Hell is Other People - Bus Bitch

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It's winter up here in the Northern hemisphere.  And winter here, unlike the idyllic home of my birth, means dark mornings and dark evenings.  This makes me crabby.  Very, very crabby.

 

Today was my first day back at work after a blissful week off where I rolled out of bed after 11am each day.  It was hard to go to work.  Puppy Girl kept pushing against my legs as I got dressed, jumping up to lick my face and making the very specific "Ngggarrrrr" noise that tells me she loves me.  It broke my heart to close the front door on her and Puppy Dog, looking up at me through the glass pane as I turned away.

 

And so, by 5:30, I was ready to go home.  More than ready.  Ever-bloody-ready.

 

The bus pulled up as I reached the bus stop - one of those gorgeous moments of serendipity.  I found a decent seat, and settled in to catch up on Facebook updates.

 

We were half way home when Bus Bitch joined us.  The bus was about to pull away from a stop when it jerked to a halt, throwing us all backwards in our seats.  

 

The driver opened the doors and, after the "Psssssht!" noise, I thought there must be something wrong with the door mechanism.  That is because all we could hear was "HUHNH! HUHNH! HUHNH! HUHNH!"

 

"Ma'am," yelled the bus driver, "you can't do that."

 

"HUHNH! HUHNH! HUHNH! HUHNH!"

 

"Ma'am, step back on the sidewalk."

 

"HUHNH! HUHNH! HUHNH! HUHNH!"

 

"Ma'am, you mustn't do that.  Stay on the sidewalk and wave at me.  I'll see you.  I'll wait for you.  Don't run into the street like that."

 

"HUHNH! HUHNH! I'm.  HUHNH! Sorry.  HUHNH!"

 

"Ma'am, it's very dangerous.  You gave me a start!"

 

"HUHNH! HUHNH! I'm sorry.  HUHNH! I was.  HUHNH!  Running so.  "HUHNH! HUHNH!  Hard for the. HUHNH! HUHNH!  No. 63 bus and.  "HUHNH! HUHNH! Just missed it.  HUHNH! HUHNH!"

 

"OK, Ma'am.  Get on."

 

"HUHNH! Thank.  HUHNH! HUHNH! You.  HUHNH!"

  

Now there's a part of me who sympathises with the bus driver and gets that public humiliation is one of the few weapons in his arsenal against a litigious public.   But, on the other hand, it's cold, it's dark, and I want to bloody well get home, thank you very much.  Move along, argue later.

 

Finally, the bus driver pulled away from the stop.  The wheezing continued, unabated.

 

I felt slightly better when someone behind me grumbled audibly about the delay caused by Bus Bitch.  I wasn't alone.

 

Now you might think, based on the exchange noted above, that I'm a bit mean to call her Bus Bitch.  

 

Wait.

 

It isn't over yet.

 

A few stops later, Bus Bitch got up to leave and, as she left, decided to take her revenge.  I don't particularly have an issue with someone who plays a bully bus driver at his own game, just do it while the bus is in motion, so you don't delay me.

 

But, no.

 

Bus Bitch stands half way down the steps of the bus exit.

 

"I'm really so sorry," she whined.  

 

"It's fine," the bus driver said.

 

"But I really want to thank you for educating me."

 

"Good night, Ma'am."

 

"No, really.  I appreciate it.  (Pause)  I do.  (Pause)  Thank.  You."

   

She paused again for effect, and then finally got off the bus.

 

I wish I could tell you that I am exaggerating that last bit.  But I'm not.  It really was that childish and Bus Bitch had now managed to delay us all, twice.  

 

Hell is other people.

For more in this series, click here.

 

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Pic - Naughty puppy

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Heh

That's Life - DMV delights



I just had the most amazing experience.

I went to renew my Driver’s license, fully anticipating a rigmarole wrapped in bureaucracy and frosted with frustration.

Instead, the place was practically empty, with my number called while the annoying little ticket was still scrolling out of the machine.

At the counter, a lovely lady asked me where I was from and it was all fun and games from there. 

“I’d love to go to South Africa someday,” she said.

“You’d love it,”  I replied.  “There’s nothing quite like a safari.  It’s amazing.”

“Well, who has time to travel, these days?”

“I know.  You have to wait for retirement.  It’s crazy.  In the UK I got five weeks vacation a year, and that’s just standard.  Two weeks drives me nuts.”

“Well, I have more than two weeks, because I’ve worked here 15 years.”

“Wow,” I said, thinking that I would have committed Hare Kiri by now.

“I’ve been to Australia.  We were away 6 weeks.”

