We receive a quote from a supplier. The Crazy Man and I are pleased because it matches what we expected to be paying rather than the higher amount our account manager at the supplier kept insisting was the real cost.
Unfortunately the supplier has cc'ed Marketing, who are the ones hanging out for the items in question. Before the Crazy Man or I have time to lock in the price by acknowleding and accepting the written quote, the Marketing manager replies to the supplier, cc'ing us and the account manager who gave us the verbal quote on the high prices to begin with.
Marketing: "Thanks for the cheaper price, but this is all very confusing. We were expecting to pay the dearer price that you've been telling us for the last few weeks we're supposed to pay. Can you please explain why we're not paying the higher cost? Because we've reworked our whole business plan around the higher price, and this means we'll have to change it now."
We're now waiting for the account manager to inform us that the cheaper price from their underling was an error, at which point the Marketing manager will start wailing (again) about having to pay the higher price.
This has helped me work out the difference between strategic marketing (where the Cow-orker was based while working under the Marketing Shrew) and random bone-headed marketing, which is what I'm trying to deal with at the moment.
One involves grand visions that are almost completely divorced from the capacity of anyone to deliver them, while the other is simply blurting out the first stupid thing that enters your mind.
27 February, 2006
Cow-orker: Reload, shoot other foot
"Why isn't it ready yet? I leaked information about it, and it's still not ready to go, and now they want to know when it will be ready!"
"Remember that thing you kicked up a big fuss about last week and insisted everyone needed to discuss before this could go live?"
"Yes..."
"Well, they're discussing it."
"But - noooooooo!!!"
Ah, I see - they weren't actually supposed to listen to her.
"Remember that thing you kicked up a big fuss about last week and insisted everyone needed to discuss before this could go live?"
"Yes..."
"Well, they're discussing it."
"But - noooooooo!!!"
Ah, I see - they weren't actually supposed to listen to her.
25 February, 2006
Cow-orker: Hobbies
The Cow-orker has developed a new hobby.
First she finds something that she's not responsible for. Then she finds the person most affected by that something without actually being responsible for managing it, either. Then she encourages them to tell her about problems they're having with it, without actually telling them that she's not the person who'll be dealing with it anyway.
At this point, having successfully identified a random problem, she throws the panic switch. Things then go one of two ways.
OPTION 1
She sits on the issue for two to three days to build up a good panic-driven head of steam while the information she's gleaned from her unsuspecting source gradually becomes obsolete. Then she rings her source back and panics them more by telling them how much more critical their situation has become because of the two or three days that have elapsed. It doesn't matter if she tells them exactly what they told her in the first place; the Cow-orker is a master at inflating something into a full-blown crisis and has been known to send people running in circles like headless chickens just through the sheer weight of conviction she can bring to her claims that they're doomed. Plus, of course, they're under the impression that she's actually been looking into their concerns since she last spoke to them.
Then she rings me and tells me she's just spoken to whoever, and they're really stressing out about whatever the issue is, because they're in an awful situation, they're doomed, and they don't know what to do. At this point it's customary for me to act surprised and explain to her that I've actually been speaking to these people before and since she first pumped them for information, that they're aware the situation is either under control or on its way to being resolved, and that her victims should know there's nothing new to worry about.
Her customary response? "Well they're in a blind panic at the moment for some reason, so someone really needs to speak to them to sort things out. Would you like me to do it?"
Are bears Catholic?
OPTION 2
Rather than stew on the issue, she begins contacting everyone she can think of (senior management, middle management, operational supervisors) and rants desperately about the great crisis of our times and how we're morally obliged to act now now now and implement some half-arsed solution she's made up on the spot and which has the twin benefits of being completely unworkable and not having been run past the people who would actually need to implement it.
Not that it matters what they might have to say, however. The Cow-orker has decided that there's a moral obligation at stake, and that the only solution is to make it someone else's problem immediately whether or not they're equipped to handle it in the first place. Following this, she'll ring me and rave down the phone, approaching borderline hysteria when I won't agree to begin trying to implement her plan, and ramping up the volume in the belief it will make her case more persuasive.
"But they have to do it! We have a moral obligation!" (Which I'm assuming is either her new buzzword, or means that, having convinced someone else that the sky is about to fall, she's then promised she'll take care of things for them without checking first to see whether she actually can).
This is followed by my token effort to convince her that implementing a poorly though-out knee-jerk solution without consulting any of the people expected to deliver it, which has no resources to support it, and which we can be reasonably confident will fail, is likely to upset clients far more than simply explaining to them that we're working on a solution to what's actually a non-critical problem of her own invention.
