Coin Toss
Tomorrow I will either rise bright and early or linger in bed until long after the sun rises. I'm already up way past my usual bedtime so I'm banking on lingering winning the coin toss. Personally, I'm hoping rising bright and early wins. Not because I'm gung ho to get up and attack the mountain of laundry, but if I sleep late then I'll go to bed late again tomorrow night and HAVE to get up early the next morning and face a day on the phones short on sleep. One would think that thought might be enough to propel me out of bed early tomorrow, but I'm not too good about thinking clearly when the alarm goes off in the morning. Take this morning for example. The alarm goes off at 4:20 AM, set for an anticipated single snooze bar hit with my ass getting out of bed at 4:30. Somewhere around 5:15 I realize I'm still dreaming and hitting the snooze bar in my sleep, but the situation still doesn't sink home as I finally get up and let the dogs out, start the coffee and rearrange them so that Sullivan is snuggling with Rob in the bed instead of Theo and Irene. Then I join them figuring I'll grab a few more winks while the coffee's perking. I'm operating in weekend-mode except that it's not the weekend and I don't get "weekends" anymore. Nor do I realize that I'm operating in some long forgotten plane of existence until 6:00 AM which leaves me with 30 minutes to pound down my four cups of coffee, eat breakfast, pack a lunch and get ready for work. Rob call pull this sort of thing off in 15 minutes (sans coffee and packing a lunch), but it takes me a full two hours to become coherent and functional after I get up in the morning which is why the alarm is set for 4:20 AM in the first place. I do manage to pull it off, thanks to the miracle of Hormel's Turkey and Dressing Dinner in the pantry so packing a lunch consisted merely of grabbing the container. By the way, this "dinner" happens to taste EXACTLY like my elementary school cafeteria's version of turkey and dressing. It's not a pleasant memory, but it's food. It also helps that my job is one where I can throw on a pair of jeans and any old t-shirt, slip my feet into the nearest pair of flip-flops and be considered appropriately attired for work. If I still had my old business suit, panty-hose, sensible pumps and makeup sort of job then I would have definitely been calling in sick or claiming "car trouble" today. As it was, I got to work on time and apparently cashed in some karma points because ALL my calls from 7 to 8 were simple dialup customer calls that I could do in my sleep. Good thing, because technically, I WAS still asleep.
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
HOT PANEL
Something that happens alot where I work is that the other trades and the project managers add things. On this current job, the fire alarm conduit and wiring was one of those add ons. It was deemed appropriate for me to do on my own, so I did. Today I landed the NAC box (nerve center of the alarm system) and ran the pipe from it to the panel. I wired the 120 volt connection between the panel ( an energized panel ) and the box, bent all the conduit, installed it and ran the preliminary run of wire out to the ass end of the home run. It was my gig, and while my journeyman consulted with me, I ran the show on the planning and execution of this part of the project.
It's hard for me to imagine that ten short months ago I was terrified of breaker panels and didn't have the slightest clue what a three point saddle was. but I did it. and it looks good.
But enough tooting of my own horn.
My son landed a job (pending a sucessful drug screen) ! And a check of my comments from last nights homefront post has Brandy exhibiting the kind of youthful optimism that makes you smile. And a certain ingerlish mate that infers I smell like wee :). For the record, I may be old but I still smell like vodka, ask Nigel, he'll tell you.
As far as the short story "Shotgun" goes...you know the one that could turn into the novel?...I'll be experimenting with styles as they correspond to the levels of the story as it develops.
There's alot of baggage trailing behind me regarding my career in the psychic wars, almost twenty years worth. But I have decided to let myself leap around and (hopefully) sort it out later. And I will, this weekend I hope.
But for now I just want to savor the relief of my son finding a job and the satisfaction of knowing that I too can be an electrician.
Something that happens alot where I work is that the other trades and the project managers add things. On this current job, the fire alarm conduit and wiring was one of those add ons. It was deemed appropriate for me to do on my own, so I did. Today I landed the NAC box (nerve center of the alarm system) and ran the pipe from it to the panel. I wired the 120 volt connection between the panel ( an energized panel ) and the box, bent all the conduit, installed it and ran the preliminary run of wire out to the ass end of the home run. It was my gig, and while my journeyman consulted with me, I ran the show on the planning and execution of this part of the project.
It's hard for me to imagine that ten short months ago I was terrified of breaker panels and didn't have the slightest clue what a three point saddle was. but I did it. and it looks good.
But enough tooting of my own horn.
My son landed a job (pending a sucessful drug screen) ! And a check of my comments from last nights homefront post has Brandy exhibiting the kind of youthful optimism that makes you smile. And a certain ingerlish mate that infers I smell like wee :). For the record, I may be old but I still smell like vodka, ask Nigel, he'll tell you.
As far as the short story "Shotgun" goes...you know the one that could turn into the novel?...I'll be experimenting with styles as they correspond to the levels of the story as it develops.
There's alot of baggage trailing behind me regarding my career in the psychic wars, almost twenty years worth. But I have decided to let myself leap around and (hopefully) sort it out later. And I will, this weekend I hope.
But for now I just want to savor the relief of my son finding a job and the satisfaction of knowing that I too can be an electrician.
Calgon, take me away
I often wonder how many ancient sayings were simply some clever salesperson's ad line. This one has certainly stuck with me over the years. I can IM this line to my friend and she immediately knows I've had one hell of a day. I even tried the "Calgon take me away" approach to stress relief last night since my job does a number on my left shoulder. I quickly discovered that there is no effective way to soak my shoulder in a bathtub designed for anorexic pygmies. In addition, the only thing I had to add to the bathwater to make it more exciting than just a tub of hot water was some Aveeno stuff that turned out to be just plain old oatmeal. So unlike the commercials where the woman is blissfully soaking in a tub of bubbles, I was laying down on my back in a mere 6 inches of water with my legs pretzeled down at the end of the tub breathing in the aroma of stale oatmeal. Not exactly what I had in mind.
I often wonder how many ancient sayings were simply some clever salesperson's ad line. This one has certainly stuck with me over the years. I can IM this line to my friend and she immediately knows I've had one hell of a day. I even tried the "Calgon take me away" approach to stress relief last night since my job does a number on my left shoulder. I quickly discovered that there is no effective way to soak my shoulder in a bathtub designed for anorexic pygmies. In addition, the only thing I had to add to the bathwater to make it more exciting than just a tub of hot water was some Aveeno stuff that turned out to be just plain old oatmeal. So unlike the commercials where the woman is blissfully soaking in a tub of bubbles, I was laying down on my back in a mere 6 inches of water with my legs pretzeled down at the end of the tub breathing in the aroma of stale oatmeal. Not exactly what I had in mind.
Monday, March 14, 2005
ON THE HOMEFRONT
As you've gathered from Ann's previous posts, it was a nice relaxing weekend. The weather was awesome as well. Too bad I spent almost 8 hours at work dealing with the wire pull from hell, but I'll appreciate the overtime come payday.
My son called me yesterday with an update...he had just finished helping his mom clean out her classroom. I don't know the details, but it sounds like she fell victim to the system. My ex is, or maybe, was a special ed teacher from the time we met. She had somewhere in the neighborhood of 18 years at her last school. A parent raised a stink and wham, it's over ( I know this is vague...like I said, I don't know the details and I don't want to make assumptions) she gets the rest of the year off with pay, apparently and can "come back next year in an administrative role" but clear out your stuff and give us your keys.
There is no love lost between us to be sure, but she has my empathy...she was a teacher for a long time and I know the sting of the fuck around. I wish her good things in the future.
His other news was that he and Brandy are getting married on April 9, at a drum circle, wiccan outdoors place they got hooked up with via Brandy's mom. Now while I'm cool with the getting married thing, and the baby coming and all that, I am concerned that there is no job between them and they are currently living with my ex and her husband. The ex has in essence lost her job. You do the math.
Ann and I are not in a position to help. I mean that in a strictly financial sort of way. There was a time, not so long ago, when we had the means to help in that way. I'm not sure if it's shame, anger or guilt (or a combination of the three) that's gnawing away at my brain stem, but something has it's teeth in me, right next to that thing called worry that is hungrily gnawing away at my (unfortunately) pessimistic imagination.
Have I gotten so old and jaded that I can't remember the excitement of a journey beginning on a wish and a promise? Have the years whittled me down so much that I am no longer bulletproof? Well, yes and no. I am no longer bulletproof, but I remember that wish and a promise thing. And I guess it's my job to worry for them as they jump into the gaping maw that is life and at the same time trust that they will be ok.
We won't see them on the street, if it comes right down to it. There are so many logistical problems involved.Our dogs,their cats, limited space, one bathroom. But if push comes to shove we'll find a way to make it work. They are family, after all. And we got their back.
As you've gathered from Ann's previous posts, it was a nice relaxing weekend. The weather was awesome as well. Too bad I spent almost 8 hours at work dealing with the wire pull from hell, but I'll appreciate the overtime come payday.
My son called me yesterday with an update...he had just finished helping his mom clean out her classroom. I don't know the details, but it sounds like she fell victim to the system. My ex is, or maybe, was a special ed teacher from the time we met. She had somewhere in the neighborhood of 18 years at her last school. A parent raised a stink and wham, it's over ( I know this is vague...like I said, I don't know the details and I don't want to make assumptions) she gets the rest of the year off with pay, apparently and can "come back next year in an administrative role" but clear out your stuff and give us your keys.
There is no love lost between us to be sure, but she has my empathy...she was a teacher for a long time and I know the sting of the fuck around. I wish her good things in the future.
