Hiatus - Part One

Hi there. How you doing?

I haven't had a job for four days. It's been a really wonderful four days. I was lying in bed this morning afternoon, and thought it might be nice to give you all a heads up:

I'm probably not going to post anything for the next two weeks. At least.

I'm not saying I definitely won't - just probably won't, so don't hold your breath.

And in the meantime, enjoy going to work every day.

HA.

-t

The end of an (frustrating, confusing, wasteful) era

Today's my last day. It's been seven months. My problem-solving skills have regressed to a high school sophmore level. I'm not looking for a celebration - I just want it to be over.


It's also the final day for one of the VP's. The alcoholic one. They've planned a Fanueil Hall pub crawl from the Purple Shamrock to the Bell in Hand.

The biggest problem I face today is figuring out how to carry my Far Side desk calendar and LA Times Crossword of the Day desk calendar in my jacket along with my ipod and book on the coldest day on record.

I think I'll use my pockets.

-t

Soon Departed

I have nothing to do all next week - except take a drug test - but, aside from that fifteen minutes, I'm going to be super bored.

Normally I'd sit around and cruise the internet, but that's what I've been doing at work for the last month-and-a-half, and I've seen the whole thing.

And there's nothing good on tv during the day anyway.

So I'll be looking for good ways to kill some time. The best way? Lunch.

So, rise up, you blogging fans. Send me an email, post me a comment. Let's set something up. Coffee break Monday? Good. A Wednesday tour of the Sam Adams brewery? I'm down. Tuesday at that tiny resturant with the chips Jenny really likes? Sounds like a plan. Giant bowls of clam chowder at one of the seventeen Legal Seafood locations around town, including the one over in Cambridge? Excellent.

Tomorrw's my last day. Then it's a week of downtime.

Ok, this week, and the one before it...and the one before that... have been full of downtime too, but now I'm not getting paid for it, and don't have to stay in one building for six hours at a stretch.

That's a step in the right direction.

So call me - I'm hungry.

-t

An August Afternoon

Sarah Joyce busied herself with the dirty dishes in the sink in her small apartment in the West End on a late summer afternoon in August. Her hair was tied back in a red kerchief to keep it off her shoulders, and her neck cool. There was no air conditioning in her small apartment. She stopped scrubbing the remnants of a vegetarian meatloaf off of her mother's old china with a brillo pad and glanced out the window over the sink at the sunset that was lighting the clouds magnificently. Breathing a sigh of contentment for the beauty of nature and discontent for the ugliness of tofu-encrusted china, which came out sounding like a muffled cough, she bent her head again to her work, when there was a knock on the door. The door!
Was it Tuesday night!? It was! She'd asked Boris to come over tonight! How could she have forgotten!? "One minute, Boris!" she called as she pulled the drain in the sink and started stashing still-dirty plates in the cupboard under the sink, and scanning the apartment for embarassing debris. There, a pink bra hung on the reading lamp next to the couch, two copies of Little Orphan Annie on dvd sitting in plain sight on the coffee table, next to her newest Japanese anime novel. "I'll be right the-ere!" she called through the door as she lifted the couch skirt and threw the offending items underneath to join her thigh-master, an empty pizza box, and assorted pieces of an old monopoly game. She stood, and exhaled, and took one last look around, and then reached for the door only to realize she was still wearing her dishwashing gloves! She whipped them off and flung them down the hallway towards her bedroom. The bedroom. Well, that was another story altogether, she wouldn't worry about it unless things went better than expected with Boris tonight. She opened the door. "Hello, Boris! Sorry to keep you waiting. I was...just drying my hair..." Sarah glanced up to her red kerchief as her voice trailed off. Boris stood in the doorway, a stocky guy with close-cropped black hair wearing a grey t-shirt and jeans. He blinked away his confused look as he stepped into the apartment and took a covert look around, not wanting to offend Sarah, who, after all, had invited him over out-of-the-blue after he'd spent two weeks trying to build up the nerve to speak to her. The tiny apartment was painted an ugly puke-yellow that clashed with the brown-and-blue plaid couch and pink shag rug, but certainly no worse than his own apartment two streets over furnished mostly with milk crates and two-by-fours. The back wall, however, had been painted over with whitewash and a quotation was written in poorly executed, but clearly painstakingly done, script in brown paint; "The only reason why God created man is because he was disappointed with the monkey. -S. L. Clemens" There was a drip of paint trailing down the wall under the 'y' in "why" and streaks in the big 'g' of "God" but the quotation seemed comical and thoughtful in an entirely appropriate way. A bird in a small cage hung from the ceiling just under the painted message. Boris spun slowly on his heel to face Sarah who was still standing with the door open to her fifth floor landing, and said, "That's an interesting quote. Why did you paint it?" Sarah smiled at him and said excitedly "I had dreams of training circus monkeys when I moved to the city, and I ran out and bought the paint the first day I moved into this place! I thought that the quote was perfectly ironic and philosophical for an aspiring monkey-trainer." Boris walked over to the back wall, and said "So, you have a monkey too?" Sarah smiled sheepishly at him and moved her hand to toy with a strand of hair that had fallen out of her kerchief, "Well, you see, I bought the paint before I bought a monkey to train...and, monkeys are really expensive! So I bought a parakeet." Boris smiled at her. Then turned and smiled at the little bird in the cage. "I'll bet you named him Sam, right?" And Boris and Sarah both looked at each other and grinned goofy grins and she said "Yes." and shut the apartment door.

