Argh. They're trying to set up a secure download site for distributing software here, and one of the things I've been asked to do is test it out before it goes live. Apparently the Cow-orker is too busy to test the links to see if anything downloads, so it falls to me.
I click a link. A file downloads. There is rejoicing in the streets that this complex and delicate task has been completed.
Then a nagging voice of doubt makes me decide to check the files that have actually downloaded. One of the packages consistes of only two files, neither of which appear to be executable. I email the Cow-orker to ask if this is correct, seeing as she supposedly has the master copies of the software from which the downloadable files were compiled, and should be able to tell me.
An email comes back. "I don't know. In fact I don't even know if I used the right files or the right software in the first place, and I'm not going to check for you now. Maybe you should download a few gigabytes of data from the software vendor themselves and compare it directly. But you'll need to contact them for a username and password. And I'd like us to go live with this tomorrow. Do you think that's possible?"
I'm starting to suspect there's an ulterior motive in asking me to do this: it's punishment for trying to leave. Although my contract expires again in a week, so if they don't get a move on at sorting that out their plans to make me suffer may well fall through...
31 January, 2006
06 December, 2005
Power struggles
The Crazy Man doesn't like being made to do any work or produce results. On the other hand he doesn't like it when people don't follow rules, and will usually pursue rule-breaking to the exclusion of all else. Another manager doesn't like following any rules except his own and is something of a control freak. They clash, because neither has the capacity to actually approach the point of contention with anything less than a demand for the other side's complete and unconditional surrender, and promise never to do anything again.
The Crazy Man continues trying (with some justification) to insert himself into some of the other manager's business processes. The other manager tries to retaliate by appropriating all the Crazy Man's related processes, but fails because it's hard for the head of Technical Support to claim with any justification that he should also control Purchasing. The Crazy Man wins and, being the Crazy Man, gloats.
The other manager strikes back by forcibly migrating the Crazy Man and all his staff from their mixture of Eudora, Netscape Mail and other random mail clients to Outlook/Exchange. Most of his admin stuff are just unhappy because it's something new and they don't deal well with "new"; others are unhappy because they're convinced that without their carefully-ordered, decade-old Eudora mailboxes they'll never be able to find any mail ever again. Great anguish ensues.
Moral: nobody wins a war.
The Crazy Man continues trying (with some justification) to insert himself into some of the other manager's business processes. The other manager tries to retaliate by appropriating all the Crazy Man's related processes, but fails because it's hard for the head of Technical Support to claim with any justification that he should also control Purchasing. The Crazy Man wins and, being the Crazy Man, gloats.
The other manager strikes back by forcibly migrating the Crazy Man and all his staff from their mixture of Eudora, Netscape Mail and other random mail clients to Outlook/Exchange. Most of his admin stuff are just unhappy because it's something new and they don't deal well with "new"; others are unhappy because they're convinced that without their carefully-ordered, decade-old Eudora mailboxes they'll never be able to find any mail ever again. Great anguish ensues.
Moral: nobody wins a war.
30 November, 2005
Cow-orker: "It can't possibly work, and I'm already doing it anyway."
I was sent a link to some information about the Noguchi filing system, which I thought looked like something we could use at work as an alternative to chaos and exploding files. I pass it on to the Cow-orker and her workmate, the token human.
"I'm already doing exactly this with my manila folder collection on my desk," she responds. To which she could have added "Except they're in no discernible order and I don't tell anyone that they're there."
(Her manila folder collection is a fearsome sight - two magazine holders stuffed full of folders containing randomly assorted collections of paperwork, some of it dating back two or three years. Only she knows what she has in there, or why).
Then she realises that the Noguchi system means that there needs to be some kind of consistency, discipline and cooperation with others underpinning the whole thing (which, obviously, is what makes it a system rather than simply a random collection of manila folders kept on someone's desk because it's more convenient than putting them away) and clearly that can't be tolerated.
"It won't work for us," she says, and begins grasping at straws as to why the existing "system" can't be tampered with. None of the arguments are particularly convincing, and most don't seem to be based on anything that Noguchi actually proposes.
And then she concludes with what she considers the knockout blow: "If we all got hit by a bus and someone new had to take over, how would they find anything?"
"The same way they'd find anything in your manila folders, I expect. Except, you know, this system would be documented so that people would know how it worked."