“Wow.  I’ve always wanted to go there.  But, then again, of all the countries in the world, Australia has the most things that want to kill you.  I mean, South Africa is bad with some snakes and stuff, but Australia’s bugs and reptiles are really scary.  I wouldn’t hike there.”

“Well, I’m not the hiking type—“

“Me neither!”

“—but they do tell you to get all your driving done during the day.  The people who drive trucks – or lorries as you call them – they have these special things on the front.  They look like this – ” Up to this point she had been working on the computer while she talked, but now she started drawing on a piece of paper.  At this point I got a little nervous, thinking the dodgy guy with the baggy jeans and the baseball cap pulled down over his eyes who was still waiting his turn might not appreciate this lady chatting with me. 

“—and they are to knock the kangaroos away.  The kangaroos are attracted by the headlights and run at the cars.  So if you have a normal car without those things, there can be a lot of damage.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.  But you know, we didn’t have problems with bugs or anything.  We saw all the animals in nature reserves.  That’s where you have to go.  We saw kangaroo and platypus and koalas…”  Thankfully, she turned back to the computer screen and started typing again.

“Oh, I’d love that!”

“Yeah.  It’s really interesting.  The koalas were in this deep area with the trees coming up to our level and down on the floor I saw these bowls of kibble and I was thinking ‘What’s that for?’  They have guard dogs.  It’s to stop people reaching over an grabbing a koala and stealing it.”

“What?”

“Yes.  Because you have to go really deep into the wild to find a koala yourself, and they are kinda cute and dopey cos of the menthol stuff they eat.  So people try to steal them.”

“Aw.  I’ve always wanted to hold a koala.”

 “Oh, honey.  Just go home and get some eucalyptus oil and hold that.  Because that’s what koala’s smell of.  OK.   Here’s your receipt.  Head down that way, and they’ll call your name.”

To read more in this series, click here.

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9 to 5 - Bossisms 1

  

 

My boss' boss is a character, and has a great way of observing and commenting on the ridiculous nature of the corporate workplace. We call his sayings "Bossisms."

 

On people in other teams who overcomplicate simple tasks:

 

"They're trying to pole vault a mouse turd here."

 

On a colleague who was trying valiantly to make the best of a bad thing:

 

"Now you're trying to put a marshmallow on a mouseturd and tell me it's rocky road."

 

Following an HR-violation comment which had conjured the idea of a somewhat rotund colleague in the nude:

 

 "Don't you wish your mind's eye had an eyelid?"

For more in this series, click here.

 

Being a Doggy Mama - Beeeeeg steeeeeck

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Puppy Girl has a new hobby and, with winter setting in, she's getting ample opportunity to indulge it.  

 

She's become a Big Stick Chick.

 

When we're out walking, she somehow manages to find - every time - a big, spindly branch that has fallen prey to pruning or temperature change.  Tail almost at 90 degrees to her back (a.k.a Joy Tail), she grabs the stick in her teeth, gnawing on it, open-mouthed, as if testing the bouquet of a prize Merlot.  

 

It's all happy-happy-joy-joy... until she tries to move.

 

Then the ends of the branch, the little branchlets coming off it, start to snag on the ground.

 

She tries to walk sideways, find a way to keep up with us, now waiting for a few steps forward on the sidewalk.  The little branchlets scrape the pavement slabs.   

 

She keeps pulling, trying to walk at different angles to make progress in a generally forward direction.  Somehow, she ends up with the branchlets dragging under her, now scritching her tummy.  She looks like she has an alien extension.

 

Not to be daunted, she adjusts the thickest part of the stick in her mouth.  

 

CRACK!

 

The branchlets spit off.

 

She's free!

 

She tries to gambol foward, to join us, still waiting for her.  Her brother is invariably sniffing something, oblivious to the canine Harold Lloyd homage in progress.  The stick, now free from it's spindly arm which rested on the ground, can swing from side to side.  Each step which Puppy Girl takes proves Newton's 3rd law and she tries desperately to balance the branch, which touches down, first on the right of her and then on the left.

 

By this time our giggling has grown into guffawing.

 

She moves her head to one side, biting down to try to tame the pendulum.  Tip.  Bite.  Tip.  Bite.

 

Finally - blissfully, the stick is bitten in two again, and she is now left with a somewhat manageable chunk.  And the tail waves higher, and the paws prance higher, and she's by our side again, ready to find her way back home.

  

 

To read more in this series, click here.

 

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He Said She Said - Poinsettia

They were in the hardware store. It was a quick stop, to get light bulbs.