-t inspired by wikiquote and music

Now I can almost round my age up to 30!

I've been alive for two-hundred ninety-four months!

It's my half-birthday!

This time last year things were a bit different: I was working with hypermanager, the stupid kid, and lurch at my first job. I hated it.

This time this year I've just quit my second job, the one with Insolent Bob and a lazy manager.

And, since I have a blog to keep a record of things, I don't need to try and remember as far back as last year, or, in fact, as far back as breakfast, because I can provide links!

Other highlights from "this time last year" include:

This post, with a super comment thread:

This post. I'd managed to block out how stupid the stupid kid really was (and how much I hated it).

And also, you know what else happened around one year ago?

I disappeard for a week, and it was noticed.

Then came back with the greatest practical joke a blogger ever played on his trusting, unsuspecting audience.

Remember how much you all hated me last year? I'm glad we're over it.

Happy half-birdthday!

-t

Better Early Late Than Never

When I sat down at my desk this morning I saw something I've never seen before: My clock read 8:59 AM.

Simply unprecedented. Normally when I arrive it's 9:12 AM or 9:14, 16, once it was at 9:24 AM, (and the latest I've ever arrived was 11:45 AM after I'd slept through my alarm).

But there it was. Iwas at work, on time, for the first time.

Better late than never - or, rather, better early, late, than never.


-t

Charlie Bucket Ticket

Charlie makes every ride on the T easier, right?

Well, yeah, I guess so...










Google Image results for "Charlie Ticket"


The conversion from the almost-brand-new Charlie Ticket system to the really-brand-new Charlie Card, Ticket, and Stored Value system, fare increase and surcharge-heavy differenntial fee structure was all the confusion I needed in the middle of the Christmas/New Year's holiday, add to that the confusion surrounding my employer's new commuter policy written up to deal specifically with the fare hike, monthly subway passes being converted into bus/subway Link passes, and the dissapearance of flimsy plastic monthly passes in favor of flimsier paper passes or sturdier and more elusive RFID Charlie Cards, made obtaining my January T pass a nightmare.

I'd been mailed a one-time-use debit card on December 28th, from my employer, linked to an anonymous bank account with an amount equal to the purchase price of a Link pass, that had been withdrawn from my paycheck pre-tax. I was intstructed to take my shiny new debit card and get to the nearest T station myself and make a point-of-purchase transaction to get my monthly bus/subway pass. This was the system designed to replace the "we'll mail a monthly pass to your house" system.

I arrived at my local stop fifteen minutes early, figuring on a bit of confusion with the new fares, cards, tickets, passes, and machines. This was, I knew, the first time many people would be buying anything from the new machines, and didn't want to be late for work.

I was late for work. Lines around corners and down stairs filled the station, one lone T employee was trying to wrangle frustrated commuters, little old ladies, non-english speakers, and high school kids on winter break trying to get into the city for First Night weekend festivities. After helping the two folks in front of me navigate the touch screen interface ("Wait, I want a stored value card, not not a ticket? What about a pass? How did I get to this screen!? I just want to put ten dollars on my card! No. No! How do I get just a round-trip fare? Aaaahhh.") I stepped up, confident I could get my pass and get going.

I was wrong. After getting lost the first time through the menu, and again trying to get back to the home screen (Hey, MBTA, here's a tip: Put a "startover"and a "back" button in the upper left corner of the screen) my one-time use debit card didn't work.

I had to exit back out to the main menu again and then buy a five dollar Charlie Stored Value (paper) Card to get me to and from work. I resolved to try on my lunch break.

That was also a nightmare. Lines were even longer at Downtown Crossing, though the T Customer Service reps seemed to have a much better handle on things.

The next morning I managed to purchase a monthly pass which was printed out on a paper ticket. "Wait! I cried," my hopes dashed by the insubstantial paper product I was holding after thinking I'd figured out how to get my old familiar flimsy plastic pass, "why is this paper!?"

It was a rough December 28th.