She flounders for a moment, and then decides to pre-emptively blame the Token Human for the inevitable failure of the Noguchi system if it was ever introduced here. "He'd never be able to stick to it," says Miss Keep-stuffing-the-files-until-they-explode who, ten years on, is still struggling with the concept that filing stuff electronically doesn't begin and end with dumping randomly-named files into a single directory.
"I'm already doing exactly this with my manila folder collection on my desk," she responds. To which she could have added "Except they're in no discernible order and I don't tell anyone that they're there."
(Her manila folder collection is a fearsome sight - two magazine holders stuffed full of folders containing randomly assorted collections of paperwork, some of it dating back two or three years. Only she knows what she has in there, or why).
Then she realises that the Noguchi system means that there needs to be some kind of consistency, discipline and cooperation with others underpinning the whole thing (which, obviously, is what makes it a system rather than simply a random collection of manila folders kept on someone's desk because it's more convenient than putting them away) and clearly that can't be tolerated.
"It won't work for us," she says, and begins grasping at straws as to why the existing "system" can't be tampered with. None of the arguments are particularly convincing, and most don't seem to be based on anything that Noguchi actually proposes.
And then she concludes with what she considers the knockout blow: "If we all got hit by a bus and someone new had to take over, how would they find anything?"
"The same way they'd find anything in your manila folders, I expect. Except, you know, this system would be documented so that people would know how it worked."
She flounders for a moment, and then decides to pre-emptively blame the Token Human for the inevitable failure of the Noguchi system if it was ever introduced here. "He'd never be able to stick to it," says Miss Keep-stuffing-the-files-until-they-explode who, ten years on, is still struggling with the concept that filing stuff electronically doesn't begin and end with dumping randomly-named files into a single directory.
22 November, 2005
Cow-orker: Told you so
The Cow-orker rang me last week to tell me that she was about to repeat a task I did a year ago (organising approval for a demo CD containing free and evaluation versions of software), and to see what advice I could give her about how to proceed.
What she obviously wanted me to tell her was that she didn't have to do anything and could just give blanket approval for everything. What I told her was that she'd need to check to make sure none of the conditions had changed.
"Okay, so for this one I just need to ring the people we buy it from locally?"
"No, you'll have to contact the overseas publishers of that software and see what their distribution terms are."
"But I don't want to do that. The deadline is really tight, and I'd rather talk to someone I like who works for a third party that isn't allowed to make that kind of decision. I know I asked for your advice, but because I don't like what I'm hearing, I'll ignore it and do my own thing."
(It's funny - any other time you have to beat her with a stick to stop her talking to strangers, but as soon as she has to actually find out some information from them (and especially if it involves putting something in writing) she'll move heaven and earth to avoid having to do so. But I'm only passing through - so I keep telling myself - and it's no skin off my nose if she wants to bugger around).
"Suit yourself," I tell her.
That was a week ago, and a reply just came through from someone she likes who works for a third party that isn't allowed to make that kind of decision. They tell her almost exactly that, and then suggest she does what I told her a week ago.
That distant huffing sound you hear is the Cow-orker hyper-ventilating because this means she's just lost a week from the very tight deadline.
What she obviously wanted me to tell her was that she didn't have to do anything and could just give blanket approval for everything. What I told her was that she'd need to check to make sure none of the conditions had changed.
"Okay, so for this one I just need to ring the people we buy it from locally?"
"No, you'll have to contact the overseas publishers of that software and see what their distribution terms are."
"But I don't want to do that. The deadline is really tight, and I'd rather talk to someone I like who works for a third party that isn't allowed to make that kind of decision. I know I asked for your advice, but because I don't like what I'm hearing, I'll ignore it and do my own thing."
(It's funny - any other time you have to beat her with a stick to stop her talking to strangers, but as soon as she has to actually find out some information from them (and especially if it involves putting something in writing) she'll move heaven and earth to avoid having to do so. But I'm only passing through - so I keep telling myself - and it's no skin off my nose if she wants to bugger around).
"Suit yourself," I tell her.
That was a week ago, and a reply just came through from someone she likes who works for a third party that isn't allowed to make that kind of decision. They tell her almost exactly that, and then suggest she does what I told her a week ago.
That distant huffing sound you hear is the Cow-orker hyper-ventilating because this means she's just lost a week from the very tight deadline.