This option usually ends in dire warnings of imminent catastrophe, the necessity of calling back an equally frantic client or workmate immediately (because they've somehow gotten it into their head that the end is nigh and "are in a blind panic"), and further exhortations to do something immediately even if it doesn't even give the illusion of being remotely useful.
First she finds something that she's not responsible for. Then she finds the person most affected by that something without actually being responsible for managing it, either. Then she encourages them to tell her about problems they're having with it, without actually telling them that she's not the person who'll be dealing with it anyway.
At this point, having successfully identified a random problem, she throws the panic switch. Things then go one of two ways.
OPTION 1
She sits on the issue for two to three days to build up a good panic-driven head of steam while the information she's gleaned from her unsuspecting source gradually becomes obsolete. Then she rings her source back and panics them more by telling them how much more critical their situation has become because of the two or three days that have elapsed. It doesn't matter if she tells them exactly what they told her in the first place; the Cow-orker is a master at inflating something into a full-blown crisis and has been known to send people running in circles like headless chickens just through the sheer weight of conviction she can bring to her claims that they're doomed. Plus, of course, they're under the impression that she's actually been looking into their concerns since she last spoke to them.
Then she rings me and tells me she's just spoken to whoever, and they're really stressing out about whatever the issue is, because they're in an awful situation, they're doomed, and they don't know what to do. At this point it's customary for me to act surprised and explain to her that I've actually been speaking to these people before and since she first pumped them for information, that they're aware the situation is either under control or on its way to being resolved, and that her victims should know there's nothing new to worry about.
Her customary response? "Well they're in a blind panic at the moment for some reason, so someone really needs to speak to them to sort things out. Would you like me to do it?"
Are bears Catholic?
OPTION 2
Rather than stew on the issue, she begins contacting everyone she can think of (senior management, middle management, operational supervisors) and rants desperately about the great crisis of our times and how we're morally obliged to act now now now and implement some half-arsed solution she's made up on the spot and which has the twin benefits of being completely unworkable and not having been run past the people who would actually need to implement it.
Not that it matters what they might have to say, however. The Cow-orker has decided that there's a moral obligation at stake, and that the only solution is to make it someone else's problem immediately whether or not they're equipped to handle it in the first place. Following this, she'll ring me and rave down the phone, approaching borderline hysteria when I won't agree to begin trying to implement her plan, and ramping up the volume in the belief it will make her case more persuasive.
"But they have to do it! We have a moral obligation!" (Which I'm assuming is either her new buzzword, or means that, having convinced someone else that the sky is about to fall, she's then promised she'll take care of things for them without checking first to see whether she actually can).
This is followed by my token effort to convince her that implementing a poorly though-out knee-jerk solution without consulting any of the people expected to deliver it, which has no resources to support it, and which we can be reasonably confident will fail, is likely to upset clients far more than simply explaining to them that we're working on a solution to what's actually a non-critical problem of her own invention.
This option usually ends in dire warnings of imminent catastrophe, the necessity of calling back an equally frantic client or workmate immediately (because they've somehow gotten it into their head that the end is nigh and "are in a blind panic"), and further exhortations to do something immediately even if it doesn't even give the illusion of being remotely useful.
15 February, 2006
Cow-orker: Welcome to the Twilight Zone
The Cow-orker just paid a visit, so I've been treated to a glimpse inside Chez Cow-orker.
The Spouse got somewhat hammered last night. The Cow-orker woke up at 1.30 this morning to find him swaying at the end of the bed, clutching a video camera. When asked what the hell he was doing, his response was that now he was finally going to prove she snored.
The Cow-orker tells him he's an idiot and, morevoer, that he's creeping her out with his video camera antics and is never to do anything like that again. The Spouse objects to being described as creepy, and decides to teach her a lesson by sleeping on the couch. The old, backbreaker couch, that is, with no suspension or upholstery. Yeah, that'll teach her. He grabs a blanket and a pillow and retires to the moral highground where videotaping unsuspecting sleeping women isn't considered the province of serial killers and stalkers.
An hour later the Cow-orker is woken by a crash. The Spouse, having successfully half-crippled himself on the couch, has tried to return to bed but tripped over the blanket in mid-lurch and collapsed in an incoherent heap on the floor. Eventually he makes it to bed.
An hour after that, the Cow-orker is woken again. This time, he's out on the front porch, urinating off into the darkness. His explanation this time is that it was closer than the toilet, which is at the other end of the house. She returns inside, grateful that it's still only 3.30am and that they have a high fence along the front of their yard. It's not until much later that she realises how lucky she was that he was able to negotiate the front door in the first place.