"Ooh!" she said. "Look! Christmas crap!"
"Honey, it's November. We don't need this stuff yet."
"Aw, come on! Don't you want the 6 foot blow up Santa and Rudolph on the beach?"
"Honey, the light bulbs are back there, just keep walking..."
"No. You go get the light bulbs. I just want to look at a few things."
"Honey! We have tons of Christmas stuff in the attic! We don't need anything! Weren't you telling me we need to declutter?"
"Nice try. I tell you what. The sooner you go get the light bulbs, the sooner you come back, the sooner we have to leave and I have to stop shopping."
"As if you'll leave when I'm done!"
"Honey, seriously. I'm just looking. It's OK. You can go."
"OK, see you back here in five minutes."
"OK."
"FIVE minutes!"
"Oh-kaaaaaay!"

When they met again, she was carrying two rolls of wrapping paper and a poinsettia. They fell into step beside each other, heading towards the cash registers.

"I see you've bought something to kill," he said.
"Oh VERY funny!" she snapped back. "I KNEW you were going to say that! I was going to count the seconds till you did."
"Honey, if we're going to play Dead Pool, we should do it for the plant."

To read more in this series, click here.

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Divided by a Common Language - Scrooge-o-ween

 

It's that time of year again.  The time when what was once a pagan festival, then a sweet neighborhood tradition, rears it's ugly, commercialized head.

Yes, that's right.  I mean Halloween.

How can I not love Halloween?

Well, firstly, I'm not American.  We didn't have Halloween when I was growing up in South Africa, and so I have no nostalgia about this event at all.  I see it for what it is, not what it once was.  

Second, those of you who know me will know that I am not that into children.  Beef has more flavor, lamb is juicer, chicken is lower calorie and pork makes better crackling. 

Last but not least, I have dogs.  Energetic, loud dogs who take it upon themselves to defend the den.  Brats knocking on my door for three hours stresses them out more than the fireworks on the 4th of July.

And I'm not the only one who feels this way.

On my last minute run to Safeway to get supplies, I saw a guy filling up his trolley with a lot of candy.  A woman next to him, waiting to reach over and grab a bag of sugary toothrot, made some joke about how much he was buying.

"Do you live around here?" he asked her, shoving more bags on the pile.

"Yes," she replied, "but I'm in an apartment block, so we don't get many trick or treaters."

"Well," he said, "last year I just stood at the door, from 5pm to 9pm handing out candy... (he started making a repetitive throwing gesture with his right hand)... We handed out $300 worth of the stuff."

"Three hundred dollars?" she gasped.

"Yeah," he sighed.  "I live on ______ street between ____ and ______.  They just keep coming."

"I hear ya," said an older gentleman, who'd joined our impromtu chat circle.  "It's like that around here."

"Do you think it'll rain tomorrow?" I asked, hopefully.

"Nope," said the older man ruefully.  "They say it'll be dry."  

And we all reached for more colorful corn syrup pebbles.

And that conversation pretty much summed it all up.  This is real pain for adults.  Oh sure, there are fun parties where you get to dress up and be silly, but the actual day?  Pain.  In.  The.  Arse.

I felt, after the chat broke up, completely vindicated in my Scrooge-o-ween plan.

And so I have put up my defences in readiness for tomorrow's suburban urchin assault.

Defence No. 1 - Crap decorations

I didn't bother to photograph them, because they are so bad.  There's one skeleton hanging on the wall by the door.  That's it.

Defence No. 2 - Crap candy

Defence No. 3 - Table 15 feet from the front door

Defence No. 4 - Lots of half-filled receptacles to put on the table

This way, it'll look like I bought a lot of candy, but other kids got to it first.

Defence No. 5 - Fire

Trying jumping over my 100 (I'm not kidding - not all are pictured) tealights to get to my front door, and that cheapass Chinese-sweatshop costume you're wearing is going to light you up like friggin' firework, brat.

To read more in this series, click here.

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Health is Wealth - Certification Determination

 

I had to call my health insurance company this week.  

It took me two minutes and forty seconds to get through the automated system and get to a live person.  Trust me, when you have an accent, automated switchboards do not like you.

Example:

"Operator"

"I think you said.  Coverage and.  Benefits.  Is that.  Correct?"

"No."

"I'm.  Sorry let's.  Try that again.  Please choose from the.  Following fifty.  Three.  Options billing.  Find a.  Practit--"

"Operator.  Operator!  OPERATOR!"

So, anyway...

I finally get to talk to a real, live human being.

 "Hello this is ____.  How can I help you today?"

"Hi ______.  I need to find out what some treatments will cost me.  I went for a regular check up this week and the Nurse Practitioner advised me to get an MRI and go for genetic counselling.  I want to find out how much those will cost me."

"Do you have the Procedure Codes?"

"The what?"

