich get richer. The moderate-income get moderately-more-incomed.
3. Learning to deal with disappointment.
It is also possible that neither of these things happen.
Maybe it turns out that the previous resident of our apartment wasn’t Jesus, but in fact Andrew, or some other deadbeat apostle who liked to smoke up with the neighborhood Jews, deal meth out of the kitchen, leave food lying around, and keep a coven of pet rats.
Maybe it turns out that the new job isn’t just as miserable as this one, but worse (I cannot possibly imagine how, but I don’t like exercising my imagination in that direction. I’d much rather imagine having the ability to fly, see through walls, or shoot Skittles out of my nose), but maybe it could be worse.
The silver lining, for you, readers, is that if I do take a job I hate more than this one you’ll have some really nice angry posts to look forward too, and if I don’t end up in the new apartment, you can keep yelling at me to get up and get looking for a space of my own.
To sum up, it’s very possible that within the next week or two my life could take a dramatic shift, and you all are along for the ride.
-t
Thursday, February 09, 2006
For all those readers who believed me, here is a “normal” post about, you know, stuff
These things are stupid. [so’s your face.]
Four Jobs I’ve had
Four Jobs I’ve had
- Photo store guy
- Video store guy
- Resident assistant guy
- “I hate my job” guy
- The Matrix Reloaded
- Star Wars
- Beverly Hills Ninja – “I am Haru, of the Takagura dojo”
- Ronin
- With my parents
- On my own
- With my parents
- … …
- The Colbert Report – the absolute funniest show on television
- Arrested Development – Once the funniest show on television
- Futurama – the most consistently funny show on television
- The West Wing – the best show on television (seasons one through three)
- Sports Night – the best show on television before The West Wing
- Rome
- Nova Scotia
- South Carolina
- Alabama
- Pizza (pepperoni, pepper and onion, pineapple and canadian bacon, veggie lover’s, meat lover’s, everything but olives, or anchovies)
- Clam chowder
- Apple pie.
- Other kinds of pie.
- Me (because I link everyone's blogs)
- Uncrate
- Sam
- Pearls Before Swine
- Anywhere
- Playing ping pong
- Playing xbox
- Alabama
How I spent my summer vacation
Welcome back. During my absence I received a total of nineteen comments, five emails, and three (adina) voice mails asking me to post.
So let me tell you a little story.
I started this blog over one year ago. It was facetious and mostly boring, and approximately three people read it (despite my claim of an international audience).
Sometime between now and then I have picked up new readers (hello new readers). One of these new readers is named Samatha. She has a blog, which I read, and which kept me entertained, so she got a link. After that we started conversing, via AIM, while I was at work. A special bond grew between us because, as you all should know, I have lots of free time at work, and I like talking, so, I feel a special attatchment to anyone who is willing to talk to me during my free time at work (no thanks to the rest of you jokers: John, KT, Lindsay, Felecia, Adina, Donny, etc etc etc who don't talk to me online during the day because you have to "work." Seriously.)
Anyway. Samantha and I chatted. Online. Then, later, on the phone.
Then Samantha invited me down to see her, in, that's right readers, Alabama.
And I decided to go, because why the hell wouldn't I go? I like seeing new places, I like travelling, I've also got a great plan to see all fifty state capitol buildings before I die (I'd already crossed Texas and Massachusetts off the list). Plus, you know, special bond.
So I bought myself a ticket for Alabama. And I got myself some time off work. Oh yeah, and I kept it on the down-low, because sometimes that's what I do.
Wednesday, February 1st I flew down. I spent the night before hanging out with my brother and his friends, and then he drove me to the airport. I sat in the emergency exit row and had tons of leg room.
My flight stopped over in Baltimore, MD for about half an hour, enough time to change gates, and then I settled in for the flight to Alabama, again, in an emergency exit row. It was at this point that I realized I had forgotten my cell phone charger.
I deplaned in AL, and gathered my bag from the overhead compartment. I tucked my book away in the exterior pocket along with my ipod. I made my way out to baggage claim to meet Samantha, the girl from Alabama.
There were a few people sitting by the conveyor belt, none of them looked like Samantha. I turned on my phone, and continued to scan the crowd as I waited for a signal. I called Samantha.
"Hi, this is Samantha."
"Hi, this is Tom, I just landed and I'm at baggage claim."
"Um, what."
"I'm at baggage claim, that's where you said you'd meet me, right?"
"You just got off the plane?"
"Yeah."
"In Alabama."
"Yeah."
"HAHAHAHAHAHA"
"... ... ..."
"[more laughter]"
"... ... ..."
"[voice shaking with laughter] I totally don't really live in Alabama."