Just another night in the suburbs, really...
The Spouse got somewhat hammered last night. The Cow-orker woke up at 1.30 this morning to find him swaying at the end of the bed, clutching a video camera. When asked what the hell he was doing, his response was that now he was finally going to prove she snored.
The Cow-orker tells him he's an idiot and, morevoer, that he's creeping her out with his video camera antics and is never to do anything like that again. The Spouse objects to being described as creepy, and decides to teach her a lesson by sleeping on the couch. The old, backbreaker couch, that is, with no suspension or upholstery. Yeah, that'll teach her. He grabs a blanket and a pillow and retires to the moral highground where videotaping unsuspecting sleeping women isn't considered the province of serial killers and stalkers.
An hour later the Cow-orker is woken by a crash. The Spouse, having successfully half-crippled himself on the couch, has tried to return to bed but tripped over the blanket in mid-lurch and collapsed in an incoherent heap on the floor. Eventually he makes it to bed.
An hour after that, the Cow-orker is woken again. This time, he's out on the front porch, urinating off into the darkness. His explanation this time is that it was closer than the toilet, which is at the other end of the house. She returns inside, grateful that it's still only 3.30am and that they have a high fence along the front of their yard. It's not until much later that she realises how lucky she was that he was able to negotiate the front door in the first place.
Just another night in the suburbs, really...
12 February, 2006
Rumour and Expectation
Day One:
My contract is renewed for another two months.
Day Two:
The Token Human who replaced the Cow-orker when she left for Marketing hands in his notice. Cat + Pigeons has nothing on what this results in,,,
Day Three:
Word spreads. The feeding frenzy begins.
My contract is renewed for another two months.
Day Two:
The Token Human who replaced the Cow-orker when she left for Marketing hands in his notice. Cat + Pigeons has nothing on what this results in,,,
Day Three:
Word spreads. The feeding frenzy begins.
- the Crazy Man approaches me to see if I want the job. He doesn't seem too surprised when I say "no", and we briefly discuss whether now is the time to look at restructuring that unit;
- the Cow-orker approaches to see if I want to take the job. She's still struggling with the idea that I might not want to come back. I tell her "no", and she asks whether the Crazy Man has sounded me out about taking the job;
- my former manager phones me to warn that I'm likely to be set upon by the Secondary Cow-orker to see if I've been head-hunted (or press-ganged) yet. The Secondary Cow-orker interrogated the token human at length the previous evening to make him spill the beans about what was going to happen with his job, and appears to be trying to piece together the order in which he told people. Apparently this has something to do with her theory of people nominating their successor;
- a former workmate rings up to see if I've been approached to take the job. He only thinks it's funny now because the Primary and Secondary Cow-orkers haven't yet seen fit to confide in him;
- the Secondary Cow-orker finally strikes. Have I been approached yet? What do I intend to do? What do I think "they" are planning?
(She could simply ask management what they plan to do, but that might pose unacceptable limits on the wildness of her speculations. Plus she's probably convinced they'd lie to her, anyway, so she may as well begin asking everyone.else who doesn't know what's happening so they can fuel her imagination); - another former workmate warns me that the Secondary Cow-orker is now quietly going nuts trying to predict what will happen, and inventing scenarios in which she'll be able to win the job that's rightfully hers after being "cheated" of it twice already;
- my former section head approaches my former manager to see if I plan to move back into my old area, and whether anyone's approached me about doing so yet. He seems surprised to learn that I'm not leaping with joy at the prospect of returning to work with the Cow-orker.
(Incidentally, this confirms my suspicions that people didn't believe me last year when I said that I wasn't just leaving because of the money); - the Secondary Cow-orker drops by for another visit to tell me her theories on why the token human is leaving. To the best of my knowledge they all miss the mark by a wide margin. Then she tells me how she'd have been a much better choice for the job in the first place, because after one rough year in the role, he still didn't have the breadth of knowledge that I (or even the Cow-orker) had built up over several years;
- more warnings: the Seconday Cow-orker's mood swings have gotten dramatically worse when some sadist pointed out that I have a family to support and might not have a choice about whether I take the job or not;
- the Cow-orker comes back to see whether I've reconsidered my previous response, and to fish for hints as to whether I've heard anything about what's going to happen. She's busy working herself into a state of terror over the thought of being to look after things alone, even though there's actually zero possibility of that;
- my manager calls again to tell me that the Secondary Cow-orker is behaving like a lunatic, but he hasn't been able to find out what she's been told that set her off.
31 January, 2006
Never work with children or Cow-orkers
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...
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...
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.
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