"The Procedure Codes.  We need to know why these procedures have to be done.  So if you could call and get the Procedure Codes, then call us back and---"

"Hang on.  Isn't there some way that we can do this more efficiently?  Is there any way that the Clinic can give the codes to you through an automated system?"

"Well, they can get a Predetermination of Benefits."

"A what?"

"They can call us and get a Predetermination of Benefits."

"OK..."

"Well, actually, you can get them to do a Precertifiction of Benefits and then wait till they've done that and then wait till we've reviewed and approved it and then call us back and ask for the costs and just tell the operator that you speak to that there's a Precert so that they can look up the Procedure Codes."

"OK so let me see if I get this.  I have to call them, and tell them to contact you to get a Precertification of Benefits.  Then I wait till they do that.  Then I wait till you approve it.  Then I call you and ask for the costs."

"Yes."

"And how long will it take them to get the request to you?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know that."

"And how long will it take you to review and approve?"

"Well, I can't guarantee that it will be approved, but review usually takes 7 to 10 days from receipt."

As always when dealing with the American health"care" system, I was getting really, really pissed off.

It wasn't his fault.  He's a phone operator.  I get that.  But I decided to make myself feel better at his expense, anyway.

"Well, let's hope nothing grows too much in the meantime."

"Yes, Ma'am.  Is there anything else I can help you with today?"

"Well, you could pray for me."

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Divided by a Common Language - Why the USA needs the World Cup

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Rugby World Cup is currently being hotly contested in New Zealand.

 

Last night, South Africa's Springboks were eliminated from the competition in an amazing match against Australia's Wallabies.  

 

I am thus somewhat depressed today, and feeling that we were robbed.  If you look at all the stats, it was South Africa's game:

 

Australia forced to make 147 tackles, South Africa 53

South Africa had 84% of territory

South Africa had 55% of possession of the ball

 

South Africa were the better team all the way through the match.  But that doesn't matter, because the final score was Australia 11, South Africa 9.

 

Fluffy Bear is also pissed that South Africa lost, because England went out of the competition last weekend and so he switched his support over to my team.

 

We had a great time watching the rugby.  Because New Zealand is West of us, the games were at 10pm our time.  Our friends came round, we all wore our South African rugby jerseys, we made nachos and sausage rolls and, of course, there was gallons of beer.

 

We yelled, we cheered, we jumped up out of our seats.  We tweeted and Facebooked with South African friends and family back home, in Belgium, in the MidWest, in the UK.  And, when we lost, we held our heads in our hands and then spent half an hour bitching about the referee, who had overlooked several infringements by Australia, and disallowed a try (like a touchdown) that we felt should have been allowed.  

 

But then we got over it, and started talking about who we should support for the rest of the tournament, switching gears to yell for Argentina in the next game.

 

And that's when it hit me.

 

American's don't have this.

 

There is NO sport that unites the USA as a nation.  Every day, in small ways - laws, politics, eductation system - I am reminded that the place I currently call home isn't a country.  It isn't a nation.  It is the United States.  A bunch of places - large enough to be countries in the their own right (even the little ones are comparable to places like Luxembourg) - that have chosen, in some areas, to cooperate with each other.  In some areas.  That is all.

 

In fact, you could argue that nothing unites the USA as a nation.  

 

But wait, war unites a nation, right?  Hmmm, not in this case.  The current wars being waged by the US are so far away, and based on such questionable justifications, that many US citizens do not support them.  The US has never waged a war on it's own soil, like France, Germany, etc. and so has never been united against a common threat on the home front.

 

What about cultural unity.  Sure, the US has that to some degree, but the diverse ancestry of the citizenry is another thing that ensures there is a lack of unified identity.  While there may be regional differences, an extra thousand years of history have allowed England or Germany or Italy to develop a strong culture.  We all know - even if we cannot describe it in ten words or less - what it is to be Italian or French or even Swiss.  But what is it to be American?  This is something that is still, in some ways, being formed.

  

I think that the USA could really benefit from getting behind their national teams in worldwide competitions.  You have the Olympics, of course, but they are not a team sport, really, and they are so diverse that we aren't really united behind them, all watching at the same time on the same day and cheering for our team.

 

There are so many things that really supporting your teams in the the rugby or football (the original) world cups would give you:

 

• The opportunity to really unite as a nation.  Flags fly, strangers gather in pubs to watch the sport and make friends over it.  Everyone is discussing the same thing, even if they are expats dispersed all over the world
• The opportunity to face, and have to accept, defeat 
• The opportunity to learn that you may lose even if you shouldn't have, and that life is not fair
• The opportunity to understand the multiplicity of things.  Do you support the team of the country you live in or that your parents come from?  Once your team is knocked out, which other team should you support?