17 November, 2005
Cow-orker: Careless Talk II
Talking to the Crazy Man. I mention that we might soon be accessing our primary database through a different system (one that has an unenviable reputation for being a little less than reliable). He seems surprised. The Cow-orker was e-mailing me back at Death Spiral to complain about it, so I figured he must have heard about it. Apparently not.
I fill him in. According to the Cow-orker, our database has to be migrated to another system and we're to be given no choice about it because two other section heads have said so. Quite what these two have to do with it isn't actually clear, though, and the Crazy Man wonders how they got involved. The poor man. He really doesn't seem to know.
"The Cow-orker told them we were doing some development work on the database."
"Why would she do that? It's got nothing to do with them!"
I shrug helplessly.
He clutches his head in the traditional gesture of pain*. "God, I'm going to have to talk to her about this, aren't I?"
*(Clutching of the head is a gesture my former manager used to perform a lot when trying to understand the Cow-orker's motives. The Crazy Man has developed the same tendency independently after managing the Cow-orker for the last six months. At first I thought it was some kind of ritual gesture used by managers to ward off evil spirits, but it's hard to see how a ritual could survive in the face of such obvious and consistent failure. Now I figure it's just a reflex action, because curling into a fetal position is too socially awkward).
I fill him in. According to the Cow-orker, our database has to be migrated to another system and we're to be given no choice about it because two other section heads have said so. Quite what these two have to do with it isn't actually clear, though, and the Crazy Man wonders how they got involved. The poor man. He really doesn't seem to know.
"The Cow-orker told them we were doing some development work on the database."
"Why would she do that? It's got nothing to do with them!"
I shrug helplessly.
He clutches his head in the traditional gesture of pain*. "God, I'm going to have to talk to her about this, aren't I?"
*(Clutching of the head is a gesture my former manager used to perform a lot when trying to understand the Cow-orker's motives. The Crazy Man has developed the same tendency independently after managing the Cow-orker for the last six months. At first I thought it was some kind of ritual gesture used by managers to ward off evil spirits, but it's hard to see how a ritual could survive in the face of such obvious and consistent failure. Now I figure it's just a reflex action, because curling into a fetal position is too socially awkward).
Cow-orker: Careless Talk I
The Cow-orker's been asking me if I'd consider applying for the position of token human if her current colleague gets a job elsewhere. She's had trouble accepting that I might not leap at the opportunity, and I've been trying to explain that I'd have to think long and hard (and be a lot closer to poverty than I currently am) before I'd come back to deal with exactly the same stuff I've already walked away from once this year. She struggles with the concept.
I could have simplified things by telling her that I couldn't face dealing with her on a daily (hourly!) basis again, but I need to work with her intermittently over the next few weeks and there's no point making things harder for myself.
Besides, she'd probably think I was joking.
Jump to this morning. The phone rings. For a change it's not the Cow-orker. Instead it's my ex-manager. We chat briefly, and then:
"What have you been telling the Cow-orker, by the way?"
"As little as possible, really. Why?"
"Because she's been telling people you're not interested in working anywhere in this division ever again."
I could have simplified things by telling her that I couldn't face dealing with her on a daily (hourly!) basis again, but I need to work with her intermittently over the next few weeks and there's no point making things harder for myself.
Besides, she'd probably think I was joking.
Jump to this morning. The phone rings. For a change it's not the Cow-orker. Instead it's my ex-manager. We chat briefly, and then:
"What have you been telling the Cow-orker, by the way?"
"As little as possible, really. Why?"
"Because she's been telling people you're not interested in working anywhere in this division ever again."
10 November, 2005
Communication Problems
Life under the Crazy Man:
"This person wants a copy of these documents. If I mail them through to you, can you mail them through to her?"
I'm sure I can, but what's the point? It's not like he's actually saving himself any work here. In fact, given that he's been incapable of getting my e-mail address right for the last three days* and has to resend the documents twice, he's actually making extra work for himself.
* Discussion of e-mail addresses went something like this:
"Use this address. That one doesn't work."
"But it should, so I'll use it."
"It should, but it doesn't. Use this one instead."
"I'll use the one that should work."
[pause]
"Have you got it yet?"
"No. Did you send it to the address that works?"
"I sent it to the address that should work. Oh, wait, I've just gotten an 'undeliverable' message from the mail server."
"That would be because that address doesn't work."
"But it should..."
Repeat ad infinitum.
So now his mail software has the wrong address tucked away in its auto-complete list, and he keeps choosing it instead of the correct address, and wondering why a) I don't get his e-mails, and b) why he keeps getting 'undeliverable' messages.
