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12 October 2005
Hey Office Drones! What are you doing today/→[More:]
I am doing data entry ish stuff, which I don't usually do. Entering into a database the specifics of insured buildings. Deciding occupancy codes. For example, GSB2 = Pole Barn. TKE2 = Water Tank - Elevated 250,000 Galons. It's kinda relaxing.
Same here, except it's track listenings of albums noone listens to, and personell listenings of bands nobody's ever heard of (we seen to specialize in tejano outfits, indie bands with weird ass instrumentation, club dj's with annoying long remix names, and scandinavian heavy metal). I'm also shivering my ass off since it's raining like hell outside so I'm sheathed in wet flannel and the office is cold.
I just got done indexing references and annotations materials for the state of Massachusetts. A coworker brought in some Texas sheet cake and I ate three pieces. I am contemplating leaving early to avoid the normalization and placement of appendices and appendix-type documents for the state of Massachusetts.
After I finish valuing foreign currency swaps, I'll analyze the daily swap numbers against our counterparties' numbers and forward them to the decision-making traders. Later I'll retrieve at-the-moment currency volatilities, calculate midpoints in their projected values (up to 30 years out), enter them into the System, and forward them to the aforementioned traders. I still have some outstanding general ledger entries from quarter-end I'll have to key in this afternoon, and a month-end reporting binder to ready (yeah, for next month; I'm conscientious on the job). That should leave three or four hours' worth of free time for Metachat.
I am soaked because I hate umbrellas, my jeans weigh 30 pounds, I took my shoes and socks off, I'm hungry.
I'm writing shitty markup for our website, I'm contemplating processing a stack of orders, I'm pummeling my warehouse looking for shipments, I'm debating printer setting for images and various and sundry. I would like food and coffee, but I don't want to go outside. I have to RSVP for a cocktail party next week for an 80 year old humor columnist. I need to find the UK sales reports. I would like to transcribe some passages from a book, to fill out a post on an author that I really like.
I always read "mecha" like "MechaGodzilla". I'm sure other people have noticed this, yes? When I visit MeCha I pretend I'm inside a giant robot that is destroying Tokyo.
Really, I'm collecting information for our dept.'s weekly updates, reading MeCha, trying to decide on my new health care options, feeling quite hungry, reading e-mail, listening to The Clash, and staring at the various piles of paper on my desk.
I don't work in an office! Ha ha ha ha. But I am working on covers, and I am annoyed at some authors who keep changing the cover, which they made in InDesign without asking us. They also used TrueType fonts which don't play nicely with PostScript devices, so it may all become an even bigger disaster. I also have to lay out a book, but I have a while still. On Friday, I have to go to work so I can send two books to the printer. Yay.
I'm droning, but not in an office. I should be editing a book about the use of scientific measurements in geography, but instead I'm taking pictures of my cats.
I am covering the phone for the TribHomesPlus support line, checking the queue to make sure there aren't a ton of calls holding on the regular line, and editing a spreadsheet so I can import leads for the real estate account execs.
At the last minute I had a call come through from one of our home users who couldn't get onto our e-mail system. I ask her if she's on her computer now so I can talk her through the steps. "I will be when my daughter gets off" she says. I then hear this in the background:
"GET OFF THE COMPUTER!"
"NOOOOoooo!!"
"GET OFF IT NOW"
"DON'T WANNA!!"
"GO ON, GET OUT OF IT!"
I once worked in a factory where they made Super Magna Shapes, a game involving magnetic platforms and little bits of metal (washers, nuts, bolts, the odd trapezoid) to be piled into charged towers.
I sat at a table. To my left was a bin of zip lock bags. In front of me were a dozen bins, each filled with different metal shapes, each marked with a number between three and eight. To my right was a stack of empty bins.
I would open a bag, fill it the right number of items from each bin (the numbers were there to remind me how many), and place the full bag in an empty bin. Once that bin was full, it was taken away and replaced with another empty bin.
There was a lady there who would shout at me if I ever spoke, or slowed down, or got up to go to the bathroom.
Eventually, I started suffering panicked delusions on the job. First, the number eight began to take on a mysterious significance. Then, a photo of a little girl on the wall below the clock began to issue instructions to me in the voice of Charles Manson. Things like, "Go have a cigarette. Ignore that lady shouting at you. Look out for number eight." Satanic sign language took on hilarious significance.
My actions became bewildering to my bosses, friends, and coworkers. My drinking and painkiller addiction became worse. The DTs made me a wreck at work.
I quit and got a job in a kitchen. Manson shut up.
Oooooh, hugh, we have that game. Or we used to until I got pissed off at all the little metal bits on the floor and in a fit of efficiency threw half of them away. I wonder if you assembled our Magna Shapes.
Unemployed drone is doing what she does every day lately: visit the old folks home & run tons of errands for her mama. Including last minute trip to Fedex which is really hard to find. Next on agenda: laundromat, grocery store, post office, library, please god BAR. And clean house so that next time the landlord shows up unannounced like this morning the place isn't completely & totally trashed.
Update:
I am drying my socks on my monitor. Jesus.
And clean house so that next time the landlord shows up unannounced like this morning the place isn't completely & totally trashed.
Sing it sister, we were staging a full scale riot/chicken plucking party/mud fight the last time that bastard rolled up. Oy.
All day: last-minute revises of proofs and shipping of Healthy Kids en Espaņol, and fending off this really annoying guy who's been after me to explain workflow stuff.
Now: semi-fasting for Yom Kippur (i'm doing liquids only, and cold medicine)
Legal policy writing and analysis, mixed with the usual assortment of correspondence to legal analysis units and researchers, talking points, Q&A's, meetings, occasional notes to the Minister's office, and brainstorming/hairpulling sessions. And mucho distractions. People in this office lurve to talk.
I'm sick of being a drone. I wanna be the Queen Bee, dammit.
Jon, I am revelling in no longer being the Queen Bee - after five years of it, I am so happy to be a drone again, I could just shit. Never again.
Me, I am sitting in my home office, supposedly working but really reading MeCha while I wait for people to come and replace the windows in my car and house.
I am having a fucking grand old time indeed. (note: the preceding statement is a lie)
photo by splunge
photo by TheophileEscargot
photo by Kronos_to_Earth
photo by ethylene