And, most of all, you get to experience all of this in the arena of sport, which is fun and good natured,

The USA needs to get behind their rugby and soccer teams and join with the rest of us in embracing world cup fever.  

You won't regret it.

To read more in this series, click here.

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Work-Life Imbalance - Logging on

 

 

 

 

 

Ever picked up the phone at home and dialled 9 for an outside line? Your work life has crept into your subconscious and you have a work-life imbalance. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was a normal morning.  

 

The bus - thank God - was uneventful.  No overly loud conversations, nobody smelling of the previous night's indulgence.

 

I made it into the office in good time, said hello to my the colleagues I passed on my row, got to my cube and put my purse down.  I took off my coat, hung it up, pulled my chair forward and sat down.

 

Right, first things first.  Log on, then go and get water.

 

I moved my mouse around.

 

Nothing.

 

I hit the Enter key a few times.

 

Nothing.

 

Hmmmm...

 

I reached over and hit the button on my monitor.  Sometimes I remembered to switch it off and be environmentally responsible. 

 

Nothing.

 

I pressed it again.

 

What the---?

 

Goddammit!  The last thing I wanted to do was have to call the Helpdesk.

 

Wait.  I was confident I could figure this out.

 

Just sit still.  Think.  Look.

 

And then I got it.

 

I had worked from home on Friday.  I'd forgotten to bring my laptop back to the office with me.  There was no computer to switch on!

 

Sigh!  

 

Work-life imbalance.

 

 

To read more in this series, click here. 

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He Said She Said - No and No

"So did you finish watching the Sandwich King's first show?"

"Yeah. He was pretty good."

"Did you like that thing with dipping the sandwich in the jus?"

"No."

"Hey, that reminds me. We need to take garlic bread to the dinner on Saturday."

"Do you want to make it or buy it?"

"I don't know. We could... Wait."

"What?"

"Did you say no because you really think no, or because you think I *want* you to think no?"

"Eh?"

"The sandwich. Dipping in the jus.  'No' no or just I-don't-want-you-to-know-I-like-and-eat-bad-food 'No'?"

"It's a 'No' no."

"Oh, OK."

"Honey?"

"Yes?"

"You really are a little bit silly sometimes."

"Make."

"Eh?"

"Bread. Make."

"K."

To read more in this series, click here.

He Said She Said - Dreaming

 

"Good morning," he yawned, stretching.
"Hi Honey," she said. "How are you?"
"Still waking up," he mumbled.
"Did you sleep OK?"
"Hmmmm... I had weird dreams..."
"What about?"
"We were renovating this big house. Really big. And I was working for a newspaper and my office was in the attic."
"Sounds like it was all about creative projects. Did you recognize the house?"
"Um... No... I don't think so..."
"Was it the one two blocks down with the massive wraparound porch?"
"No."
"Was it the gray one that needs a lot of work but has a massive yard?"
"No."
"Was it the brick one on the way to the gym with the deck?"
"I don't think it was any house we know."
"Honey!" she chided, jerking him fully awake.
"What us the point of dreaming about any house that isn't one of the ones I want?"
"Very funny," he said, turning and walking to the kitchen. "I need coffee now."

To read more in this series, click here.

He Said She Said - Spiderman

"Aaaaargh!" she shrieked.
"What? WHAT?" he panicked, braking and looking around frantically.
"SPIDER! ON! LEG!"
"Whew!" he sighed, accelerating again. "Don't DO that when I'm driving!"
"Get on there..." she mumbled, teeth gritted, at the spider while she tried to steer it onto her work folder.
"Yes... Come on... OK... Now open the window... NO! Don't crawl back at me! Out! Out! OUT!". She flapped at the folder, takes it back into the window and started winding the window up.
"NO!"
"What? What now?"
"It's back in! It's in my sleeve!" she yelled, squirming frantically to pull her coat off.
"Oh, come on!" he spat, exasperated, slowing down again. "Do you want me to pull over?"
"No, I-- Wait. It's on my leg! Thank God!"
She reached for her folder and started the arachnid herding again. She balanced the folder and hit the window button. But, this time, she swept her hand back and forth on the leather and banged the folder hard on the door frame.
As she wound the window up again, they both breathed a sigh of relief.
"Little bugger!" she hissed. "In that second that he was out of the window, he stuck a silk thingy down and he held on while the wind buffeted him and then he swung himself back into the car!"
"Of course it did! Haven't you seen the Spiderman movie?"

To read more in this series, click here.

That's life - Antidepressants

 

Hello friends!

Today we are going to talk about... ANTIDEPRESSANTS!

Hands up everybody who's on antidepressants!

Aw, now, come on!  We all know there are more of you than that.  But I forgive those of you who can't be bothered to hold up your hand because it takes... so... much.... effort!