"This person wants a copy of these documents. If I mail them through to you, can you mail them through to her?"
I'm sure I can, but what's the point? It's not like he's actually saving himself any work here. In fact, given that he's been incapable of getting my e-mail address right for the last three days* and has to resend the documents twice, he's actually making extra work for himself.
* Discussion of e-mail addresses went something like this:
"Use this address. That one doesn't work."
"But it should, so I'll use it."
"It should, but it doesn't. Use this one instead."
"I'll use the one that should work."
[pause]
"Have you got it yet?"
"No. Did you send it to the address that works?"
"I sent it to the address that should work. Oh, wait, I've just gotten an 'undeliverable' message from the mail server."
"That would be because that address doesn't work."
"But it should..."
Repeat ad infinitum.
So now his mail software has the wrong address tucked away in its auto-complete list, and he keeps choosing it instead of the correct address, and wondering why a) I don't get his e-mails, and b) why he keeps getting 'undeliverable' messages.
07 November, 2005
Cow-orker: Green Thumb ... of Death!
The Cow-orker's pot plant looks even worse. Half of the remains had to be cut away because it had been nuked so thoroughly that some parts that hadn't been charred were starting to rot, some of the green stems fell off when my old manager touched them to see whether they felt as much like perished rubber as they looked, and the final two leaves are hanging at a thirty degree angle with the only parts that aren't slowly curling up being the bits that were turned into pure carbon by the Cow-orker's chemical warfare attack.
She remains optimistic, however, that the half-dozen green stems ending in cauterised stumps will shoot forth new leaves. Any day now...
She remains optimistic, however, that the half-dozen green stems ending in cauterised stumps will shoot forth new leaves. Any day now...
01 November, 2005
Once more unto the breach
And after only a few days away, I've been asked back to my old work yet again - this time for up to several weeks. This time around things may not be quite as much fun: the Cow-orker won't be away on holiday, I'll be working directly under the Crazy Man, and I'll be working in the basement of the building, referred to by all and sundry as The Dungeon due to the concrete walls (painted, at least), near-total lack of natural light, and sepulchral atmosphere.
The things I do to earn a living...
The things I do to earn a living...
28 October, 2005
Loving the smell of napalm in the morning.
The Cow-orker's pot-plant isn't getting any better. My (former) manager prodded a couple of the stalks to see if they were as rubbery as they were starting to look.
They fell off.
They fell off.
26 October, 2005
Random Acts of Cruelty
The Crazy Man has been giving his staff their annual performance reviews (or at least has been reviewing those staff he can't palm off on somebody else). Then it comes time to review an individual that has occasionally filled the role of Backup Cow-orker. The BCO is a very earnest, easily-stressed individual who always seems to be operating several feet out of his depth.
Crazy Man: "Your communication skills need some work. You have a problem with oral communication."
BCO : "What kind of a problem?"
Crazy Man: "I'm not going to tell you, because then you might guess who told me you had a problem."
BCO: "So what can I do?"
Crazy Man: "I think you should talk to people and ask them what your problem is."
And that's the Crazy Man's serious and considered opinion. The BCO is now wandering the corridors of the building looking lost, bewildered, and afraid to talk to people because he's been told he has an unspecified oral communication problem.
Crazy Man: "Your communication skills need some work. You have a problem with oral communication."
BCO : "What kind of a problem?"
Crazy Man: "I'm not going to tell you, because then you might guess who told me you had a problem."
BCO: "So what can I do?"
Crazy Man: "I think you should talk to people and ask them what your problem is."
And that's the Crazy Man's serious and considered opinion. The BCO is now wandering the corridors of the building looking lost, bewildered, and afraid to talk to people because he's been told he has an unspecified oral communication problem.
24 October, 2005
Cow-orker: "I woz 'ere."
Ah, dear. Some database testing takes me into the guts of the long-suffering system we use here, and the Cow-orker's not-so-delicate hoof-prints are all over the place.
One-trick functions have been added and given pride of place in the interface, when a moment's thought would have made them actually useful and versatile ... reference data added with random spelling and punctuation ... inconsistent reference data added, so that the organising principle of the database (organisational units name) is replaced by the popular name for an area that doesn't actually match what it is or where it fits within the organisation ... duplication of reference data because she hasn't checked to see whether something's already there.