I found a free customer service rep and was given a new sturdy plastic RFID Charlie Card and instructed to show my ticket to the folks behind the counter at Downtown Crossing and they would transfer my pass from the paper ticket to the RFID card, easy as you please.

But that line is always ridiculous, so I've been using the paper pass for a month. I've been a little more careful with it than I would have been if it were plastic, but it's held up very well over the last three weeks.

Which brings me to this month's pass purchase.

I was once again issued a one-time-use debit card to be used to go to a station and buy a pass, rather than have one mailed to me, but, this time I got it on the 19th of the month.

Yesterday, out for my morning coffee break, at 10:15 AM, I walked down to the machines on the Orangle Line side of Downtown Crossing. Eight machines, one of them occupied. I walked up, tapped my Charlie Card, which had been sitting safely in my wallet for a month uninitiated, selected "Purchase Link Pass," slid my debit card through, tapped my card again, and was on the street in thirty seconds, coffee in still in hand.

It was easy, quick, convinient, everything they've promised us. If the January pass fiasco is the only trouble I'll have with the switchover, then I'm all for it.

So, for you late-purchasers, think of me when you're waiting in enormous lines and trying to get the guy in front of you to type "two-zero-zero-zero" instead of "two-zero" for "$20.00," I'll be the guy sailing through the gate with my previously obtained hassle-free RFID encoded Link pass.

-t

Catharsis

I was having a little trouble deciding what I was going to do with three weeks off between jobs.

After last night's Patriot's loss I think I'll break out my copy of MLB 2K6 and put together a roster of Red Sox players the likes of which the world has never seen, and take them through to the World Series.

Imagine Beckett, Schilling, and Papelbon starting, each going for 18 wins. Imagine Foulke and Clement healthy, and in top form. Imagine Gonzalez hitting for power. I'll probably put Arroyo in the starting rotation, and finagle a deal for Clemens too. Also, it's entirely possibly that seven of the eight Yankees everyday players will retire early, or get traded to the Diamondbacks, Royals, Devil Rays, and Reds.

I'm sure a few weeks working on a rigged world series win will help me get over this funk, right? I hope so.

In the meantime, I hope Manning and the Colts trounce the Bears, because as much as I would have loved to see him choke yesterday, there is no way, No. Way. Rex Grossman deserves to win a Superbowl over Peyton.

-t

One Week's Notice

I've just given my notice and will be leaving this disorganized group of semi-professionals effective next Friday.

To commemorate, I am republishing the very first email exchange I received way back in May. Please enjoy.

---

From: Roger Daltree
To: All in Boston
Sent: Wednesday, May 24, 14:43:58 2006
Subject: Changes to the email system

Some of you will have noticed a change in the email system over the last few days. We have removed the forward fill functionality in the To: and CC: fields when you compose an email.

This change was done as a risk mitigation procedure. In the past employees have inadvertently sent an email to the wrong address by using the forward fill functionality.

I realize this may cause an inconvenience to some but I believe the benefits and ability to reduce email sent inadvertently outweigh the inconvenience.

Roger Daltree
Head of Operations

---

From: Clark Svenson
Sent: Wednesday, May 24, 2006 6:38 PM
To: Roger Daltree; All in Boston
Subject: Re: Changes to the email system

Roger,

Because a few of your people have made mistakes we have had had to have a unilateral change in our e-mail system is unbelivable. I am not sure if it occured to you but many e-mail users (like USP) that have mega high volumes have been negatively impacted by this change.
The fact that your folks don't check to whom they are sending a e-mail does not seem to me to be a good reason to make such a change. Did you even think to check what the impact would be on other departments/groups within this enterprise before you pushed for the change? What ever happened to checking with others that would be impacted before you push a change through?

It will cost other groups a considerable amount of time/money to comply with the change in procedure you initiated.

In the future, I would suggest that you consider the broader implications of changes to prescribe...you are not operating in a "mutual fund only" environment.

Clark

S. Clark Svenson
Executive Vice President

---

Yeah, Roger, what did ever happen to checking with others that would be impacted before you push a change through?

-t

I imagine working for the government would be a lot like this, but for less money.

From: R. Dawali
Sent: Friday, January 19, 2007 9:38 AM
To: All in Taiwan; All in Boston; All in London; All in New York; All in Bangladesh
Subject: United World Bank changed Password and ID

Hi,

Can we know the new password and ID for the UWB website?

Regards,

R.

---

From: L. Kim
Sent: Friday, January 19, 2007 9:40 AM
To: All in Taiwan; All in Boston; All in London; All in New York; All in Bangladesh
Subject: RE United World Bank changed Password and ID

There are multiple user IDs. Which one?