His other news was that he and Brandy are getting married on April 9, at a drum circle, wiccan outdoors place they got hooked up with via Brandy's mom. Now while I'm cool with the getting married thing, and the baby coming and all that, I am concerned that there is no job between them and they are currently living with my ex and her husband. The ex has in essence lost her job. You do the math.
Ann and I are not in a position to help. I mean that in a strictly financial sort of way. There was a time, not so long ago, when we had the means to help in that way. I'm not sure if it's shame, anger or guilt (or a combination of the three) that's gnawing away at my brain stem, but something has it's teeth in me, right next to that thing called worry that is hungrily gnawing away at my (unfortunately) pessimistic imagination.
Have I gotten so old and jaded that I can't remember the excitement of a journey beginning on a wish and a promise? Have the years whittled me down so much that I am no longer bulletproof? Well, yes and no. I am no longer bulletproof, but I remember that wish and a promise thing. And I guess it's my job to worry for them as they jump into the gaping maw that is life and at the same time trust that they will be ok.
We won't see them on the street, if it comes right down to it. There are so many logistical problems involved.Our dogs,their cats, limited space, one bathroom. But if push comes to shove we'll find a way to make it work. They are family, after all. And we got their back.
I was warned
The first week I was at this job one of the training instructors, a long-term employee, warned me that three day weekends were dangerous. At the time I assumed he meant it from a training standpoint because it was hard enough to remember things over a two day weekend. After I'd been there a while I decided it was probably dangerous because policy and procedure change so quickly. A quick check of my email this morning confirmed that. A few things have changed while I was away for a whole three days. But I suspect the biggest danger is that three days off is just long enough to remember what life is like when you are not chained to a phone all day long and it's really hard to convince yourself to go back to it. I've said it before, though maybe not here, but this is a perfect part-time job and if I were facing only four or five hours on the phone today, I'd be doing a lot less kicking and screaming right now.
The first week I was at this job one of the training instructors, a long-term employee, warned me that three day weekends were dangerous. At the time I assumed he meant it from a training standpoint because it was hard enough to remember things over a two day weekend. After I'd been there a while I decided it was probably dangerous because policy and procedure change so quickly. A quick check of my email this morning confirmed that. A few things have changed while I was away for a whole three days. But I suspect the biggest danger is that three days off is just long enough to remember what life is like when you are not chained to a phone all day long and it's really hard to convince yourself to go back to it. I've said it before, though maybe not here, but this is a perfect part-time job and if I were facing only four or five hours on the phone today, I'd be doing a lot less kicking and screaming right now.
Sunday, March 13, 2005
A good time
I gave up on the chronical of events when the internet connection went south, but I did finish Friday with a nice little fire in the chiminera and having forgot it was Friday, I missed Stargate SG-1, but did manage to catch Stargate Atlantis before I headed off to bed. Saturday was relatively uneventful. Rob was working overtime so I took the opportunity to lounge around the house and do a whole lot of nothing. Good for the soul as was the extra long hot bath I took because I didn't have to worry about sharing the bathroom with anyone. Heh.
Rob and I finished up the evening with an even better fire in the chiminera accompanied by favorite tunes, good conversation and plenty of adult beverages. Today we had lunch at my folks and it was nice to hobnob with the parental units and my brother whom I haven't seen in months even though he lives right down the street from me. I'm sure many folks would think that it's weird that he literally lives on the same street as I do, but I've never been to his place nor has he ever been to mine. My brother and are about about 15 years apart so we are definately not twins, but we so much alike that it's spooky. And since we are so much alike neither one of us would think to disturb the other's hermitlike, geekish existance with a pointless phone call or visit. We parted with a half-ass promise to start walking together in the evenings for exercise seeing as how we live a block away from each other. It would be cool if it came to pass, but I'm not holding my breath. Like me, he'd much rather sit at the computer after work than walk around the block.
Well, the sun is going down fast and it's getting chilly out here on the deck (the only place we can get internet access at the moment) so I better get moving on finding some more dead wood in the yard to build another fire. Time to pass the computer over to Rob.
I gave up on the chronical of events when the internet connection went south, but I did finish Friday with a nice little fire in the chiminera and having forgot it was Friday, I missed Stargate SG-1, but did manage to catch Stargate Atlantis before I headed off to bed. Saturday was relatively uneventful. Rob was working overtime so I took the opportunity to lounge around the house and do a whole lot of nothing. Good for the soul as was the extra long hot bath I took because I didn't have to worry about sharing the bathroom with anyone. Heh.
Rob and I finished up the evening with an even better fire in the chiminera accompanied by favorite tunes, good conversation and plenty of adult beverages. Today we had lunch at my folks and it was nice to hobnob with the parental units and my brother whom I haven't seen in months even though he lives right down the street from me. I'm sure many folks would think that it's weird that he literally lives on the same street as I do, but I've never been to his place nor has he ever been to mine. My brother and are about about 15 years apart so we are definately not twins, but we so much alike that it's spooky. And since we are so much alike neither one of us would think to disturb the other's hermitlike, geekish existance with a pointless phone call or visit. We parted with a half-ass promise to start walking together in the evenings for exercise seeing as how we live a block away from each other. It would be cool if it came to pass, but I'm not holding my breath. Like me, he'd much rather sit at the computer after work than walk around the block.
Well, the sun is going down fast and it's getting chilly out here on the deck (the only place we can get internet access at the moment) so I better get moving on finding some more dead wood in the yard to build another fire. Time to pass the computer over to Rob.
Friday, March 11, 2005
SHOTGUN
Chapter One:
It's like I'm dreaming while awake sometimes...they flow one into the other like snippets from so many bad dreams. I try to turn it off, to change the channel in my head with no results.
Manchaca road at rush hour, I'm chasing this kid, a runaway, he runs into the street and I follow. Screeching brakes and blaring horns greet us as we push off and jump around the hoods of rush hour commuters. By some miracle we both make it to the other side. I follow him over a couple of fences and we end up in some old mexican ladies yard, who watches with amusement as I am held at bay with a survey stick...a yellow pine picket with an orange plastic flag waved with the authority of a warrior with a sword. I have only my words, a combination of support, recrimination and veiled threats. In the end my pack of cigarettes saves the day...the kid relents with the promise of a smoke in the van on the way back to the center. In a show of solidarity between us, I allow him two smokes. I am written up for violating the smoking policy for allowing a patient to smoke...in a hospital vehicle no less.No mention is made of the creative intervention that led to his return to the hospital...no police intervention,no injuries. I refuse to sign the write up, calling it bullshit. Nothing comes of this, because it's bullshit and they know it.
And then my mind suddenly transports me to a thursday night in the security room hallway. We are trying to move a patient from the holding bench to a security room. A struggle ensues. I am wedged between the patient and another staff member, we are all pressed against the hallway wall. Somehow my forearm is pressed against the patients face and he is trying to bite me as we stumble down the hall. I am pushing his head against the wall with all my might to avoid the woodchipper that is his mouth. At this point I am in a cocoon of bodies trying to wrestle him to the ground in a narrow hallway. I take my free arm and jam my elbow up into his ribs as hard as I can while pulling his leg out from underneath him with a foot wrapped around his ankle. We all crash to the floor. He's big and pissed so it takes a few minutes to get him restrained for a carry to the security room. In spite of the chants from other patients in the other three security rooms, we manage to fold him up for transport and carry him into the SR. I am the jump off man. I have his arms wrapped around his neck and his fingers laced together, another pair of staff have his middle section and yet another has his legs folded and restrained. He's a "pretzle". I guide his head into the far corner of the room, and one by one the other staff jump off and leave the room. The last takes position at the door and I have him alone, wedged in the corner, one hand containing his arms, the other his legs. On a silent count of three, I release and race for the door. He unfolds and leaps up and chases me. It is the longest twenty feet I have ever run in my life(that night anyway). If he catches me before my coworker can slam the door shut I am at his mercy. I'm twice his age and winded. He would kick my ass. I can almost feel his breath on my neck as I run past the doorman and crash hands first into the opposite wall. The door slams shut and I lock him in.
And then I'm on the streets of Austin again. This time on south lamar chasing a fifteen year old girl back and forth across one of the busiest streets in town through traffic. One, two, three times across before she clothslines herself on a support wire for a telephone pole and tumbles into the ditch. I restrain her in the ditch and it's a couple of minutes before my back up can get there, so I'm rolling around in a ditch with a teenage girl in a dress that is now, by the law of gravity up around her head. She is totally exposed, bra and panties on display to the world and in uncomfortably close contact with me. As we roll around in the ditch and her intimate bits make contact with my body my mind is split between bringing her back and the very real fear of her making an accusation. I held my ground, she was returned to the hospital and she made no accusations.
And my mind is back in the security room hallway on a sunday morning, I'm the seven o'clock guy, alone till nine. Our one "guest" is a really fucking crazy girl from the intensive care unit ( That intensive care could'nt deal with her should tell you something.) She is covered in scars from years of "delicate cutting" (once, she had to have an x-ray on a possible broken arm and that x-ray revealed paper clips and staples healed into the musculature of her arm). At 8:30 am she decides to make a "break for it" and charges down the hall towards me. This is not a small person, she clocks in at probably 180 lbs. with a low center of gravity. I come around the desk and get to the hallway just in time to straight arm tackle her. She gets air and I land on her. There is no time for phone calls for help, there's no one else there. It's just us rolling around on the floor. I finally get her contained and the verbal intervention begins. I like this kid and she likes me, and after about twenty minutes of negotiation (and my phone ringing unanswered that I used to great advantage..." Someone else might need my help, and if I'm dealing with you I can't help them...you know how it is here...blah blah blah") I got her back in the room with a promise to read her poetry. I almost dislocated her shoulder and fucked up my back and in the end it was her poetry that ended the crisis. I read her stuff before the end of the shift, and continued to read it for the remainder of her stay and in payment she never fucked with me again. I often wonder what happened to her.