She's the Godzilla of databases, honestly.
On the bright side she hasn't changed the colour scheme, so I'm no imminent danger of seared retinas or colour-induced brain siezures. Or maybe I just haven't tested the right report yet ...
One-trick functions have been added and given pride of place in the interface, when a moment's thought would have made them actually useful and versatile ... reference data added with random spelling and punctuation ... inconsistent reference data added, so that the organising principle of the database (organisational units name) is replaced by the popular name for an area that doesn't actually match what it is or where it fits within the organisation ... duplication of reference data because she hasn't checked to see whether something's already there.
She's the Godzilla of databases, honestly.
On the bright side she hasn't changed the colour scheme, so I'm no imminent danger of seared retinas or colour-induced brain siezures. Or maybe I just haven't tested the right report yet ...
19 October, 2005
Slappable Clients: The Return
"Hi, I'd just like to check up on the status of an order."
"Sure. Do you have the requisition number handy?"
"Um... No."
"That's okay. Do you know who it was ordered for?"
"Ummm ... No."
"Oh."
"How about I find out some details and call you back?"
Give the man a cigar.
"Sure. Do you have the requisition number handy?"
"Um... No."
"That's okay. Do you know who it was ordered for?"
"Ummm ... No."
"Oh."
"How about I find out some details and call you back?"
Give the man a cigar.
18 October, 2005
Cow-orker: Scorched Earth Special
Hmm. Doesn't look too bad from back here. If you don't count the lack of foliage, that is...
Looking a little the worse for wear up close, though. And aren't plants supposed to be green, not black?
Scorched Earth goodness.
Sadly there are no "before" shots to show just how little of this plant survived the chemical bombing.
Looking a little the worse for wear up close, though. And aren't plants supposed to be green, not black?
Scorched Earth goodness.
Sadly there are no "before" shots to show just how little of this plant survived the chemical bombing.
17 October, 2005
Cow-orker: In the absence of light...
... the Cow-orker, rather than darkness, prevails. Or so it seems.
The dreaded Forms directory (Enter the Cow-orker, 21/7/2004), where all useful information goes to languish in obscurity when the Cow-orker has anything to do with it, has bloated in my absence. The Cow-orker's request to purchase a gel-filled wrist-rest for her keyboard sits alongside quotes and business cases worth tens of thousands of dollars, because it's easier to dump everything into one location than sort and file it where it belongs and might be of use.
She also still seems to be struggling with the idea of turning on junk-mail filters. Her Inbox just from the last few days is filled with spam, a goodly proportion of it addressed to The Spouse. Maybe she's saving it for him to read, or she's worried that she'll miss out on that one magic e-mail that turns out not to be a con?
And someone appears to have been filing work-emails in the Junk Mail folder rather than simply deleting them outright if they're not needed, or putting them someplace sensible. I don't even think that some of these have been acted on. I don't know whether the Primary or Secondary Cow-orker is the likeliest suspect in this instance, though.
Coincidentally (not!) one of the filing cabinets appears to have suffered a hernia from being crammed full of paper.
The dreaded Forms directory (Enter the Cow-orker, 21/7/2004), where all useful information goes to languish in obscurity when the Cow-orker has anything to do with it, has bloated in my absence. The Cow-orker's request to purchase a gel-filled wrist-rest for her keyboard sits alongside quotes and business cases worth tens of thousands of dollars, because it's easier to dump everything into one location than sort and file it where it belongs and might be of use.
She also still seems to be struggling with the idea of turning on junk-mail filters. Her Inbox just from the last few days is filled with spam, a goodly proportion of it addressed to The Spouse. Maybe she's saving it for him to read, or she's worried that she'll miss out on that one magic e-mail that turns out not to be a con?
And someone appears to have been filing work-emails in the Junk Mail folder rather than simply deleting them outright if they're not needed, or putting them someplace sensible. I don't even think that some of these have been acted on. I don't know whether the Primary or Secondary Cow-orker is the likeliest suspect in this instance, though.
Coincidentally (not!) one of the filing cabinets appears to have suffered a hernia from being crammed full of paper.
Cow-orker: the magic begins again
Haven't got a login to any PCs or the network yet, but that's okay - the Cow-orker didn't change her username or password in all the years I worked with her, and there's no reason to assume she's done so now, and ....
... I'm in!
[Full screen desktop wallpaper depicting The Spawn in all its naked glory]
I'm out!