---

From: B. Blevins
Sent: Friday, January 19, 2007 9:42 AM
To: All in Taiwan; All in Boston; All in London; All in New York; All in Bangladesh
Subject: RE United World Bank changed Password and ID

For User name : bicuwb12

Password : tajiredsox05

---

From: W. Smith
Sent: Friday, January 19, 2007 9:45 AM
To: All in Taiwan; All in Boston; All in London; All in New York; All in Bangladesh
Subject: RE United World Bank changed Password and ID

Hi,

We are looking for the new password for user "riduwb01".
Thank you.

---

From: F. Grant
Sent: Friday, January 19, 2007 10:01 AM
To: All in Taiwan; All in Boston; All in London; All in New York; All in Bangladesh
Subject: RE United World Bank changed Password and ID

Passwords are not to be emailed for any reason at all. This is a breech of corporate security policies.

Regards,
Frank Grant
Director Global Network Operations

---

That worldwide breach of network security only took four minutes. Just imagine what we can accomplish in a whole day.

-t


postscript: please note the incorrect spelling of "breach" in the email from the Director of Global Network Operations. breech

Limiting Factors

I think I got a job offer.

My experience in the financial world has been limited to a year and a half at a giant, multinational, publicly-traded, mega-corporation filled with stupid people, and a smaller, are-we-or-aren't-we public or private, SEC-lawsuit-settling, hedge fund firm, with insolent and lazy people.

Recently I've been looking to find a new experience. Ideally one with a small company that employs smart people.

I've been interviewing with a firm that looks promising all this week, and yesterday they said they are prepared to offer me a position.

The didn't offer it to me, but they're prepared to. All communication is being routed through my recruiter.

I hate recruiters - but, again, my experience has been limited to the failed-analyst-turned-recruiter, and the thrice-fired-and-rehired recruiter.

On does nothing but pressure me "If you don't do exactly as I say in this interview you will seriously damage your reputation, burn your bridges, and eliminate any chance of you getting a job in this town ever again."

The other does nothing but call and leave rambling voicemails that eat up my cell minutes. He's like that girl you accidentally gave your real phone number to even though you knew you never wanted to see her again. "Well, ok, just leaving a message to check in. Just to ask if you're still happy with your job. And to see if you're still looking. So, why don't you call me sometime. We can meet in my office. Or maybe somewhere for lunch, if that's better for you. So, just call me. Or, send me an email if you want. I'll...I'll leave my phone number and other contact info for you again, just in case you don't have it... ... ..."

Gah.

Hey, maybe there are nice recruiters out there, and maybe there's a small group of financial professionals who are intelligent, nice, and good at their jobs.

But not in my experience.

-t

Truckstop

"Hey, you got time for a truckstop?"

That's what these two guys next to me say to each other.

"Truckstop" means "coffee and a smoke."


Why don't they just say that? They're snagged on this one joke. They've probably been making coffee runs and smoke breaks for months, and sometime in those first few weeks somebody called it a truckstop, and somebody else laughed way too long and decided to always call it a truckstop, and none of them are smart enough to realize it's not funny, and that inventing your own jargon isn't ever cool when you work in mutual funds.

This is the same guy that calls the other one "Jimmy crack corn" because the other one asked him to. "Jimmy crack" for short.


A typical exchange goes like this:

"Hey, jimmy crack, how's it hangin?"

"Good, good. hey, me and Dave are heading out for a truckstop in five minutes. Are you working on anything? You want to come out on a truckstop? You got time?"

"Yeah, alright. I can swing that."



The only time that saying "you got time for a truckstop" is acceptible, at work, or ever, or even refering to a "truckstop" as something you "do," is if it's something illegal.

You get a free pass if "going out for a truckstop" means "smoking a joint in the parking garage" or is code for "a shot and a beer at O'Leary's"

But I doubt it. Neither one of these guys is cool enough to be smoking up or drinking at ten in the morning, though they both certinaly seem to think of themselves that way.

-t

What we've all been waiting for

WELCOME BACK WINTER!

Nine degrees Farenheit.

With a wind chill of minus nine!

You know what comes next, right? SNOW, BABAY.

I've been toting my winter hat and gloves with me for three weeks, today I got to wear them. That's how cold it's supposed to be in January.

Way to go Mother Nature.

-t


recommended downloads:
Matchbox Twenty, What You Need, and So Sad, So Lonely

Work from home! Earn $40K a month! Unlimited upside!

I'm calling for a new age in cubicle work: the work-from-home cubicle job.

Right now I'm required to leave my house in the morning, commute to a giant office building, sit in a tiny square little space, and work on a computer that is at least six years out of date, behind a firewall that won't let me view pictures on flickr, or videos on youtube, but allows posting of information to blogger, and myspace (which, incidentally, is where most of the AVPs spend their time ogling women).

I'd like, instead, to have the freedom to navigate the internet as I deem fit, to visit the links I want, to read blogs I enjoy, and to view the pictures people post from flickr instead of seeing a big empty box with a little red 'x' in the corner.