Antidepressants.

A better life through chemicals!

But, as well all know, chemicals aren't sweet, little, organic pods of happiness.  They come at a price.

No.  Not just the astro-frickin'-nomical price you pay because your pissant insurance won't cover anything except the generic that doesn't work for you.  I mean the ultimate price. 

[Insert Beatles here]

Rolll up!  Roll up for the side effects tour!  Roll up!  Roll up for the side effects tour!

Side effect no. 1

This is going to be common to many of you.  

What can it be? 

[Insert high pitched voice here]

Come here my lil fatty-fat-fat!  Who's ma fatty?  Who's ma fatty-fatty?  On my hip!  Yes!  My hip!  Goooooood fatty-fat-fat!  Gooooooood fatty!

Where's the next one?  Wherezit?  There you are!  Come here my lil blubba-wabba-wabba.  On ma tummy!  On my tummy!  Yes!

Let's all nestle together while I move from side to side and feel the new softness, circumference, flabbiness and general muffin topness of being so FAT.

Side effect no. 2

Wow, he's a good looking guy.  

You know, once upon a time I might've had sex with him.  

Sex.  

Wait.  I'm gonna have to think back...

What felt good?  Yeah, there was that.  Oh, and that.

But [insert sigh here] it takes so much energy.  Rolling around, trying to get buttons undone, zippers down.  They can never get your bra unhooked.

Sigh.  

Never mind...

I prefer to just look at him.  Like a painting.

Side effect no. 3

Back and forth, to and fro, the wind rushing through my hair... MOOD SWINGS.

 "Hi!  How can I help?"

[Bzzz bzzz bzzz - the teacher from Charlie Brown]

"Well sure!  I can do that!"

[Bzzz bzzz bzzz]

"OK, I'm on it!  Excuse me just one teeny tiny second - I gotta go to the restroom..."

[Footsteps, squeak of door opening and closing, click of restroom stall door being locked.]

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!  I HATE THESE PEOPLE!  THAT GUY IS SUCH AN ARSEHOLE!  IN THE TIME HE EXPLAINED THE TASK TO ME HE COULD.  HAVE.  DONE.  IT.  HIMSELF!  WHAT IS HIS FUCKING PROBLEM?"

Side effect no. 4

Waterworks.  Drizzle wizzle.  Blubbering.  Sniveling.

Call it what you will.  It happens.  All.  The.  Time.  

Omigod not that ASPCA ad.  Who could do that to a dog? WAAAAAAAAAH!

Quick!  Change channels!

The news... let's see what happened today.  Oh my God!  Another flood!  Oh that is so terrible!  Look at that house... those poor people! WAAAAAAH!

[Click!]

Aw look at that little baby!  I don't even like kids but look at how cute!  WAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

[Click!]

Oh, thank God.  Spin City reruns.  Comedy...  But this reminds me of poor Michael J. Fox.  Parkinsons.  Such a terrible disease.  So unfair.  So talented.  WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Side effect no. 5

This one is a side effect for us but, sadly, mostly experienced by others.

Grumpiness.

Honey, are you a little grumpy?  I think you are... Your blood sugar might be a little low.  Have you eaten today?

You weren't hungry?  Well, Honey, you gotta eat.  

Here.  Have some dinner.  

What?  That's the serving, Honey.  56 grams of pasta.

Well I didn't cook any more.  

No, you can't have mine!  Honey!  Stop it!  Stop it!

OW!  OK!  I'll have the left over pad thai!

Ah, antidepressants.  

The pills we take to achieve balance, to be able to function, to find a modicum of calm, control and - dare I say it? - happiness in our lives.

But the journey to that place, my friends, is a winding, treacherous, Stephen-King-cornfield-dissecting road that is filled with speed bumps that shake your car so hard you think it's going to come apart.  Sometimes you're in a Ferrari, and sometimes you're on a unicycle with a flat tyre. 

Keep on truckin'.

To read more in this series, click here.

Hell is Other People - Chocolate Teapot

There's an English saying: About as useful as a chocolate teapot.

I love that saying. Or similie. Or whatever it is. I love it not only because it is so descriptive, visual and humorous, but also because it involves the thought of melting chocolate.

Chocolate teapots abound in the corporate world, and I had a run in with one today. Well, I say "run in"... It was more like a passive aggressive IM and email exchange.

I am developing requirements for an interactive web survey. The questions need to branch so that, depending on your answer to question 1, you might get directed to question 2, or you might skip to question 3. I know you know the kind if thing I mean. This isn't rocket science.

But, as I designed the questions, things started to get more complicated. Could you skip from question 2 to question 5 or question 6 based on the combination of your answers to question 1 AND question 2?