(Fortunately she hasn't changed the username or password for the generic login, either, nor has she customised the desktop this time around).
The Cow-orker had a thing for pot plants in the office, and whenever one was moved to a new area or out of her direct sight she'd loom over the people nearest it and lecture them on how to take care of it. She'd follow this up with periodic checks to see how her fellow members of the vegetable kingdom were going, lecturing people again if they'd been remiss.
Then she went upstairs to Marketing and left behind the only remaining pot plant she'd still been able to consider hers (because the Marketing Shrew wouldn't let her have enough real estate to fit it in). When her replacement came on board she lectured him and made him promise to water it regularly and take care of it. He kind of did, and despite one or two brown leaves and the occasional bout of wilting when it went a fortnight without water, the plant survived her absence.
(I'd suspect the Cow-orker of slipping down sometimes when no-one was around and watering it, but it's out of character for her to do something inconspicuously).
Then I went away, she came back and so on.
Last week she decided the plant wasn't looking as good as it could have. Thankfully she didn't try talking to it, but she did decide that giving it some fertiliser was a good idea. And perhaps it even was.
What wasn't a good idea was just flinging handfuls of fertiliser powder straight onto the plant so that the powder coated its leaves and stems, and then just leaving it.
It looks like someone's napalmed it. There are only two leaves left, both of which are more brownish-black than green. They were the lucky ones. The rest simply burned black and died, before the poor plant was rushed outside and washed down to remove the rest of the powder before it withered the whole plant. The dead and blackened leaves were trimmed off by the Cow-orker's human workmate, and now the once-healthy pot plant consists of two half-burned leaves and a little over half-a-dozen green, decapitated stalks.
The Cow-orker: Agent Orange for the 21st Century.
... I'm in!
[Full screen desktop wallpaper depicting The Spawn in all its naked glory]
I'm out!
(Fortunately she hasn't changed the username or password for the generic login, either, nor has she customised the desktop this time around).
The Cow-orker had a thing for pot plants in the office, and whenever one was moved to a new area or out of her direct sight she'd loom over the people nearest it and lecture them on how to take care of it. She'd follow this up with periodic checks to see how her fellow members of the vegetable kingdom were going, lecturing people again if they'd been remiss.
Then she went upstairs to Marketing and left behind the only remaining pot plant she'd still been able to consider hers (because the Marketing Shrew wouldn't let her have enough real estate to fit it in). When her replacement came on board she lectured him and made him promise to water it regularly and take care of it. He kind of did, and despite one or two brown leaves and the occasional bout of wilting when it went a fortnight without water, the plant survived her absence.
(I'd suspect the Cow-orker of slipping down sometimes when no-one was around and watering it, but it's out of character for her to do something inconspicuously).
Then I went away, she came back and so on.
Last week she decided the plant wasn't looking as good as it could have. Thankfully she didn't try talking to it, but she did decide that giving it some fertiliser was a good idea. And perhaps it even was.
What wasn't a good idea was just flinging handfuls of fertiliser powder straight onto the plant so that the powder coated its leaves and stems, and then just leaving it.
It looks like someone's napalmed it. There are only two leaves left, both of which are more brownish-black than green. They were the lucky ones. The rest simply burned black and died, before the poor plant was rushed outside and washed down to remove the rest of the powder before it withered the whole plant. The dead and blackened leaves were trimmed off by the Cow-orker's human workmate, and now the once-healthy pot plant consists of two half-burned leaves and a little over half-a-dozen green, decapitated stalks.
The Cow-orker: Agent Orange for the 21st Century.
14 October, 2005
Back to the house of pain
The phone rings. It's my manager from my old, pre-Death Spiral job. The Cow-orker is going on annual leave for a couple of weeks. How do I feel about filling in while she's gone?
(Presumably not as a cow-orker, but I'm willing to get liquored-up at the start of the day and lurch mindlessly and incoherently through the day if that's what they want.)
I take a couple of minutes to think it over. I'll get paid casual rates, the Cow-orker won't be there (but I'll bet she either makes a special visit, or rings every second day to see what's happening), and I'll only have to deal with the Crazy Man and the Secondary Cow-orker ... how bad can it be?
We shall see. I start on Monday.
(Presumably not as a cow-orker, but I'm willing to get liquored-up at the start of the day and lurch mindlessly and incoherently through the day if that's what they want.)