My job does not require me to be here. I log on to a broker portal, download some reports from their database to ours, print them off and tally some numbers on a spreadsheet. If I have questions I send my manager an email with an attachment, link, or screenshot. When I have trouble I call tech support.

I could get through my entire day without seeing anyone in person.

Plus, my daily work takes me about fifteen minutes, tops. It would be nice to get that out of the way before breakfast, then turn my attention to the daily crossword without being criticized by the VP as he walks past my desk, and then play some video games or watch star trek on Spike.

Why can't I work from home?

Possible objections:

• Network Security-
  Network security shouldn't be an issue. Have the IT guys set up a secure portal, just like the ones the brokers use, give us the password. Still concerned? Distribute a disc with a downloadable network protocol that I can take load onto my machine, make my access contingent on approval from the network admin who'll check that it's set up properly.



• Rent-
  If everyone is working from home you won't have to pay rent, ever. Grab yourself a small suite in a nice building with all the profit you're making. House the servers, the VP offices, and the conference rooms. You'll be using maybe a tenth of the space you're using now, and you'll be saving on square footage, heating, cleaning, maintenance, everything.



• Professional Attitude-
  Nobody working here now has a professional attitude anyway. I've cut out of work more times than I ever cut class in college, and that happened a lot. But, if everyone's working from home, nobody can see them being unprofessional.



• Keeping An Eye On Things-
  That you feel the need to watchdog the employees is already a problem. If you're really concerned about trade secrets or insider trading (which we can't do with the information we have access to anyway) you can tag the files that get sent to and from each employees computer. If something gets out you track it and prosecute. Easy.



• Face Time-
  I appreciate that you want to know the people you're working with (though I haven't seen any behaviour that would indicate you care who I am), but it's not relevant to the work that I do everyday with numbers. Plus, the real reason I hate this job, are the people I work with (namely, Insolent Bob). If you really want face time, though, require a weekly, or bi-weekly meeting. Problem solved. I know my attitude would be much improved if I could sleep until 10 o'clock everyday and only have to see Insolent Bob twice a week.



• Support-
  As I mentioned above, whenever I have a problem I ask for help via email or phone. It's no big deal to attach a document to an email with the relevant portions highlighted, or to talk about a problem over the phone while both parties are looking at a shared spreadsheet. The only benefit to walking from my desk to my managers desk might be the exercise, and I can get that on my stationary bike.

It makes sense. I get to use my computer, I get to work at my own pace, I get to watch tv, play video games, blast my music. I don't have to shower. I can sleep late. I won't hate my job. I can work from anywhere. What's the downside?

Seriously, what's the downside?

-t

No one to do business with

Good Monday morning to you all. Today is January 15, 2006, Marthin Luther King Junior Day. Federal offices are closed, there is no mail delivery or trash pickup, the MBTA is running on a holiday schedule, the stock market is closed today, prime broker offices are closed today, client offices are closed today,

But we're open for business!

I'm writing from my desk, at work, from the only occupied floor, in the only buildling that is open in downtown Boston.

Which is pretty ridiculous if you ask me. I'm reminded primarily of Kermit's line from The Muppet Chirstmas Carol:

"If you please. Mr Scrooge, why open the office tomorrow?
Other businesses will be closed - You'll have no one to do business with.

It'll waste a lot of expensive coal for the fire...."

(source)

I could have stayed home today and played video games and watched football highlights. Instead I had to slog through the cold rain to "work" for eight hours. You can bet I'll be sucking down those free soft drinks today in protest.

-t

The Big Move

I'm moving in June.

Well, maybe.

Here's the thing. Whether or not I'm moving (from Boston, to a new city) is entirely dependent on a number of things that I have no influence over. Circumnstances beyond my control.

If things go one way, I'll be moving; if they go another, I won't.

I should know soon, maybe, but I don't know yet.

Which is why interviewing for a new job last week seemed a little weird.

"Hi, I'm Tom. I hated my first job so much I took the first thing that was offered to me when I was trying to leave. I hate that new job so much that I'm trying to leave after only five months.

But I promise this time if you hire me I won't hate your firm. Really. Unless I have to work with stupid people. Or insolent, lazy people. You don't have any of those types working here, do you?"

That was last week (a direct quote, btw), and I have been half-agonzing over this decision: What if they offer me the job? Do I take it knowing it's very likely I'll be moving in six months? What if they offer the job, I decline, and then don't move? Will I have opted out of the greatest job ever?

Only half-agonizing because I don't really want the job. My dream is to run a t-shirt printing business, so I'm more than certain finance isn't the way to go.

But it seems like a moot point. It's been three days and I haven't heard anything from the new company. Nothing from the recruiter who set up the interview, zip.