And then my mind snaps back to the present, I am on top of a ten foot ladder making up joints in a box. I'm an electrician now. That shit in the past is past. But it's not. It's like a shotgun blast, an explosion of pellets.
And each pellet is a memory.
Chapter One:
It's like I'm dreaming while awake sometimes...they flow one into the other like snippets from so many bad dreams. I try to turn it off, to change the channel in my head with no results.
Manchaca road at rush hour, I'm chasing this kid, a runaway, he runs into the street and I follow. Screeching brakes and blaring horns greet us as we push off and jump around the hoods of rush hour commuters. By some miracle we both make it to the other side. I follow him over a couple of fences and we end up in some old mexican ladies yard, who watches with amusement as I am held at bay with a survey stick...a yellow pine picket with an orange plastic flag waved with the authority of a warrior with a sword. I have only my words, a combination of support, recrimination and veiled threats. In the end my pack of cigarettes saves the day...the kid relents with the promise of a smoke in the van on the way back to the center. In a show of solidarity between us, I allow him two smokes. I am written up for violating the smoking policy for allowing a patient to smoke...in a hospital vehicle no less.No mention is made of the creative intervention that led to his return to the hospital...no police intervention,no injuries. I refuse to sign the write up, calling it bullshit. Nothing comes of this, because it's bullshit and they know it.
And then my mind suddenly transports me to a thursday night in the security room hallway. We are trying to move a patient from the holding bench to a security room. A struggle ensues. I am wedged between the patient and another staff member, we are all pressed against the hallway wall. Somehow my forearm is pressed against the patients face and he is trying to bite me as we stumble down the hall. I am pushing his head against the wall with all my might to avoid the woodchipper that is his mouth. At this point I am in a cocoon of bodies trying to wrestle him to the ground in a narrow hallway. I take my free arm and jam my elbow up into his ribs as hard as I can while pulling his leg out from underneath him with a foot wrapped around his ankle. We all crash to the floor. He's big and pissed so it takes a few minutes to get him restrained for a carry to the security room. In spite of the chants from other patients in the other three security rooms, we manage to fold him up for transport and carry him into the SR. I am the jump off man. I have his arms wrapped around his neck and his fingers laced together, another pair of staff have his middle section and yet another has his legs folded and restrained. He's a "pretzle". I guide his head into the far corner of the room, and one by one the other staff jump off and leave the room. The last takes position at the door and I have him alone, wedged in the corner, one hand containing his arms, the other his legs. On a silent count of three, I release and race for the door. He unfolds and leaps up and chases me. It is the longest twenty feet I have ever run in my life(that night anyway). If he catches me before my coworker can slam the door shut I am at his mercy. I'm twice his age and winded. He would kick my ass. I can almost feel his breath on my neck as I run past the doorman and crash hands first into the opposite wall. The door slams shut and I lock him in.
And then I'm on the streets of Austin again. This time on south lamar chasing a fifteen year old girl back and forth across one of the busiest streets in town through traffic. One, two, three times across before she clothslines herself on a support wire for a telephone pole and tumbles into the ditch. I restrain her in the ditch and it's a couple of minutes before my back up can get there, so I'm rolling around in a ditch with a teenage girl in a dress that is now, by the law of gravity up around her head. She is totally exposed, bra and panties on display to the world and in uncomfortably close contact with me. As we roll around in the ditch and her intimate bits make contact with my body my mind is split between bringing her back and the very real fear of her making an accusation. I held my ground, she was returned to the hospital and she made no accusations.
And my mind is back in the security room hallway on a sunday morning, I'm the seven o'clock guy, alone till nine. Our one "guest" is a really fucking crazy girl from the intensive care unit ( That intensive care could'nt deal with her should tell you something.) She is covered in scars from years of "delicate cutting" (once, she had to have an x-ray on a possible broken arm and that x-ray revealed paper clips and staples healed into the musculature of her arm). At 8:30 am she decides to make a "break for it" and charges down the hall towards me. This is not a small person, she clocks in at probably 180 lbs. with a low center of gravity. I come around the desk and get to the hallway just in time to straight arm tackle her. She gets air and I land on her. There is no time for phone calls for help, there's no one else there. It's just us rolling around on the floor. I finally get her contained and the verbal intervention begins. I like this kid and she likes me, and after about twenty minutes of negotiation (and my phone ringing unanswered that I used to great advantage..." Someone else might need my help, and if I'm dealing with you I can't help them...you know how it is here...blah blah blah") I got her back in the room with a promise to read her poetry. I almost dislocated her shoulder and fucked up my back and in the end it was her poetry that ended the crisis. I read her stuff before the end of the shift, and continued to read it for the remainder of her stay and in payment she never fucked with me again. I often wonder what happened to her.
And then my mind snaps back to the present, I am on top of a ten foot ladder making up joints in a box. I'm an electrician now. That shit in the past is past. But it's not. It's like a shotgun blast, an explosion of pellets.
And each pellet is a memory.
Work schedule experiment part two
5:30 AM
I survived my four 10 hour days in a row and today is the first of my three days off. This morning started off just like a workday - up at 5 AM to let the dogs out and make coffee. I didn't have enough energy to stay up late last night (as in past 8 PM) and the dog's bladders are on a schedule so they were ready to go outside at the usual 5 AM time. I know exactly how they feel since I'm on a bathroom schedule at work. Both the dogs and myself are going to enjoy the simple pleasure of being able to go to the bathroom WHEN EVER WE WANT this long weekend.
6:30 AM
Normally I would have spent this last hour rushing around taking a shower, eating breakfast, attending to the dogs and slamming down coffee. Instead, I READ BLOGS and LISTENED TO MUSIC. The first 23 or so years of my life I spent my mornings listening to music, but then I married a TV nut who would rather hear the drone of the talking heads on CNN instead of Iron Maiden's "Two Minutes to Midnight" at full volume. Rob's not quite the TV nut that my ex was, but he's still asleep for an hour after I get up and it would be downright rude to crank up the stereo. I can pull it off this morning because I can stay put and listen in headphones. Hmm, maybe I should invest in a set of wireless headphones. I've decided the main goal of this long weekend is rediscovering those little things that make day-to-day life worth living. Quite frankly, I've been downright miserable for months now and I'm tired of it.
7:30 AM
WATCHED THE SUN RISE or rather, watched the effects of the sun rise from the back deck. I can't actually see the sun rise from my house since we are down in a hole, but I could watch the wispy clouds turn from purple to pink to yellow to white. Pretended I was CAMPING, my favorite thing to do. Saw Rob off to work and then hooked up the speakers to the laptop so I could be headphone free. Thought about doing laundry, but went back out on the deck.
8:30 AM
Took out the trash and swept the front part of the house while listening to loud music. This took quite a while because the broom spent more time being used as a make-believe mike stand and/or guitar than it did sweeping. After spending almost an hour pretending to BE A ROCK STAR, I was pooped and sat down with a Cape Cod. Egads, I'm DRINKING ALCOHOL at 8:30 in the morning!
10:30 AM
I spent the last two hours sorting CDs into alphabetical piles hoping to find the missing Helmet CD. I'm only half-way through them. I don't think I'm going to find it. Time to move on.
11:30 AM
Cooked me up a BRUNCH of eggs, sausage and TOAST WITH GRAPE JELLY. Had another Cape Cod while LOUNGING IN THE SUN on the back deck with Sullivan.
2:30 PM
Spent hours matching loose CDs to their cases. Still no sign of the Helmet CD.
4:30 PM
More CD organizing. Found a software CD I've been missing in the music CDs. It's an upgrade for Rob's favorite image editing software. Spent a half-hour looking for the original version CD so I could install it. Couldn't find it so maybe it's eloped with the Helmet CD. Did a load of laundry and DRANK BEER on the deck. Talked to Rob who's on his way home and bringing me more BEER.
6:30 PM
Rob made it home after a typical harrowing Friday afternoon battle with traffic. He's been vedge-ing in front of the TV and I've been out dillo-ing. Dillo-ing is a term a friend of mine came up with on a camping trip to describe the process of rooting around in the brush looking for twigs and small branches to use to start a camp fire (the noises one makes sound rather similar to armadillos rooting around. ) I made a nice pile of twigs and few medium sized branches to get a good coal base going in the the chiminara for the two mongo logs left over from the last time I got wood at HEB. The only trick will be keeping Theo from running off with them before sunset.
5:30 AM
I survived my four 10 hour days in a row and today is the first of my three days off. This morning started off just like a workday - up at 5 AM to let the dogs out and make coffee. I didn't have enough energy to stay up late last night (as in past 8 PM) and the dog's bladders are on a schedule so they were ready to go outside at the usual 5 AM time. I know exactly how they feel since I'm on a bathroom schedule at work. Both the dogs and myself are going to enjoy the simple pleasure of being able to go to the bathroom WHEN EVER WE WANT this long weekend.
