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Looking For Quacks In The Pavement

  • Oddly enough, my time is also important.

    My workday lasted a bit less than two hours. I only interacted with one person in anything more than a “hi, how are you” fashion in that time.

    I thoroughly lost my temper at the end of it, which is why I’m home right now.

    If you’re going to lace every conversation we have with references to how important you are, how much work you have to get done, and how you need your desires fulfilled right now and exactly to specification, don’t be surprised if my agitation levels rise consistently throughout our interaction. This is especially true if you blow me off twice, when I come over to work on your problem, because you’re on the phone and can’t possibly just move out the way the two feet it would take for me to get at your keyboard and mouse.

    Obviously, someone’s time is more valuable than mine, eh? I have nothing else to do but: Sit and wait, put up with a stream of comments about how much work you have to do and how the problem I’m waiting to fix is such a bloody inconvenience for you, and leap into action when it’s convenient for you to finally get the hell out of my way.

    I’m there trying to help, goddammit. The least you can do is respect my time, and not give me flack about how I go about my job or try to impress me with how bloody damned important you are and how much work you have to do. You know what? There are a couple hundred other people in the building who also have lots of work to do.

    Oddly enough, I’m one of them.

    Sorry about your wireless mouse. I’m sure you’re such an important person that you can get a new one ordered, post haste.

  • Thanks the gods for IM privacy settings.

    This, folks, is why I require authorization to be on my “buddy list.”

    The user 177254271 wants to add you to their buddy list for the following reason:
    Hello, how are you?
    im fine and you?

    Riiiiiight. On a related note, last month’s entry about “missy_kitty” is among the most popular posts I’ve written yet, at least in terms of search engine hits and comments from people I don’t know. It’s so nice to be providing a valuable service, indeed.

  • Mixed Metaphors, Indeed

    I’m tempted to turn some of Lisa’s posted examples of misbegotten metaphor into taglines. I mean, consider the following:

    The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn’t.

    I’ll grant you, that one’s very Douglas Adams, isn’t it? (“The ships hung in the sky in much the same way that bricks don’t.”) But still. It gets better:

    The plan was simple, like my brother Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.

    Priceless!

    She walked into my office like a centipede with 98 missing legs.

    Now that’s a delightful mental image, isn’t it?

    Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.

    Aren’t they though? And my absolute favorite rounds out the list:

    It hurt the way your tongue hurts after you accidentally staple it to the wall.

    I hate it when I do that!

  • Make mine pumpkin. With whipped cream.

    Happy Pi Day!

    Actually, this concept will be even funnier in nine years, depending on your preferred date notation.

    Think about it.

  • Mahi Mahi for Me

    Eleven people (about half of them Pisces). Three hours (and some-odd). Total tab of over $440 (counting gratuity).

    I somehow managed to get invited along to dinner with a bunch of local broadcast engineering types (and some of their significant others, of course). We dined at Jake’s Famous Crawfish in downtown Portland, ate far more than was probably good for us, and generally had a good time. Continuing my new tradition of trying something I’ve never eaten before when presented with a good opportunity, I eschewed the “fish & chips” (it was cod, anyway, and the gods know that halibut’s the only way to go with that menu item) in favor of grilled mahi mahi in a soy ginger sauce with steamed rice.

    Yum. I must remember this for some unspecified future date that involves seafood. I repeat: Yum.

    To add insult to the injury I did to my wallet, I enjoyed a dessert of chocolate mousse. Hey, why not? If you’re going to dine out at a place like that, you might as well go nuts. Right?

  • Happy Birthday To Meeeeee…

    So far, my haul consists of a “music of the 90’s” compilation CD (Mambo #5, anyone?) and a bag of chocolate chip cookies.

    Today I turn 34 years old. My mother called at the stroke of 8am with birthday well-wishing. (I was in the shower at the time.) My father sent an email, and his girlfriend left a voice message on my office phone. Various co-workers have sent me e-cards and emails in addition to random greetings in the hallways. Later on I expect to be celebrating with my rugrats.

    Maybe it’s not the perfect birthday, but it could be a lot worse…

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