"... ... What?"
"I can't believe you actually bought a plane ticket and flew to Alabama! I can't wait to tell my friends! [mean-spirited laughter], they didn't think you'd actually do it!"
"Wait. What?"
"Wow. Alright. Well, have fun in Alabama. I hear it sucks."
BLOG READERS. I WAS DUPED. Do you understand?! DUPED. I was cajoled into purchasing a plane ticket for Alabama, and into making plans for what we, me, and Samantha, the-girl-who-told-me-she-lived-in-Alabama-and-that-she-wanted-me-to-come-visit-her-there, would do when I got there. Including a visit to the capitol building.
I WAS IN ALABAMA. BECAUSE I FELL FOR A PRACTICAL JOKE.
So thanks for your concern. I spent a week, doing nothing, in a Holiday Inn in Alabama. It was so much fun. I got to eat at local resturants. Like McDonald's. And experience regional cultural things, like a Law and Order marathon on TNT. And call people, on my cell phone with a dead battery. And post to the blog on the laptop I didn't bring with me.
Best. Vacation. Ever. Well, I'm back now.
"Have fun in Alabama. I hear it sucks."
Great.
So let me tell you a little story.
I started this blog over one year ago. It was facetious and mostly boring, and approximately three people read it (despite my claim of an international audience).
Sometime between now and then I have picked up new readers (hello new readers). One of these new readers is named Samatha. She has a blog, which I read, and which kept me entertained, so she got a link. After that we started conversing, via AIM, while I was at work. A special bond grew between us because, as you all should know, I have lots of free time at work, and I like talking, so, I feel a special attatchment to anyone who is willing to talk to me during my free time at work (no thanks to the rest of you jokers: John, KT, Lindsay, Felecia, Adina, Donny, etc etc etc who don't talk to me online during the day because you have to "work." Seriously.)
Anyway. Samantha and I chatted. Online. Then, later, on the phone.
Then Samantha invited me down to see her, in, that's right readers, Alabama.
And I decided to go, because why the hell wouldn't I go? I like seeing new places, I like travelling, I've also got a great plan to see all fifty state capitol buildings before I die (I'd already crossed Texas and Massachusetts off the list). Plus, you know, special bond.
So I bought myself a ticket for Alabama. And I got myself some time off work. Oh yeah, and I kept it on the down-low, because sometimes that's what I do.
Wednesday, February 1st I flew down. I spent the night before hanging out with my brother and his friends, and then he drove me to the airport. I sat in the emergency exit row and had tons of leg room.
My flight stopped over in Baltimore, MD for about half an hour, enough time to change gates, and then I settled in for the flight to Alabama, again, in an emergency exit row. It was at this point that I realized I had forgotten my cell phone charger.
I deplaned in AL, and gathered my bag from the overhead compartment. I tucked my book away in the exterior pocket along with my ipod. I made my way out to baggage claim to meet Samantha, the girl from Alabama.
There were a few people sitting by the conveyor belt, none of them looked like Samantha. I turned on my phone, and continued to scan the crowd as I waited for a signal. I called Samantha.
"Hi, this is Samantha."
"Hi, this is Tom, I just landed and I'm at baggage claim."
"Um, what."
"I'm at baggage claim, that's where you said you'd meet me, right?"
"You just got off the plane?"
"Yeah."
"In Alabama."
"Yeah."
"HAHAHAHAHAHA"
"... ... ..."
"[more laughter]"
"... ... ..."
"[voice shaking with laughter] I totally don't really live in Alabama."
"... ... What?"
"I can't believe you actually bought a plane ticket and flew to Alabama! I can't wait to tell my friends! [mean-spirited laughter], they didn't think you'd actually do it!"
"Wait. What?"
"Wow. Alright. Well, have fun in Alabama. I hear it sucks."
BLOG READERS. I WAS DUPED. Do you understand?! DUPED. I was cajoled into purchasing a plane ticket for Alabama, and into making plans for what we, me, and Samantha, the-girl-who-told-me-she-lived-in-Alabama-and-that-she-wanted-me-to-come-visit-her-there, would do when I got there. Including a visit to the capitol building.
I WAS IN ALABAMA. BECAUSE I FELL FOR A PRACTICAL JOKE.
So thanks for your concern. I spent a week, doing nothing, in a Holiday Inn in Alabama. It was so much fun. I got to eat at local resturants. Like McDonald's. And experience regional cultural things, like a Law and Order marathon on TNT. And call people, on my cell phone with a dead battery. And post to the blog on the laptop I didn't bring with me.
Best. Vacation. Ever. Well, I'm back now.
"Have fun in Alabama. I hear it sucks."
Great.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)