Also, does taking a fork to the in the road mean you can never end up on the same street as someone who took a fork to the right in the road? Could you go down a path that gets you to question 13, but also down a different path that also needs you to answer question 13, or do there need to be two versions of question 13?

I IM a colleague for help. This is the person who supports the application we will be using, the person who'll be building the solution. He's busy, he says, can I email him my question and he'll get back to me tomorrow.

No problem, I say.

I then spend 20 minutes trying to craft my question in an email. As you can see from my warbling above, it's the kind of thing better discussed verbally than written down.

I get a reply today, cc'd to his manager and 2 of his team mates, which starts with a list of links including Wikipedia information on business process mapping, links to requirements guidance, etc. The body of his email explains to me why one should spend time in requirements and analysis and design on a project, and lists the documents he suggests I submit for his team to work on my survey website.

I should point out here that I have had 3 meetings with his team and that they have received process flows, user stories, project background and solution landscape.  They also have links to where all the documents ate stored on our SharePoint, so they can access up to date versions of all of them.

I had made it clear in my email that I was asking a specific question so I could put the survey questions in the right order. As anyone who has designed a survey will yell you, question order is key to a clear and effective user experience.

So basically it's as if you walked up to the cosmetics counter and asked if using both the exfoliant and mask in one week is too much for your sensitive skin, and the esthetician then lectures you on how diet and not smoking is important for a healthy complexion. And she talks really loudly so everyone around you in the store can hear her.

So I sent this guy the balloon joke:

A man is flying in a hot air balloon and realises he is lost.  He reduces height and spots a man down below.

He lowers the balloon further and shouts: 

"Excuse me, can you tell me where I am?" 

The man below says: "Yes! You're in a hot air balloon, hovering 30 feet above this field." 

"You must work in Information Technology" says the balloonist. 

"I do" replies the man. "How did you know?" 

"Well" says the balloonist, "everything you have told me is technically correct, but it's no bloody use to anyone." 

The man below says "You must work in business." 

"I do" replies the balloonist, "but how did you know?" 

"Well", says the man, "you don't know where the hell you are, or where the hell you're going, but you expect me to be able to help. You're in the same position you were before we met, but now it's my fault." 

He deserved it.

Hell is other people.

To read more in this series, click here.

Hell is other people - Tourist hater

There's a tourist tour in Seattle called The Duck. It's an amphibious vehicle which rumbles around the sights of the city then splooshes ungainfully into the lake to give riders a view of treasures such as the houseboat from When Harry Met Sally.

The tour has a certain charm. Its schtick is to play loud music and have the drivers change from one ludicrous hat to another and tell silly jokes between spouting random facts about the surroundings. The Duck is an open vehicle so you can hear the drivers clearly as it rumbles by, encouraging their charges to look to the left or raise their arms as YMCA blares forth.

A few weeks ago I was downtown waiting for the bus when I heard the telltale baddoom baddoom of the Duck's music keeping time with a similar noise from it's engine. Then, right next to me, a teenage boy starts pulling zap signs at the tourists and yelling at them to fuck off out of his city. The tourists were looking over at him as if he was mildly insane.

"What are you doing?" I asked him.

"They should FUCK OFF!" he yelled, gesturing at them again.

"Why? They're tourists. They're guests in our city."

"I don't want them here! FUCK OFF!" he yelled again.

"They bring money and jobs to Seattle," I tried to explain. "You need to understand the interconnectedness of things."

"I have a job! I don't need them!"

"What about just having good manners?" I said, trying another tack. "They're our guests."

"I don't care! FUCK OFF!" he gestured at them again.

I gave up, in classic passive aggressive style:  "Well, we'll have to agree to disagree," I said, wishing the damn traffic lights would change so the Duck could get away from this vile child.

I was really annoyed and embarrassed and was considering shouting some kind of apology, on behalf of the city of Seattle, to the tourists.

But the vile child started yelling again.

And that's when an African American woman walked over, positioned herself between the vile child and his line of sight to the Duck and shut him up with "WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?"

It was classic.

The boy went slinking off. But he'll probably do it again another day, little shit that he is.

Because hell is other people.

To read more in this series, click here.

I'm jus' sayin' - Dance fever

 

 

 

  

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Even as a pre-teen, I knew, when I watched music videos, that they were edited.  Snipped and spliced so that the band members dancing only ever looked uberkewl.

All the inbetween parts, where they looked like idiots, where the sweat drop fell off the end of their noise, or the wardrobe malfunctioned, ended up on the cutting room floor.

 

Now, whenever I dance, I think: "Damn! I wish there was somebody who could edit me!"