Which makes the decision to stay here, at a job I can come in any day of the week, sign on to gmail, and then play scrabble online all day, a pretty easy one.

They're paying me to goof around all day, and no one else is hiring?

I guess I'll stay.

-t
recommended download:
Foreigner, Head Games
Marcy Playground, America

Like ten thousand spoons on your wedding day

I just finished a monthly report.

Me. I did it. The whole report, totally by myself.

It's a good thing I finally learned how to do this part of my job, because yesterday I learned I'm being shifted to a daily cash group and will no longer be responsible for monthly reporting.

Yep. Now that I know what I'm doing, I won't be doing it anymore.

On the one hand, WOOO!! I don't have to ever work with Insolent Bob again.

On the other hand, I just did a whole report by myself! I'm getting moved just as I'm starting to get the hang of this!

Ironic? Unfair? Inevitable?

So if I stay, I'm in a new cash group, processing daily activity, and no Insolent Bob.

If the new company offers me the job I interviewed for, I'll be in a new cash group, processing daily activity, and no Insolent Bob.

-t

Demand, and you shall receive

I tried to quit yesterday. I'd made up my mind. I readied an ultimatum.

I can't work with Insolent Bob, it's come down to him or me. I want out, I want to transfer, I want him gone. Whatever. They're not going to fire him, he's good at the job and been here fifteen years.

Doesn't matter. He goes, or I go, and it really wouldn't break my heart to leave.

So I asked my manager, Sandra, for a meeting. "I can't take it anymore," I said. And she knew I meant it.

"Since starting work here six months ago I've experienced nothing but confusion and frustration. I'd like a transfer."

She said: "Oh." and she paused, and said, "Um, where?"

I said: "Anywhere."

I laid it all out. I can't work with Insolent Bob any more. He can't speak or write. He can't teach. I don't know what I'm doing. I hate everyone.

She said, "I just got back from a meeting with the VP. He said they're rearranging the groups, look at this-"





"Does this, does this help the situation?" she asked.

Well, it's certainly a step in the right direction.

"I'm glad you came to me with these concerns," she said, "instead of just walking into my cubicle one day and quitting on the spot with no notice."


No worries there. I never would have planned on something like that.

-t

Crash cometh, after the fall

I'm crashing.

I hate a medium coffee this morning with a breakfast sandwich, hoping the food would slow my body's absorption of the caffeine.

No such luck.

It might have gone better if I'd gotten any sleep last night, but I was tossing and turning until 3:30 AM.

That may have been due to the two cups of tea I sucked down before bedtime.

As more and more evidence comes to light it seems that I am some sort of binge drinker.

Caffeine, not alcohol.

I'd wager it's just as dangerous. Sitting in an interview sweating and jittery has got to be at least as bad for your chances as sitting there calmly and talking a bit more than usual.

Right?

I'm in trouble now. I'm coming down. I've got the shakes, not the jitters. I need some coffee, or something. Coke, maybe? I think we're out. The only thing left in the fridge is caffeine free diet stuff.

And seltzer water.

Blech.

I think I should probably eat something, lunch, a snack, something, but I'm not hungry at all.

Shakes.

Loss of appetite.

Crazy eyes.

All signs point to a problem. A problem with caffeine.

My bones feel weak...I'm having trouble lifting my arms...I think my head is about to fall off of my shoulders, it's too heavy, it's sinking - sinking - so heavy....

I'm a little afraid that the flashes of light I'm seeing aren't reflections, but are, in fact, bits of hallucinatory.

But I'm absolutely positive the elves are hallucinations.

They're carrying off my stapler.

(It's ok. I don't use it much.)

Their capes are very pretty. And they are riding green and yellow caterpillars. They are very smiley.

AUGH! CRAZY EYES AGAIN!



-t

I should have just worn my flannel.

what's the big deal with suits, why do I have to wear one to interview?

I think it's stupid.

They're judging me, that's the whole point of an interview, right?

What can they tell if I'm wearing a suit? That I have the requisite knowledge and ability to both pay an enormous amount of money for a few folds of cloth, and then dress myself?

Dumb.

They should be evaluating my competency as an employee: Give me a math quiz or something - I can do that in jeans and a t-shirt just as well as in a suit, and maybe better.

That's not to say I don't like suits, I do, I look good in them (most of the time), but I shouldn't be required to wear one just to walk in the door.

My friend's boss would refuse to interview someone if they showed up without a jacket and tie.

But I'm not your puppet!

My recruiter asked me if I was wearing "appropriate attire" for the interview.

wtf, mate

I resolved a long time ago not to wear suits to interviews.
the job I want won't require it, the people that hire me for that job won't care.

But I didn't want to hurt his feelings, so I said "Actually, a kid on the train spilled coffee all over it."