6:30 AM
Normally I would have spent this last hour rushing around taking a shower, eating breakfast, attending to the dogs and slamming down coffee. Instead, I READ BLOGS and LISTENED TO MUSIC. The first 23 or so years of my life I spent my mornings listening to music, but then I married a TV nut who would rather hear the drone of the talking heads on CNN instead of Iron Maiden's "Two Minutes to Midnight" at full volume. Rob's not quite the TV nut that my ex was, but he's still asleep for an hour after I get up and it would be downright rude to crank up the stereo. I can pull it off this morning because I can stay put and listen in headphones. Hmm, maybe I should invest in a set of wireless headphones. I've decided the main goal of this long weekend is rediscovering those little things that make day-to-day life worth living. Quite frankly, I've been downright miserable for months now and I'm tired of it.
7:30 AM
WATCHED THE SUN RISE or rather, watched the effects of the sun rise from the back deck. I can't actually see the sun rise from my house since we are down in a hole, but I could watch the wispy clouds turn from purple to pink to yellow to white. Pretended I was CAMPING, my favorite thing to do. Saw Rob off to work and then hooked up the speakers to the laptop so I could be headphone free. Thought about doing laundry, but went back out on the deck.
8:30 AM
Took out the trash and swept the front part of the house while listening to loud music. This took quite a while because the broom spent more time being used as a make-believe mike stand and/or guitar than it did sweeping. After spending almost an hour pretending to BE A ROCK STAR, I was pooped and sat down with a Cape Cod. Egads, I'm DRINKING ALCOHOL at 8:30 in the morning!
10:30 AM
I spent the last two hours sorting CDs into alphabetical piles hoping to find the missing Helmet CD. I'm only half-way through them. I don't think I'm going to find it. Time to move on.
11:30 AM
Cooked me up a BRUNCH of eggs, sausage and TOAST WITH GRAPE JELLY. Had another Cape Cod while LOUNGING IN THE SUN on the back deck with Sullivan.
2:30 PM
Spent hours matching loose CDs to their cases. Still no sign of the Helmet CD.
4:30 PM
More CD organizing. Found a software CD I've been missing in the music CDs. It's an upgrade for Rob's favorite image editing software. Spent a half-hour looking for the original version CD so I could install it. Couldn't find it so maybe it's eloped with the Helmet CD. Did a load of laundry and DRANK BEER on the deck. Talked to Rob who's on his way home and bringing me more BEER.
6:30 PM
Rob made it home after a typical harrowing Friday afternoon battle with traffic. He's been vedge-ing in front of the TV and I've been out dillo-ing. Dillo-ing is a term a friend of mine came up with on a camping trip to describe the process of rooting around in the brush looking for twigs and small branches to use to start a camp fire (the noises one makes sound rather similar to armadillos rooting around. ) I made a nice pile of twigs and few medium sized branches to get a good coal base going in the the chiminara for the two mongo logs left over from the last time I got wood at HEB. The only trick will be keeping Theo from running off with them before sunset.
Thursday, March 10, 2005
THE GENIUS THAT IS THEO
Our dog Theo had a penchant for trash as a young pup, and we made the mistake of training him to trade "trash" for treats in an effort to disuade him from raiding the trash. It worked, sort of. While he hasn't raided the can in I can't remember how long, he definately made the connection and it stuck. Take tonight for example, it was feed the turtles and Sid, the horribly ill tempered blue tongue skink that has been alive longer than any blue tongue skink should be and instead of mellowing with age, becomes even nastier. Long name I know, but he deserves it. Now, back to the ramble.
In the course of feeding them, old paper plates are removed and dropped on the floor as new ones full of dinner are added. Usually, they are picked up and discarded after the rotation is complete. But tonight I was busy preparing dinner for the humans in the house and forgot about the plates on the floor.
At increasingly shorter intervals Theo would present either me or Ann with a dried fruit encrusted plate, give it to us and head for the temple of dog snacks ( also known as the pantry) or alternately the stove (or keeper of the magic chicken...or something else tastey, like tater tots). Where he would wait expectantly, for the trade off. He has no real interest in trash...he's a snackhead.
There's also this other thing he does that I like to call "scratch my itch". If he's laying on the couch with you or in the bed, he will begin to scratch an itch and then, in mid scratch, throw those awesome sad eyes at you and hesitate with the scratching, in anticipation of you taking over the relief of the itch by scratching it for him. There are always kisses from him when it's done.
Theo is such a player.
Our dog Theo had a penchant for trash as a young pup, and we made the mistake of training him to trade "trash" for treats in an effort to disuade him from raiding the trash. It worked, sort of. While he hasn't raided the can in I can't remember how long, he definately made the connection and it stuck. Take tonight for example, it was feed the turtles and Sid, the horribly ill tempered blue tongue skink that has been alive longer than any blue tongue skink should be and instead of mellowing with age, becomes even nastier. Long name I know, but he deserves it. Now, back to the ramble.
In the course of feeding them, old paper plates are removed and dropped on the floor as new ones full of dinner are added. Usually, they are picked up and discarded after the rotation is complete. But tonight I was busy preparing dinner for the humans in the house and forgot about the plates on the floor.
At increasingly shorter intervals Theo would present either me or Ann with a dried fruit encrusted plate, give it to us and head for the temple of dog snacks ( also known as the pantry) or alternately the stove (or keeper of the magic chicken...or something else tastey, like tater tots). Where he would wait expectantly, for the trade off. He has no real interest in trash...he's a snackhead.
There's also this other thing he does that I like to call "scratch my itch". If he's laying on the couch with you or in the bed, he will begin to scratch an itch and then, in mid scratch, throw those awesome sad eyes at you and hesitate with the scratching, in anticipation of you taking over the relief of the itch by scratching it for him. There are always kisses from him when it's done.
Theo is such a player.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
IT'S FICTION, BUT IT'S NOT (OR...JUST THE FACTS MA'M)
I have always been interested in writing. I thought that someday I might write the definitive novel about what it was like to work in a psych hospital on the front lines. I spent most, check that, almost all of my adult life doing just that. But as time marches on, my other "civilian" jobs that followed are rapidly catching up. Time hasn't faded the memories, and my attempts to push it into a black hole of substance abuse didn't work. Time has allowed me to temper the glorification of what we did. I still believe we did great works and helped lots of people, but in between we did some really questionable things in the name of crisis intervention. For a variety of reasons, these stories must be presented as fiction.
The most important is to protect the confidentiality of the patients involved. Second after that is the way the more colorful incidents were documented. And that would be via incident reports...dragnet style, facts only (and some strategically left out) documents of events that, if the whole story were told, could have landed some otherwise good folks in some really hot fucking water.
During my time on the crisis intervention team and my tenure in the community programs, I was the go to guy for incident reports. Kind of like a faker of classic art. On the face of it, it was a Picasso, but if you looked at it long enough with a certain eye, small holes would appear. Take, for example a post I took down the other day called "Fireants". It was a true story, presented as fiction, and while I liked it when I posted it, the next day I looked at it in a different light. There was never an incident report generated about the events, but had there been there would have surely been a passage that would go something like this :" Patient became combative and was restrained briefly on the ground in front of his unit. Staff involved were able to intervene verbally and continue a controlled escort to a security room in less than five minutes. Patient was minimally able to process his behavior/actions with staff involved and understood the circumstances surrounding his seclusion. "
Pretty cut and dry eh? Now lets pretend the patient was interviewed..." I was pissed off about a phone call I had with my dad, I transferred my anger ( therapists teach them cute little bullshit gems like this, BTW) onto Rob and Ben ( not his real name) and began to struggle, they threw me chest first into a fireant mound and held me there, menacing me until I agreed to walk to the security room."
See what I mean?
At the cordite fest, I was talking about my attempts at writing short stories and, explaining why I took "fireants" down, said something along the lines of what would cause a person to do something like that to another human being? I mean sure, it was a stressfull job, and while it made perfect sense at the time and achieved the goal, today it seems extreme.
The only comment I remember was "yeah, Rob, that's pretty fucking extreme".
I spent so much time writing propaganda that I could have foregone all the drinking and drugs, I sublimated my feelings ( shit works both ways...we learned what to say as well) through the incident reports and could of left it at that, but partying was fun and kept the dogs at bay in the moment. It allowed me to keep going back to what was, for the most part, a war zone. And with the passage of time I can see how I and my team mates contributed to that mindset and how we learned to deny it.
Ann helped me see how detached I am from the reality of those days...outwardly anyway.
The battle rages on in my head, and in my heart. And someday I will write it down, like it really happened.
I have always been interested in writing. I thought that someday I might write the definitive novel about what it was like to work in a psych hospital on the front lines. I spent most, check that, almost all of my adult life doing just that. But as time marches on, my other "civilian" jobs that followed are rapidly catching up. Time hasn't faded the memories, and my attempts to push it into a black hole of substance abuse didn't work. Time has allowed me to temper the glorification of what we did. I still believe we did great works and helped lots of people, but in between we did some really questionable things in the name of crisis intervention. For a variety of reasons, these stories must be presented as fiction.
The most important is to protect the confidentiality of the patients involved. Second after that is the way the more colorful incidents were documented. And that would be via incident reports...dragnet style, facts only (and some strategically left out) documents of events that, if the whole story were told, could have landed some otherwise good folks in some really hot fucking water.