 

To read more in this series, click here.

 

 

Being a Doggy Mama - Ball fight!

 

We took the doggies to the dog park yesterday.  Puppy Dog is still recovering from his FCE injury and is now at the stage where he can benefit from swimming on his own.

Puppy Dog has a bad habit of taking other dogs' tennis balls.  Lots of dogs do this, but Puppy Dog doesn't give them back, which can lead to some unpleasant encounters.

I am always amazed at how protective people in a dog park are over their tennis balls.  I mean, who cares?  

It's a tennis ball.  

If it's so goddamn precious to you, why'd you bring it to a public place?  Keep your gem-encrusted, 24 carat gold sphere at home.

I've written about this before, more than once.  So I won't bore you with it again.  So, why am I writing about it again.  What was different this time?

Bear with me...

Mr Fatty throws ball into water.  His dog doesn't go after it.  Puppy Dog does.  We call him out of the water.  We try to get the ball from him.  His jaws clamp down.  He pants hard.  He won't let go.  We offer Mr Fatty a ball nearby.  He declines, because "that isn't my ball."  So far, the story is the same as always.  

I finally give the owner our ball, which is way better quality that his.  He inspects it first, then grudingly accepts.  We walk away, annoyed, but not wanting to behave like the arseholes we detest.  

Puppy Dog is still panting, chewing the ball, salivating.

But here's the twist.

After a few minutes Puppy Dog drops the ball, and we get the attention of Mr Fatty, trying to do the right thing and give it back to him.  Mr Fatty walks over.  But then, Mr Bignose steps in, saying the now free ball belongs to his dog.

Mr Fatty and Mr Bignose proceed to have an argument over who owns the extra-special-preciousssssss red and blue tennis ball.

Voices are raised, shoulders are squared, hips are thrust forward.  The last ten minutes of our planet's history, pertaining specifically to the 5 square feet around us, are retold by them in turn, each in the firm belief that they are the source of the absolute truth.  They address each other, with dripping sarcasm, as "Sir."

I look at Fluffy Bear.

He looks at me.

In one tiny glance, which takes a milisecond, we both agree, silently, on the utter stupidity of the situation. 

We walk away, leaving two grown men posturing over a cheap commodity on a sunny Saturday morning. 

"None of this would have happened," snorts Fluffy Bear, "if that stupid guy had taught his dog to actually retrieve!"

To read more in the Being a Doggy Mama series, click here.

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Memory Lane - Srebrenica

 

Today is the anniversary of the Srebrenica massacre, the worst war atrocity in Europe since World War II.

An estimated 8,000 Bosnian Muslim men and boys were murdered during the Bosnian War.

Hearing this on the BBC News today took me back to a sad glimpse I had into the ravages of this war.  We think of war as a mass of bangs and crashes.  Hollywood shows us valiant soldiers armed with top flight technological weaponry, generals strategizing, heroes triumphing against all odds.

But that isn't how the average person experiences war.  I learnt this in 1997.

I was between jobs, and took a secretarial gig at a law firm.  The firm specialized in helping people seeking political asylum.

Every day I had to type up the statements of young men sent by the families, at great risk and expense, to England.  The statements were dictated by the lawyer, after meeting with these boys and a translator.

They were always boys - because it was young men that were the key targets of the ethnic cleansing.

They'd sit in the reception area waiting for their appointments, confused, pale, scared.  I felt like hugging them.

And then, an hour or so later, I'd hear their stories.  They were all strikingly similar.

They'd tell of how thing deteriorated slowly in their country.  They took part in a march and were teargassed or caught by Police and beaten, but still believed they could change things politically.  

Then, one day, men would come to their house and say that they had to take the men in for questioning.  The father of the house and any boys in their teenage years or older would be taken away.  They'd be interrogated, asked where they were hiding guns, and beaten, for days.

When they got home, the parents would hear that this had happened to other families and that the next thing that would happen was that the men would come again, and say that the males in the household had to come and join the cause.

They never returned.

And so the families somehow found coyotes and gathered all the money the could to smuggle the young men in the household out of the country.

What struck me about this was how insidious it all was.  Things start to change in your country, a tide starts to rise.  But you think that it's just politics, you protest, you organize a march.  But it gets worse, in little ways, and people start to disappear.  

At what point do you realize that you are in real danger?  At what point does the man who was your neighbor or customer or bus driver become the man who comes to "arrest" your son?

Hollywood likes to make it seem that things are cut and dried.  War is contained in a "theatre" and we know who our enemies are.  But real life isn't like that.

Day after day, no matter how many I typed, I cried as I transcribed those statements.

Always baffling and incomprehensible, man's inhumanity to man.

To read more in this series, click here.

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