"Really? so you've got a small stain or something?"
"Nope. it's unsalvageable"
"Really, unsalvageable, huh? - You can't put your hands on another suit in the next half-hour? No? Ok, well, I'll call them and let them know about the...accident..."

sheesh.


I'm nobody's puppet. I went to the interview in a shirt-and-tie, talked to an HR person in a ridiculous one-piece corduroy skirt thing, and a VP in shirt sleeves and a windbreaker.

I didn't have a blazer - SOMEBODY ALERT THE EMERGENCY RESPONSE TEAM!

-t

Caf-fiend.

I'm back on caffeine. It just happened! I didn't mean it to be like this, but I can't control it, I neeeeeed it.

I was doing great for a while. One coffee, maybe two, a week. "Just a taste" I'd tell myself, "just to keep it under control." I thought I could stop if I wanted, whenever I wanted to, but last week, when the going got rough, I ran straight into caffeine's loving arms. Hell, I practically knocked down the door to the coffee place.

I'm not trying to make excuses, it's just, I had a really bad week last week. Insolent Bob was in rare form (at one point threatening to fire me - no, really), work was super busy, I hadn't been getting much sleep, deadlines were fast approaching, and I just needed a break!

So I bought coffee. Coffee is an escape. I took a walk. I didn't mean to end up in front of a Dunkin Donuts, it just happened. Before I knew it I'd walked in and ordered "small coffee, dark, with sugar."

I started justifying, "it's just a small coffee. just to get me through to lunch time. it's no big deal"

Well, IT IS A BIG DEAL!!!

By Wednesday I was ordering two small coffees at a time! "They're smalls, it's not as bad as ordering one medium!" On Thursday I had four cups! In one day! After being so good for so long! ON FRIDAY I ORDERED AN EXTRA LARGE ICED COFFEE!!! (I blame global warming)

And now, here I sit, in the clutches of full-on caffeine dependency. I'm hooked. I admit it, freely, and without reserve.

I LIKE MY COFFEE, OK? And you know what else? I'm never going back. There. I said it. I'm staying put, right here, on the caffeinated side of the fence. The rest of you? You non-jittery bastards? Yeah, you can just sit over there, where the world makes sense without coffee, and look at me, the guy with the shaky hands and enjoy the view. My brain's operating at a whole new level now. A whole new level.

I'm making connections and thinking new thoughts, I'm following the bean from the stalk to the roaster to the grinder to the cup. I'm thinking, we've got vanilla coffee, why not cherry vanilla coffee? I'm thinking of moving to a light-roast! OOh. I bet you didn't know light roast has more caffeine than dark roast, did you? Did you!?

Coffee is good for the immune system too. Lots of anti-oxidants to prevent aging, helps respiration and blood flow too. You didn't know that either, did you?

I knew you didn't. Well, now you do. And it's all thanks to coffee.

-t

Shortcut for Bemused Frustration is Ctrl+P

First note: The employees here are running on a mishmash of operating systems from Win 2000 (now six years old), to Win XP (four years old?), and Vista on the shared terminals, and VP's desktops, Blackberries, etc.

Second note: Since moving cubicles I have been unable to print.

So I called IT.

Phone Transcript:

Tom: Since moving cubicles I'm unable to print. Can you configure my PC to fix this?

IT: Ok, do you know how to add a printer?

Tom: No.

IT: [exasperated sigh] Click on the start menu, there's a button for printers and faxes.

Tom: No there isn't. I have a menu option for Settings>Printers, though.

IT: [confused pause] - Oh. You're running 2000.

Tom: I guess.

IT: I'll - I'll send you a document with instructions.

For those of you readers laughing at my ignorance, and savy enough to figure out what OS you're running, or to add your own printer, I would like to point out that I could probably have figured that stuff out on my own if I had any permissions at all on this machine.

I don't.

I can't even access the clock on the taskbar, nevermind open up the hidden "My Computer icon." Asking to modify network permissions is certainly out of the question.

I've added the printer, but now can't print to it. I'm waiting for IT to get back to me.

It would be nice if the computers here were standardized. Having one set of standard instructions would make the IT guy's job easier. Having an upgraded computer would make my job easier.

Not working here at all would make my job really easy.

-t

PHILONYE in review

Hey-o, Tom here, writing to you from my tiny cubicle in the first row on this, a NATIONAL DAY OF MOURNING FOR OUR DEAR PRESIDENT GERALD FORD, at work, after a harrowing nine-hour drive from Philadelphia to Boston.

:: Special warning for New Yorkers ::
Do not take the George Washington Bridge. The traffic.
It is very bad.

I'd like to talk about all the wonderful and magical things that happened in the City of Brotherly Love this past PHILONYE, but fear I will not have the space, and must therefore settle for a few highlights. Also, I have no pictures. Please see Adina, Donny, and Felecia, for your visual needs.