I take a couple of minutes to think it over. I'll get paid casual rates, the Cow-orker won't be there (but I'll bet she either makes a special visit, or rings every second day to see what's happening), and I'll only have to deal with the Crazy Man and the Secondary Cow-orker ... how bad can it be?
We shall see. I start on Monday.
06 October, 2005
Housekeeping
No, that's not what I'm doing with myself at the moment. Well, not entirely.
New posts
There are odds and ends of things (mostly from Project Death Spiral) that for various reasons I didn't get around to posting here. As I retrieve these from old e-mails or wake up screaming in the night when hidden memories bubble to the surface I'll put them here.
Spam
The spam's getting annoying. I could turn on Blogger's 'word verification' feature to (hopefully) counter a lot of the automatic spam Blunt Trauma seems to attract, but it looks like it will be a pain for people wanting to leave legitimate comments (I'd find it annoying if I had to go through it, anyway). If you're not sure what word verification is, have a look here. If you really don't want to go through this step to leave a comment, let me know and I won't enable it.
Otherwise, if no-one cares one way or the other, or I get no answers at all (or if the answers I do get are all spam) then I'll switch this on and save myself the trouble of going in and deleting spam comments.
What am I doing now?
Not a great deal. Fortunately when I left my last job, I had a large enough payout for my unused annual leave (or, as I prefer to think of it, my consolation prize for taking part in Survivor: Cow-orker) that finding work immediately isn't something I need to worry about for a little while yet. So I can take my time looking at what's around, see what I'm interested in (somehow get through the selection process!) ... and probably still end up working for madmen alongside a collection of sociopaths and lunatics.
New posts
There are odds and ends of things (mostly from Project Death Spiral) that for various reasons I didn't get around to posting here. As I retrieve these from old e-mails or wake up screaming in the night when hidden memories bubble to the surface I'll put them here.
Spam
The spam's getting annoying. I could turn on Blogger's 'word verification' feature to (hopefully) counter a lot of the automatic spam Blunt Trauma seems to attract, but it looks like it will be a pain for people wanting to leave legitimate comments (I'd find it annoying if I had to go through it, anyway). If you're not sure what word verification is, have a look here. If you really don't want to go through this step to leave a comment, let me know and I won't enable it.
Otherwise, if no-one cares one way or the other, or I get no answers at all (or if the answers I do get are all spam) then I'll switch this on and save myself the trouble of going in and deleting spam comments.
What am I doing now?
Not a great deal. Fortunately when I left my last job, I had a large enough payout for my unused annual leave (or, as I prefer to think of it, my consolation prize for taking part in Survivor: Cow-orker) that finding work immediately isn't something I need to worry about for a little while yet. So I can take my time looking at what's around, see what I'm interested in (somehow get through the selection process!) ... and probably still end up working for madmen alongside a collection of sociopaths and lunatics.
Death Spiral Retrospective: undefined
PMv1 has returned to take over Death Spiral following the departure of Sluggo, and is having a meeting with me and my minion. To try and cut corners (or as he prefers to think of it, get Death Spiral back to his original vision and still meet an arbitrary deadline he's come up with) he's hit upon a solution that's been available from the start but has consistently been left alone by everyone (himself included) because the results would tell us nothing about what we really need to know, would probably panic management into going for a needlessly expensive and unnecessary quick-fix solution, and would only lead to us having to do everything over again properly if (when!) Death Spiral finally gets the software it needs to proceed.
"Moreover," we point out, foolishly expecting this to be the clincher, "the results wouldn't even be accurate."
"Define 'accurate'."
Oh. That's not good. "Useful. Not wrong. Something on which we could base informed decisions and make valid recommendations."
"Define 'valid'."
Things deteriorate from there, but by the end of the meeting it seems that the official Project Death Spiral line is that project staff asking for accuracy just aren't seeing the big picture, and what would the people who need to use the Death Spiral on an ongoing basis know anyway?
"Moreover," we point out, foolishly expecting this to be the clincher, "the results wouldn't even be accurate."
"Define 'accurate'."
Oh. That's not good. "Useful. Not wrong. Something on which we could base informed decisions and make valid recommendations."
"Define 'valid'."
Things deteriorate from there, but by the end of the meeting it seems that the official Project Death Spiral line is that project staff asking for accuracy just aren't seeing the big picture, and what would the people who need to use the Death Spiral on an ongoing basis know anyway?
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