During my time on the crisis intervention team and my tenure in the community programs, I was the go to guy for incident reports. Kind of like a faker of classic art. On the face of it, it was a Picasso, but if you looked at it long enough with a certain eye, small holes would appear. Take, for example a post I took down the other day called "Fireants". It was a true story, presented as fiction, and while I liked it when I posted it, the next day I looked at it in a different light. There was never an incident report generated about the events, but had there been there would have surely been a passage that would go something like this :" Patient became combative and was restrained briefly on the ground in front of his unit. Staff involved were able to intervene verbally and continue a controlled escort to a security room in less than five minutes. Patient was minimally able to process his behavior/actions with staff involved and understood the circumstances surrounding his seclusion. "
Pretty cut and dry eh? Now lets pretend the patient was interviewed..." I was pissed off about a phone call I had with my dad, I transferred my anger ( therapists teach them cute little bullshit gems like this, BTW) onto Rob and Ben ( not his real name) and began to struggle, they threw me chest first into a fireant mound and held me there, menacing me until I agreed to walk to the security room."
See what I mean?
At the cordite fest, I was talking about my attempts at writing short stories and, explaining why I took "fireants" down, said something along the lines of what would cause a person to do something like that to another human being? I mean sure, it was a stressfull job, and while it made perfect sense at the time and achieved the goal, today it seems extreme.
The only comment I remember was "yeah, Rob, that's pretty fucking extreme".
I spent so much time writing propaganda that I could have foregone all the drinking and drugs, I sublimated my feelings ( shit works both ways...we learned what to say as well) through the incident reports and could of left it at that, but partying was fun and kept the dogs at bay in the moment. It allowed me to keep going back to what was, for the most part, a war zone. And with the passage of time I can see how I and my team mates contributed to that mindset and how we learned to deny it.
Ann helped me see how detached I am from the reality of those days...outwardly anyway.
The battle rages on in my head, and in my heart. And someday I will write it down, like it really happened.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
MENTOR? YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME...REALLY, DON'T DO THIS TO ME...I'VE ONLY BEEN HERE FOR 10 MONTHS...OH, OK.
We ended up with an extra apprentice today. Let me rephrase that, I ended up with an extra apprentice today. I like the guy, and he has some maintainence man experience but is two or three months new to the game of electrical work, but the most important thing is, he has interest and listens. My journeyman gave us the assignment of connecting "stub ups" (imagine the plug under your desk or the switch by your door and the conduit that runs up inside the wall and out into the suspended ceiling...ok, don't.) Those are the stubs, and they get connected to the "home run"...that conduit that runs across the deck above the suspended ceiling and ends up at the panel, where the power comes from.
To accomplish this, measurements are made, conduit is cut and bent and installed from atop 8 (and in my case 10) foot ladders, bodies poking through ceiling grid that is 2x2 ft. and limiting your mobility. To say that it can be a bitch is understatement.
Now, my journeyman and I can do this with relative ease. We have a good system going, he's the leader and I'm the erstwhile apprentice. Today he made me the leader, and as much as I was worried about making a complete mess of it, it turned out nicely. I remembered that I had been a manager most of my life and acted accordingly. As much as I didn't want to, I took charge, and by the end of the day I had completed a task as the lead guy and taught a new guy some electrician stuff.
It's kind of like I'm getting pushed out of the nest, little by little, or more to the point, tested. Granted, it took us twice as long, but we got the same results as if I had done it with my journeyman. Except he'd have run a 90 instead of an offset and been done with it.
That's critique, by the way.
We ended up with an extra apprentice today. Let me rephrase that, I ended up with an extra apprentice today. I like the guy, and he has some maintainence man experience but is two or three months new to the game of electrical work, but the most important thing is, he has interest and listens. My journeyman gave us the assignment of connecting "stub ups" (imagine the plug under your desk or the switch by your door and the conduit that runs up inside the wall and out into the suspended ceiling...ok, don't.) Those are the stubs, and they get connected to the "home run"...that conduit that runs across the deck above the suspended ceiling and ends up at the panel, where the power comes from.
To accomplish this, measurements are made, conduit is cut and bent and installed from atop 8 (and in my case 10) foot ladders, bodies poking through ceiling grid that is 2x2 ft. and limiting your mobility. To say that it can be a bitch is understatement.
Now, my journeyman and I can do this with relative ease. We have a good system going, he's the leader and I'm the erstwhile apprentice. Today he made me the leader, and as much as I was worried about making a complete mess of it, it turned out nicely. I remembered that I had been a manager most of my life and acted accordingly. As much as I didn't want to, I took charge, and by the end of the day I had completed a task as the lead guy and taught a new guy some electrician stuff.
It's kind of like I'm getting pushed out of the nest, little by little, or more to the point, tested. Granted, it took us twice as long, but we got the same results as if I had done it with my journeyman. Except he'd have run a 90 instead of an offset and been done with it.
That's critique, by the way.
Back to more of the same
Yesterday was marvelous. I had a great day at work despite only three hours of sleep. The evening wasn't bad either, but it was a short one since I went to bed early. Today wasn't so great and I've decided how good or bad my day at work goes depends on the number of calls for ISP V. The calls for ISP X and ISP Y don't really faze me anymore, but groan every time I see ISP V on the caller ID and I took an unusually large number of those today. Another bummer was that I discovered my QA scores are no longer in the mid-90s, but are down in the mid-80s under the new rating system. I guess I still haven't accepted the fact that I'll never be great at this job no matter how hard I try. There was one highlight to the workday and that was the break and lunch time I spend listening to the 20-something crowd. No way I'd want to be 20-something and going through all of that crap again. It reminded me that being "old" is sometimes a very good thing.
Yesterday was marvelous. I had a great day at work despite only three hours of sleep. The evening wasn't bad either, but it was a short one since I went to bed early. Today wasn't so great and I've decided how good or bad my day at work goes depends on the number of calls for ISP V. The calls for ISP X and ISP Y don't really faze me anymore, but groan every time I see ISP V on the caller ID and I took an unusually large number of those today. Another bummer was that I discovered my QA scores are no longer in the mid-90s, but are down in the mid-80s under the new rating system. I guess I still haven't accepted the fact that I'll never be great at this job no matter how hard I try. There was one highlight to the workday and that was the break and lunch time I spend listening to the 20-something crowd. No way I'd want to be 20-something and going through all of that crap again. It reminded me that being "old" is sometimes a very good thing.
Monday, March 07, 2005
Bad Mood Waning
Last night the title of this post was Bad Mood Rising, but I couldn't get a good enough internet connection to post it. Just as well, because it was lot of whining about how much yesterday sucked and how I was about as stressed out as a person could get without having a stroke. I was off work today, but things still sucked. I knew damn well it was nothing more than a mindset, but I couldn't seem to shake it. Have you ever been so stressed that no matter how much beer you drank, you couldn't get a buzz? Well that was me today. I even drove to the store for more beer after drinking a six pack and I NEVER drive after more than two beers, but today I might as well have been drinking water. I finally found some relief this evening after I plugged the headphones into the computer and started perusing the music collection. Once upon a time, long ago, I had a stressful job and a shitty marriage at the same time and the only thing that kept me sane was my music collection. It occurred to me that if it helped me then, it might help me now. Rob had Sunday TV that he wanted to watch so I couldn't crank the stereo and dance around the house playing air guitar, but the cord on the headphones was long enough to allow some limited body movement. And here it is after midnight already. I should have been fast asleep hours ago because I have to get up and go put in a 10 hour day at work, but I'm still spinning the tunes and cracking open another beer. Oh well, the other staff at work tend to show up for work short on sleep and still somewhat drunk (most of them are college students) and while I'm a bit old for that kind of thing I suppose I can chalk it up to a mid-life crisis.
Last night the title of this post was Bad Mood Rising, but I couldn't get a good enough internet connection to post it. Just as well, because it was lot of whining about how much yesterday sucked and how I was about as stressed out as a person could get without having a stroke. I was off work today, but things still sucked. I knew damn well it was nothing more than a mindset, but I couldn't seem to shake it. Have you ever been so stressed that no matter how much beer you drank, you couldn't get a buzz? Well that was me today. I even drove to the store for more beer after drinking a six pack and I NEVER drive after more than two beers, but today I might as well have been drinking water. I finally found some relief this evening after I plugged the headphones into the computer and started perusing the music collection. Once upon a time, long ago, I had a stressful job and a shitty marriage at the same time and the only thing that kept me sane was my music collection. It occurred to me that if it helped me then, it might help me now. Rob had Sunday TV that he wanted to watch so I couldn't crank the stereo and dance around the house playing air guitar, but the cord on the headphones was long enough to allow some limited body movement. And here it is after midnight already. I should have been fast asleep hours ago because I have to get up and go put in a 10 hour day at work, but I'm still spinning the tunes and cracking open another beer. Oh well, the other staff at work tend to show up for work short on sleep and still somewhat drunk (most of them are college students) and while I'm a bit old for that kind of thing I suppose I can chalk it up to a mid-life crisis.
Sunday, March 06, 2005
CORDITE FEST '05
A good time was had by all. Some skeet, some range shooting and the annual lobbing of 12 gauge slugs courtesy of my mossberg combat/tactical on the hundred meter range. I hit just to the right of the bulls eye this year! With a shotgun, on the hundred meter range. It was awesome. My shoulder is sore today, but it's a good sore.
As usual, there was fine food and beverages after...bacon wrapped jalapeno shrimp, quail, venison sausage, smoked brisket served up with potato salad, beans and assorted veggies. And queso. And beer...lots of beer, and shots of jager...lots of shots. I'm still a bit fuzzy.
Only got a couple of pics to post...enjoy:
This picture cracks me up...
The shirt says it all...
A good time was had by all. Some skeet, some range shooting and the annual lobbing of 12 gauge slugs courtesy of my mossberg combat/tactical on the hundred meter range. I hit just to the right of the bulls eye this year! With a shotgun, on the hundred meter range. It was awesome. My shoulder is sore today, but it's a good sore.