The weekend began Thursday in the late morning when I skipped out of work way early and used MS Outlook's Delivery Options to send an excuse for cutting out early eight minutes after I'd left (brilliant, right? I thought so).

Having secured a few extra hours of pre-PHILONYE vacation I proceeded to play Wii Sports the entire afternoon. On the first swing of the first golf hole my follow-through carried my hand into the spinning blades of the ceiling fan.

Don't worry I'm fine.

The ceiling fan is not.

Also the Wii is ok. I know you are all worried.

That afternoon I packed, called John and Feleica to schedule logistics, spoke to Donny to get directions, and slept.

Friday morning I catapulted out of bed (I had a catapult installed last week) and into the shower, double-checked I had packed my phone, charger, toothbrush, (I had), did not double check that I had packed my razor or shaving cream (turns out I hadn't), and hit the road.

I picked up John and Felecia in Brighton and proceeded to blow through the very first red light we came to. John and Felecia laughed all the way to the Mass Pike.

The ride down was uneventful (for me - I forced my passengers to listen to my music the whole way to Moscow, PA including an entire album of Judas Priest, the new Beatles Love, and most of my Fifty Top Songs of 2006, which you readers may recall seeing here in ten-song installments).

When we arrived in Scranton we looked for The Office and didn't find it, and looked for Donny's exit and didn't find it (Donny told us to take exit 3. We surmise that he meant the number on the exit looked like a "3." It was actually exit 8).

Once ascertaining the proper route to Donny's homestead we were back on track and arrived without incident, and having made excellent time on the highway, quite early. We watched The Blues Brothers for a while, then got back on the road.

On the way from Scranton to Philadelphia we listened to the Beatles Love again, much to Felecia's chagrin.

John also tried to hook up his iPod and play Spanish songs, but we were having none of that.

When we arrived in Philly we parked the car (no small feat considering the one available spot outside Adina's apartment had a giant mutant car-eating shrub leaning into it), unpacked, and played Taboo, and then mafia for eight straight hours. Then slept.

The next day we did a big lunch at a sushi place (my first sushi ever, btw). I had a tuna roll and a California roll. The waitress was not great, but did take a picture of the whole group which was nice.

The group, at this point, was about eighteen people.

Later that day we had a big dinner at an irish bar. I had loads of potato dishes (potato soup, french fries, mashed potatoes on the side of a turkey sandwhich on a potato bun) and it was amazing. The waitress was very nice (though she did bring us a couple of Coors Light drafts when we asked for Sam Adams Winter Ales, but she swapped them, and mistakes are easy to make when the group (formerly of 18 people) at this point was the size of a small army battalion).

On the walk home from the bar one of our members was "free walking" and managed to hop-on, hop-over, spin-on, and tap a good deal of UPenn property. He also snapped the supports of a six-foot steel railing outside the Administration building and knocked it into a flower bed. Then we sang Disney songs.

When we got back to Adina's apartment we (again) played mafia for eight hours. Maureen was mafia. Every time. Donny said the chances of that happening were one-in-eight-hundred-twenty-three-million. Approximately.

Sunday we played mafia and Pit. Nobody wanted to play my stock-market-themed game (except for Steve), but then we played a round and they were all like "Holy crap! This game is better than Mafia! There's yelling and action and it's the best game ever!"

At least that's how I remember it.

The Philadelphia Eagles clinched the division when the Lions beat the Cowboys, and the city was all about green-and-silver.

Sunday night we all went out to dinner at a lovely Thai resturant, drank wine, made predictions (Someone will do the Running Man; Jackie and Steve won't get kicked out of the bar; Mo and Tom will get us kicked out of the bar; Donny will get drunk and start kissing everybody; and so on), and headed over to the Fado's for NYE festivities.

There, we had a great waitress. Her name was Amy and she was on the ball. Within fifteen minutes she had down our names, what everybody was drinking, had cleaned up three spills (it was only eight-thirty) and by the end of the night had posed for pictures with at least four of the group.

There was dancing and shouting, and Green Bay beat Chicago, and people got really drunk.

Dick Clark's Rockin' New Years Eve has nothing on PHILONYE.

After the New Year's celebration and a few more dances we headed back to the hotel. I ended up in a cab with a drunken cabbie who made a stop to pick up beer, and expounded his view that God is a racist the whole way back to the hotel. He also ran two red lights, went down a one-way street the wrong way, and, did I mention, stopped for beer with us in the cab. It was hilarious.

Monday morning we woke up, went to Adina's apartment, and played Pit, and mafia. Then we drove Sam to the airport, and Tom, Mo, and myself drove home. Via I-95.

Don't take the GWB.

-tgme