As usual, there was fine food and beverages after...bacon wrapped jalapeno shrimp, quail, venison sausage, smoked brisket served up with potato salad, beans and assorted veggies. And queso. And beer...lots of beer, and shots of jager...lots of shots. I'm still a bit fuzzy.
Only got a couple of pics to post...enjoy:
This picture cracks me up...
The shirt says it all...
Friday, March 04, 2005
THE GUY BEHIND THE SEAT
Driving around campus where we work, we see a plethora, nay...a veritable miasma of cultures and races and religions and lifestyle choices. My journeyman is very outspoken about his commentary on what we see on the streets in and around the university, mostly I think, because he's a smartass and pretty funny and secondarily, he's a redneck. Until recently I was the silent occasionally laughing, keeping my opinion to myself kind of guy. And the racier comments would always be answered with a "shush! How did that guy get back there"?!comment to the nether regions behind the seat where the evil comments guy resides when he's not safely hidden away in his super ego keeping his comments to himself. Lately, I have been more vocal about my offhand observations (rather than keeping my opinions to myself and close company, as a career of being "non judgemental" taught me to do). We make our comments, laugh and when it gets up there to "flittin' around the brink"(tm) territory, it's that imaginary guy behind the seat that gets the reprimand.
So, whats my point? We are all prejudiced, all off us. No matter how hard we try not to be we are. It's been instilled into us by our parents and their parents instilled it into them, and you can roll back as many generations as you want. Prejudice is in the ground water, forever. Anyone who claims otherwise is a liar or seriously fucking deluded, or filthy stinking rich, there by protected fromanything remotely resembling the real world ( a clearly predjudicial statement disparaging that bitch Paris hilton and her ilk...(See? It's everywhere!)
But there's a huge difference between an offhand comment about terrorists, "look...It's a terrorist...I bet she's got a bomb in that backpack" directed at a student wearing a muslim head dress from the privacy of your work vehicle and those nazi assholes that dragged James Byrd to his death in Jasper Tx. a few years back.
Now that's some in your face no denying it hardcore racism. And as a sidebar: That they tried to erase the significance of all those swastikas tattooed on their bodies as a way to align with gangs in prison and avoid the ass rape at their trial just added insult to injury. Those racist bastards killed a helpless man for sport, in a most horrible way and when they got caught, they tried to play this sympathy card. I bet the defense attorney was a jew, conniving bastards (just kidding! But see what I mean?). Fortunately, clearer heads prevailed and they got the max. And I say good. There's no excuse for outward racism and hate like this, and it must be met with an iron hand.
But back to the prejudice end of this post.
While racism is about hate and ignorance and fear, prejudice is about labelling. All of us look at others and make assumptions about character, about worth, about beliefs. Snarky comments may be a way to deal with the discomfort of experiencing differences in culture and choice. But when does it amount to racism?
Recent events here in Austin involving the burning down of a club in east Austin (for those not in the know, that would be the "dark" side of town, if you get my drift...see? There I go again! ) and the localgestapo police sending the equivalent of pig IM's of "burn baby burn!" over the computers in the patrol cars. The black community somehow got a hold of this information and there was an uproar. References were made to the watts riots origin of this statement and in short order 10 to 15 officers were disciplined, ranging from written reprimands to suspensions without pay, and they all have to take "cultural sensitivity" training. Whoa! That'll erase years of conditioning won't it?
The reality is, in my opinion, east Austin was thrown a bone in response to ongoing problems with the pigs and activity in east Austin that have sadly resulted in the deaths of some residents ( read: black folk ). I heard a black woman on the radio today say that she thought the pigs shouldn't have been punished for the seemingly racist statements because of the continual disturbance calls to that bar and it was just a result of frustration of years of dealing with a bar that attracted the wrong crowd, and it was burnt to the ground. That means end of problem...hence the relief statement "burn baby burn". This was a comment that made too much sense in these times. Sometimes, enough is enough, regardless of what you happen to be. And when you get down to it, we are just one thing...people, all shapes and sizes and colors, but people. And I think it's high time we got over ourselves.
I'm all over the map here, but I hope you get my point.
Me? I just hate assholes...regardless of color, but I know some good jokes.(Shush!! Will somebody shut that guy up?!)
Driving around campus where we work, we see a plethora, nay...a veritable miasma of cultures and races and religions and lifestyle choices. My journeyman is very outspoken about his commentary on what we see on the streets in and around the university, mostly I think, because he's a smartass and pretty funny and secondarily, he's a redneck. Until recently I was the silent occasionally laughing, keeping my opinion to myself kind of guy. And the racier comments would always be answered with a "shush! How did that guy get back there"?!comment to the nether regions behind the seat where the evil comments guy resides when he's not safely hidden away in his super ego keeping his comments to himself. Lately, I have been more vocal about my offhand observations (rather than keeping my opinions to myself and close company, as a career of being "non judgemental" taught me to do). We make our comments, laugh and when it gets up there to "flittin' around the brink"(tm) territory, it's that imaginary guy behind the seat that gets the reprimand.
So, whats my point? We are all prejudiced, all off us. No matter how hard we try not to be we are. It's been instilled into us by our parents and their parents instilled it into them, and you can roll back as many generations as you want. Prejudice is in the ground water, forever. Anyone who claims otherwise is a liar or seriously fucking deluded, or filthy stinking rich, there by protected fromanything remotely resembling the real world ( a clearly predjudicial statement disparaging that bitch Paris hilton and her ilk...(See? It's everywhere!)
But there's a huge difference between an offhand comment about terrorists, "look...It's a terrorist...I bet she's got a bomb in that backpack" directed at a student wearing a muslim head dress from the privacy of your work vehicle and those nazi assholes that dragged James Byrd to his death in Jasper Tx. a few years back.
Now that's some in your face no denying it hardcore racism. And as a sidebar: That they tried to erase the significance of all those swastikas tattooed on their bodies as a way to align with gangs in prison and avoid the ass rape at their trial just added insult to injury. Those racist bastards killed a helpless man for sport, in a most horrible way and when they got caught, they tried to play this sympathy card. I bet the defense attorney was a jew, conniving bastards (just kidding! But see what I mean?). Fortunately, clearer heads prevailed and they got the max. And I say good. There's no excuse for outward racism and hate like this, and it must be met with an iron hand.
But back to the prejudice end of this post.
While racism is about hate and ignorance and fear, prejudice is about labelling. All of us look at others and make assumptions about character, about worth, about beliefs. Snarky comments may be a way to deal with the discomfort of experiencing differences in culture and choice. But when does it amount to racism?
Recent events here in Austin involving the burning down of a club in east Austin (for those not in the know, that would be the "dark" side of town, if you get my drift...see? There I go again! ) and the local
The reality is, in my opinion, east Austin was thrown a bone in response to ongoing problems with the pigs and activity in east Austin that have sadly resulted in the deaths of some residents ( read: black folk ). I heard a black woman on the radio today say that she thought the pigs shouldn't have been punished for the seemingly racist statements because of the continual disturbance calls to that bar and it was just a result of frustration of years of dealing with a bar that attracted the wrong crowd, and it was burnt to the ground. That means end of problem...hence the relief statement "burn baby burn". This was a comment that made too much sense in these times. Sometimes, enough is enough, regardless of what you happen to be. And when you get down to it, we are just one thing...people, all shapes and sizes and colors, but people. And I think it's high time we got over ourselves.
I'm all over the map here, but I hope you get my point.
Me? I just hate assholes...regardless of color, but I know some good jokes.(Shush!! Will somebody shut that guy up?!)
I was so tempted
There was a call at work for folks to switch to the night shift. Night shift is more money for less work, but the most appealing thing was that I'm by nature a night owl. Send me out on a week long camping trip and I'll quickly switch to staying up all night and then going to bed after the sun comes up in the morning. There were two reasons I decided not to go for it. The first is that Rob wasn't too keen on the idea. The second reason is that it's almost impossible to sleep during the day at this house. I've got a retired neighbor on one side that's very fond of power tools and dogs all around us that like to bark during the day which sets ours to barking as well. Then there's the race car owner and the motorcycle racers that tend to fine tune their vehicles during the morning hours as well as the very noisy bus traffic, street sweepers, tree trimmers and various water or sewer line replacement projects. All said, I'd probably never get any sleep. I think I'll stick with the day shift.
There was a call at work for folks to switch to the night shift. Night shift is more money for less work, but the most appealing thing was that I'm by nature a night owl. Send me out on a week long camping trip and I'll quickly switch to staying up all night and then going to bed after the sun comes up in the morning. There were two reasons I decided not to go for it. The first is that Rob wasn't too keen on the idea. The second reason is that it's almost impossible to sleep during the day at this house. I've got a retired neighbor on one side that's very fond of power tools and dogs all around us that like to bark during the day which sets ours to barking as well. Then there's the race car owner and the motorcycle racers that tend to fine tune their vehicles during the morning hours as well as the very noisy bus traffic, street sweepers, tree trimmers and various water or sewer line replacement projects. All said, I'd probably never get any sleep. I think I'll stick with the day shift.
Thursday, March 03, 2005
GETTIN' READY FOR THE CORDITE FEST
I have'nt shot my guns since that time after that bastard of a piece of irish dogshit fired me for no good reason and I went to the range and fired several hundred rounds into targets with his name on them, only to ignore the gun until the next time, when it jammed and fucked up my thing. Well, I cleaned and scraped and cleaned some more and now it's time for the second annual Texas independence day cordite fest, featuring the same players from last year.
I'm happy to say that my guns have survived the down time and are ready for action. They just needed a bit of oil.
The cases, on the other hand, were covered with dust and dog hair, thank god they are soft cases. As weird as it sounds, I put them in the washer...on gentle cycle, so my gun cases will be snuggles soft on cordite day. They will exude a spring fresh scent while carrying an instrument of death.
So I've been gathering up my clips and my slugs and my hollow points getting ready for the big day. We will shoot on the 100 metre range, the 50 and the 35...we will run the skeet range. And we will retire to Rusty's place for BBQ and beer after.
Look to us for pictures next week...Happy Texas Independence Day...BOOM!
I have'nt shot my guns since that time after that bastard of a piece of irish dogshit fired me for no good reason and I went to the range and fired several hundred rounds into targets with his name on them, only to ignore the gun until the next time, when it jammed and fucked up my thing. Well, I cleaned and scraped and cleaned some more and now it's time for the second annual Texas independence day cordite fest, featuring the same players from last year.
I'm happy to say that my guns have survived the down time and are ready for action. They just needed a bit of oil.
The cases, on the other hand, were covered with dust and dog hair, thank god they are soft cases. As weird as it sounds, I put them in the washer...on gentle cycle, so my gun cases will be snuggles soft on cordite day. They will exude a spring fresh scent while carrying an instrument of death.
So I've been gathering up my clips and my slugs and my hollow points getting ready for the big day. We will shoot on the 100 metre range, the 50 and the 35...we will run the skeet range. And we will retire to Rusty's place for BBQ and beer after.
Look to us for pictures next week...Happy Texas Independence Day...BOOM!
Could have, maybe should have, didn't
I had the day off today. Normally this means I stay up a bit late the night before and drink some beers while surfing the 'net if the pirated wireless connection is available. If there's no wireless then I usually play the Sims and hit the bed some time after eleven and sleep in a bit in the morning. Last night I was so damn tired that I went to bed at 7:30 pm, an hour earlier than I would if I was working the next day. I figured I'd get a good night's sleep and then I'd be able to get all manner of things crossed off the to-do list today. I got up early, saw Rob off to work and decided to indulge in some extended coffee and breakfast time before starting on my project list. I was just getting ready to get in the shower at 8:00 am when my dad called. He wanted to come by and put the battery back in the dead Tempo. This is a car that doesn't run because it needs $1500 or more of repair work, but By God he couldn't let the battery go bad while I'm waiting on money to fix it so he came by the other day and took the battery home to charge it up. Anyway, he brought the battery back over and put it back in the car. Let me tell you it's a weird feeling to stand there and let your 83 year old dad take a heavy battery out of the back of his truck, put in it your car and hook it up. I wanted so bad to just grab it and do it myself so he didn't have to struggle with it, but this is a man who still mows his own lawn even though he has two children and several grandchildren that are more than willing to do it for him. And since I'm a chip off the same block, I knew that grabbing the battery from him would be a big mistake. After the battery was installed we had a nice long chat before he went back home and while it wasn't on my to-do list, I was glad for the unexpected opportunity to spend some time with my dad. Then into the shower I went, thinking I would tackle that project list when I got out, but at that point was time to cook up some lunch. After consuming a tasty grilled cheese and turkey sandwich, I spent the afternoon lounging on the couch watching movies. This is very odd behavior since I never watch movies. I'm blaming the turkey. So while there were countless things I could have done and plenty that I should have done, the only thing that got done was experiencing a rather nice, completely unplanned day off that was actually a day off.
I had the day off today. Normally this means I stay up a bit late the night before and drink some beers while surfing the 'net if the pirated wireless connection is available. If there's no wireless then I usually play the Sims and hit the bed some time after eleven and sleep in a bit in the morning. Last night I was so damn tired that I went to bed at 7:30 pm, an hour earlier than I would if I was working the next day. I figured I'd get a good night's sleep and then I'd be able to get all manner of things crossed off the to-do list today. I got up early, saw Rob off to work and decided to indulge in some extended coffee and breakfast time before starting on my project list. I was just getting ready to get in the shower at 8:00 am when my dad called. He wanted to come by and put the battery back in the dead Tempo. This is a car that doesn't run because it needs $1500 or more of repair work, but By God he couldn't let the battery go bad while I'm waiting on money to fix it so he came by the other day and took the battery home to charge it up. Anyway, he brought the battery back over and put it back in the car. Let me tell you it's a weird feeling to stand there and let your 83 year old dad take a heavy battery out of the back of his truck, put in it your car and hook it up. I wanted so bad to just grab it and do it myself so he didn't have to struggle with it, but this is a man who still mows his own lawn even though he has two children and several grandchildren that are more than willing to do it for him. And since I'm a chip off the same block, I knew that grabbing the battery from him would be a big mistake. After the battery was installed we had a nice long chat before he went back home and while it wasn't on my to-do list, I was glad for the unexpected opportunity to spend some time with my dad. Then into the shower I went, thinking I would tackle that project list when I got out, but at that point was time to cook up some lunch. After consuming a tasty grilled cheese and turkey sandwich, I spent the afternoon lounging on the couch watching movies. This is very odd behavior since I never watch movies. I'm blaming the turkey. So while there were countless things I could have done and plenty that I should have done, the only thing that got done was experiencing a rather nice, completely unplanned day off that was actually a day off.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
MAN, THAT'S A BADASS DOG (S)
First, some stats...
Rottweilers and Pit Bulls were involved in 60 percent of the 27 dog bite fatalities that occurred in 1997 and 1998. Rottweilers were involved in 10 deaths, and Pit Bulls were involved in 6.
From 1979 through 1998, at least 25 breeds of dogs have been involved in 238 human dog bite related deaths. Pit Bulls and Rottweilers were involved in more than 50 percent of these deaths.
There's legislation up for consideration in Texas put forth by a senator in Dallas that would significantly increase an owners liability in the event of an unprovoked attack by a dog. If the dog killed someone, you could face a felony charge of manslaughter. His initial intention was to ban the ownership of pit bulls altogether, but logistically that would never work, so he apparently settled on this bill.
Check out this top ten list of dogs attacking people resulting in death:
1- Pit Bull ... I can't be objective, I have witnessed the savagery of this breed, and have personally sent 3 to hell via gunshot wounds. I have also had the pleasure of meeting a couple of pits that were awesome dogs, primarily because the owners were awesome people and responsible dog owners rather than freaks who like to watch dogs fight or have small peni, or usually both. I still don't trust them.If a pit comes on my property, it is dead pit. Sorry. You should be safely ensconcsed in your own back yard attached to a tow chain. Which is no way to have a pet, and I'm using pet in the loosest sense of the word. Weapon would have been a better choice.
2- Rottweiler...Another canine victim of diminutive penis syndrome. Is it just me, or have Rotties gotten bigger and bigger over the years? The Omen didn't help either. I have never had a bad experience with a rottie*. In fact, my old neighbor had one that he kept chained up with a tow chain and window weights attached, not because he was mean, but because he liked to jump the fence and roam. One cold, rainy January night, I kept hearing a dog whining out front. I went out to investigate, only to find that he had somehow managed to get over the fence and was slowly strangling himself from the weight of the chain and the window weights. (my neighbor was a horrible dog owner from ignorance not spite BTW). I approached this dog, in the dark. I managed to get the chain weight thing off, but his collar was hopelessly hung up in the chain link. He allowed me to work a knife between his neck and the collar and free him. I put him in our old gig van for the night with a blanket and some food and water, and after that night he was my best friend. He would escape and come to our porch and just hang out. He would go for rides in the van with me, jumping up behind the drivers seat with his head on my shoulder. Our pizza deliverystickers had a memo that said "friendly rottweiler on front porch". He never hurt anyone. He was an awesome dog. Then one day, he was gone. I think the dog police got him. I think about him often, and the fact that he was able to understand that I had enough regard for him to cut him down off a fence that he adopted me tells me volumes about this breed of dog.* I take that back...I was still cleaning pools when this new customer who had several dogs had a rottie that hated me and would not let me in the yard, any other cleaner...no problem. Even when the owner was present he menaced me, and once tried to cock his leg on my back. I think it was the tattoos...who knows?
3- Chow Chow...I don't like chows...purple tongues and a pulsating asshole always on display. They strike me as schitzy dogs and I don't trust them.
4- Doberman...I worked with a guy in Colorado that had a doberman named Dillenger. He was very smart and very well trained, unfortunately he was trained by a guy with a small dick AND an ex- coke whore titty dancer girlfriend/wife. His training was "sic 'em" oriented, and he was so protective, he jumped over into the neighbors yard and mauled their 7 year old daughter, who was apparently a threat to the safety of the family. On the other hand, a friend of mine in high school had a doberman that liked to run around with us and smoke weed...a very mellow dog. She was trained to fetch a ball and shake hands.
5- German Shepherd Dog...I like German Shepherds...My parents had one in england that my dad brought home as a pup, all sickly with rickets and such. My mom nursed him back to health and he was the most awesome dog. I was just a baby, but I have pictures of Lancer, and he was a beautiful dog. Once, my mom was having a nap, when she woke up to lancer straddling her on the bed growling at the window...Lancer crashed through the window and ran the intruder off. The police found blood around the area of the window, but not a mark on Lancer.
6- Siberian Husky...I like huskys...They have that omnipresent butthole thing like a chow, but at least it doesn't pulsate.
7- St. Bernard...I once saw a st. bernard attack a football dog in zilker park for no reason. The owner had him in a headlock on the ground punching him in the face and the dog refused to let go, it finally did, and the football dog was mangled, alive but mangled. This dog was in control of the master, and I imagine it out weighed him by at least 75 pounds.
Too big. They don't belong in Texas...too hot.
8- Alaskan Malamute...I love malamutes...great dogs.
9- Great Dane...There were 3 in my neighborhood growing up...if they were running loose at night and it was cold, my mom would let them spend the night. 3 danes and our setter in the very small living room of the mobile home we lived in at the time. It was wall to wall dog, and they seemed to appreciate the fact that they were indoors with us instead of on the porch of their owner, wishing they were inside.
10- Akita...No personal experience, but thay have that chow asshole thing happening. Pucker factor 8...too tense for me.
It's all about the owner folks...When people would ask me if my greastest dog ever, Buddy, bit; Depending on the person asking I would often reply "Only if I tell him too". And that was the truth. He would never hurt anyone and never did in all of his years. He pinned a guy to the ground once and backed him out of the yard and warned off an asshole at a party who kept fucking with him despite my repeated warnings, but he stopped right away when I called him off. And there was this time at Eyores birthday party when some frat boys sic'ed their dalmation on him and I let him go after it with a simple command "watch 'em", and after the dalmation pussed out and the frat boys pissed themselves, I called him off with a simple command "he-yah"! He stopped immediately and we walked away, the both of us smiling. I hate frat boys, but that's another story.
First, some stats...
Rottweilers and Pit Bulls were involved in 60 percent of the 27 dog bite fatalities that occurred in 1997 and 1998. Rottweilers were involved in 10 deaths, and Pit Bulls were involved in 6.
From 1979 through 1998, at least 25 breeds of dogs have been involved in 238 human dog bite related deaths. Pit Bulls and Rottweilers were involved in more than 50 percent of these deaths.
There's legislation up for consideration in Texas put forth by a senator in Dallas that would significantly increase an owners liability in the event of an unprovoked attack by a dog. If the dog killed someone, you could face a felony charge of manslaughter. His initial intention was to ban the ownership of pit bulls altogether, but logistically that would never work, so he apparently settled on this bill.
Check out this top ten list of dogs attacking people resulting in death:
1- Pit Bull ... I can't be objective, I have witnessed the savagery of this breed, and have personally sent 3 to hell via gunshot wounds. I have also had the pleasure of meeting a couple of pits that were awesome dogs, primarily because the owners were awesome people and responsible dog owners rather than freaks who like to watch dogs fight or have small peni, or usually both. I still don't trust them.If a pit comes on my property, it is dead pit. Sorry. You should be safely ensconcsed in your own back yard attached to a tow chain. Which is no way to have a pet, and I'm using pet in the loosest sense of the word. Weapon would have been a better choice.
2- Rottweiler...Another canine victim of diminutive penis syndrome. Is it just me, or have Rotties gotten bigger and bigger over the years? The Omen didn't help either. I have never had a bad experience with a rottie*. In fact, my old neighbor had one that he kept chained up with a tow chain and window weights attached, not because he was mean, but because he liked to jump the fence and roam. One cold, rainy January night, I kept hearing a dog whining out front. I went out to investigate, only to find that he had somehow managed to get over the fence and was slowly strangling himself from the weight of the chain and the window weights. (my neighbor was a horrible dog owner from ignorance not spite BTW). I approached this dog, in the dark. I managed to get the chain weight thing off, but his collar was hopelessly hung up in the chain link. He allowed me to work a knife between his neck and the collar and free him. I put him in our old gig van for the night with a blanket and some food and water, and after that night he was my best friend. He would escape and come to our porch and just hang out. He would go for rides in the van with me, jumping up behind the drivers seat with his head on my shoulder. Our pizza deliverystickers had a memo that said "friendly rottweiler on front porch". He never hurt anyone. He was an awesome dog. Then one day, he was gone. I think the dog police got him. I think about him often, and the fact that he was able to understand that I had enough regard for him to cut him down off a fence that he adopted me tells me volumes about this breed of dog.* I take that back...I was still cleaning pools when this new customer who had several dogs had a rottie that hated me and would not let me in the yard, any other cleaner...no problem. Even when the owner was present he menaced me, and once tried to cock his leg on my back. I think it was the tattoos...who knows?
3- Chow Chow...I don't like chows...purple tongues and a pulsating asshole always on display. They strike me as schitzy dogs and I don't trust them.
4- Doberman...I worked with a guy in Colorado that had a doberman named Dillenger. He was very smart and very well trained, unfortunately he was trained by a guy with a small dick AND an ex- coke whore titty dancer girlfriend/wife. His training was "sic 'em" oriented, and he was so protective, he jumped over into the neighbors yard and mauled their 7 year old daughter, who was apparently a threat to the safety of the family. On the other hand, a friend of mine in high school had a doberman that liked to run around with us and smoke weed...a very mellow dog. She was trained to fetch a ball and shake hands.
5- German Shepherd Dog...I like German Shepherds...My parents had one in england that my dad brought home as a pup, all sickly with rickets and such. My mom nursed him back to health and he was the most awesome dog. I was just a baby, but I have pictures of Lancer, and he was a beautiful dog. Once, my mom was having a nap, when she woke up to lancer straddling her on the bed growling at the window...Lancer crashed through the window and ran the intruder off. The police found blood around the area of the window, but not a mark on Lancer.
6- Siberian Husky...I like huskys...They have that omnipresent butthole thing like a chow, but at least it doesn't pulsate.
7- St. Bernard...I once saw a st. bernard attack a football dog in zilker park for no reason. The owner had him in a headlock on the ground punching him in the face and the dog refused to let go, it finally did, and the football dog was mangled, alive but mangled. This dog was in control of the master, and I imagine it out weighed him by at least 75 pounds.
Too big. They don't belong in Texas...too hot.
8- Alaskan Malamute...I love malamutes...great dogs.
9- Great Dane...There were 3 in my neighborhood growing up...if they were running loose at night and it was cold, my mom would let them spend the night. 3 danes and our setter in the very small living room of the mobile home we lived in at the time. It was wall to wall dog, and they seemed to appreciate the fact that they were indoors with us instead of on the porch of their owner, wishing they were inside.
10- Akita...No personal experience, but thay have that chow asshole thing happening. Pucker factor 8...too tense for me.
It's all about the owner folks...When people would ask me if my greastest dog ever, Buddy, bit; Depending on the person asking I would often reply "Only if I tell him too". And that was the truth. He would never hurt anyone and never did in all of his years. He pinned a guy to the ground once and backed him out of the yard and warned off an asshole at a party who kept fucking with him despite my repeated warnings, but he stopped right away when I called him off. And there was this time at Eyores birthday party when some frat boys sic'ed their dalmation on him and I let him go after it with a simple command "watch 'em", and after the dalmation pussed out and the frat boys pissed themselves, I called him off with a simple command "he-yah"! He stopped immediately and we walked away, the both of us smiling. I hate frat boys, but that's another story.
So far, So good... I guess
Today marks my having survived four months at my phone tech support job. And despite my belief that I suck at this job, I somehow managed to complete another month of "excellent" call statistics. Today something weird happened that made me wonder if maybe I don't suck as much as I think I do. I returned from lunch to discover my workstation occupied. We're not assigned to work stations, but since I come in at 7:00 am when there are usually only two or three other people working, I can pretty much count on sitting in the same spot day after day. I have never been bumped off a workstation at lunch before, but I had ten minutes left on my lunch hour when I discovered this so I figured I had enough time to find a spot and get settled in before I had to get back on the clock. Settling in involves a lot more than just getting comfortable in the chair since user names and passwords have to be entered in a variety of programs when it's a workstation that I've not used before. However, there were no empty workstations. Not a single one and there were four other people wandering around in the same situation. My supervisor was working today so I flagged him down and volunteered to go home rather than get paid for doing nothing. I thought that might be a good sell, but it didn't work. Instead, he arranged for a workstation to open up soon for me. I protested since there were four other people who also needed workstations and he could just send me home and save the company money. That didn't fly either. It turns out I'm always in the top five call takers when the stats are pulled each week. Well then. Okay. I went back to work and finished my shift, but that extra four hours or work confirmed what I was already starting to suspect. I still suck at this job, but I just suck LESS.
Today marks my having survived four months at my phone tech support job. And despite my belief that I suck at this job, I somehow managed to complete another month of "excellent" call statistics. Today something weird happened that made me wonder if maybe I don't suck as much as I think I do. I returned from lunch to discover my workstation occupied. We're not assigned to work stations, but since I come in at 7:00 am when there are usually only two or three other people working, I can pretty much count on sitting in the same spot day after day. I have never been bumped off a workstation at lunch before, but I had ten minutes left on my lunch hour when I discovered this so I figured I had enough time to find a spot and get settled in before I had to get back on the clock. Settling in involves a lot more than just getting comfortable in the chair since user names and passwords have to be entered in a variety of programs when it's a workstation that I've not used before. However, there were no empty workstations. Not a single one and there were four other people wandering around in the same situation. My supervisor was working today so I flagged him down and volunteered to go home rather than get paid for doing nothing. I thought that might be a good sell, but it didn't work. Instead, he arranged for a workstation to open up soon for me. I protested since there were four other people who also needed workstations and he could just send me home and save the company money. That didn't fly either. It turns out I'm always in the top five call takers when the stats are pulled each week. Well then. Okay. I went back to work and finished my shift, but that extra four hours or work confirmed what I was already starting to suspect. I still suck at this job, but I just suck LESS.
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