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Wednesday:
Apparently I never arrive anywhere, I just sort of ... appear. This according to Madam Standards, who was discussing my trick of doing this with the Party Commandant. (I really have to figure out a name for her that sticks.) I sort of appeared at the morning meeting yesterday (I'd come up via the elevator from the parking lot level, instead of walking down the path) and I was already in the auditorium because I'd arrived an hour before.
( Read more... )
The Nervous Dev continued checking in items; I continued with my keen and slightly less caffeinated QA, and dealt with other inbox items between times. Then I prepared the briefing packet for 2nd Thursday.
Eventually I was just sore and feeling sort of weepy, so stomped over to Purple's office with an "obscenely large" (my manager's phrasing) blowpop. ( Sex jokes and boundaries. )
Then I went home and eventually got sleep.
Thursday:
It was a 2nd Thursday! I woke up before my alarm and got going, noting in passing that Tuesday's general wrath and Wednesday's woe were explained by the sudden #bloodcannon.
Even with the refueling and packing for the picnic, I was at work very early. I could have used more sleep, but trying for it would have thrown a disproportionate delay into the commute, and that would have been bad. But! I had the comfy chair! So I curled up and tried for a nap in my cube. I realized shortly that I would have to prop my feet on my desk chair in order to actually rest. So I did that, and woke up a half-hour later, feeling refreshed enough that the cup of coffee was optional and ultimately small.
The meeting was sparsely attended but went smoothly, after the guy on the other end of the phone called back for a better connection (yay).
I wrestled with syncing the pages off the pen. I'm taking this as a warning sign of some sort. By the time I got them off, it was just about time to leave for the picnic, but things were already wacky even before we left.
One of the guys had brought a football, and they were tossing it about in our beautiful just-us-chickens lobby area. Designer Bro had Researcher Carmageddon throw the football so he could throw himself down on the seats while diving and catching it.
Me, to various in IM: If they break any of my bottles of syrup, I'm going to pour the rest over their heads and send them to the showers.
The Randomizer walked up while all this was going on, and declared that we needed scooters to properly take advantage of our lovely long and clear hallway.
"Skateboard jousting!" I called from my corner.
"Yes!" he said.
Then we all started heading off to the picnic. I got one of the last good parking spaces. I had a bag of gear, including a towel, some bubbles, a squirt gun, and of course my hat.
"Not THE Hat?" Purple asked later.
I knew, of course, what he meant by "THE Hat". It wasn't that hat. I explained: for those who have not been introduced to the definitive hat, there are three other candidates. One is my venerable Purple Hat, by which I was known in high school. One is my Pride Hat, which looks like an Easter bonnet collided with a Pride parade. The third -- well.
The base is a screaming fuchsia straw hat. Then I Happened to it, armed with a trip to the dollar store and a hot glue gun. There are any number of very vivid, mostly tropical, flowers. There are ribbons. There are test-tube style neon plastic shot glasses. There are little umbrellas. There is a pair of sunglasses shaped like margarita glasses. There is, incredibly, a drink container shaped like a pineapple or palm tree (it's not quite clear which), to which I attached a pinwheel. The effect is aggressively festive.
Reactions were mixed between horror and delighted hilarity. To my delight, one of my uncle-managers declared that it was almost worthy of Carmen Miranda. I received compliments from complete strangers. The most common question: "Did you make that yourself?" Purple pointed out that if I hadn't made that myself, that would mean that such things were available for purchase somewhere out there. I didn't think at the time to point out places like Etsy.
I laid out my towel on the lawn, setting down my bag of gear. Designer Bro found the supersoaker. Designer Bro filled it up. He declared team amnesty -- and then caught sight of Researcher Carmageddon. "Except for Researcher Carmageddon," he amended, as Researcher Carmageddon spluttered damply. Researcher Sweatervest was next underfire water.
I sat on my towel and waved my bubble wand. One of the interns joined me for a bit. Madam Standards showed up and declared that again I'd managed to just appear rather than arrive, and made sure that I was properly sprayed down with sunscreen. #whofishmumsthefishmum #fishmummingtheunfishmummable
Lunch was late, but tasty.
There was a game involving not talking shop, with little ribbon and card necklaces which you had to surrender to the person who asked for them if you said one of the forbidden words. Designer Sparkles, who is hella competitive, declared that she wasn't playing. Most of the team promptly donated their necklaces to her. Word got around, and soon a very large number of people did likewise.
There were prizes for various things. The no-shop-talk game was one of them; Designer Sparkles was in the top 3. I believe she and someone else tied for first place, but I could be wrong; there was a difference of 4 necklaces between first and second place, and one was a tie.
I won the prize for best hat. There had not even been a contest for best hat until I had walked in and won it. The prize I picked was a picnic/beach blanket.
Mr. Zune was there, as he is an organizational second cousin and therefore in this department, and we talked about the logistics of having Shirley Temples at work. (I have pomegranate syrup, and we discussed how to keep the cherries -- I said that it would have to be in the condiment shelf of the milk fridge, and accept that it would be shared.) I had been the first to ask for a Shirley Temple at the bar -- it was within an hour of leaving time, and I wanted something fun but safe. The bartender had been waiting for someone to ask. :D
I'd lost track of how I'd gotten to know Mr. Zune, except of course work IRC, but he was able to fill in -- he'd known![[twitter.com profile]](https://p.dreamwidth.org/e0caa790ec10/-/twitter.com/favicon.ico)
xlerb first, and had thus been introduced to the rest of the #cupcake crew.
I threw myself into the transcription when I got back.( Read more... )
Apparently I never arrive anywhere, I just sort of ... appear. This according to Madam Standards, who was discussing my trick of doing this with the Party Commandant. (I really have to figure out a name for her that sticks.) I sort of appeared at the morning meeting yesterday (I'd come up via the elevator from the parking lot level, instead of walking down the path) and I was already in the auditorium because I'd arrived an hour before.
( Read more... )
The Nervous Dev continued checking in items; I continued with my keen and slightly less caffeinated QA, and dealt with other inbox items between times. Then I prepared the briefing packet for 2nd Thursday.
Eventually I was just sore and feeling sort of weepy, so stomped over to Purple's office with an "obscenely large" (my manager's phrasing) blowpop. ( Sex jokes and boundaries. )
Then I went home and eventually got sleep.
Thursday:
It was a 2nd Thursday! I woke up before my alarm and got going, noting in passing that Tuesday's general wrath and Wednesday's woe were explained by the sudden #bloodcannon.
Even with the refueling and packing for the picnic, I was at work very early. I could have used more sleep, but trying for it would have thrown a disproportionate delay into the commute, and that would have been bad. But! I had the comfy chair! So I curled up and tried for a nap in my cube. I realized shortly that I would have to prop my feet on my desk chair in order to actually rest. So I did that, and woke up a half-hour later, feeling refreshed enough that the cup of coffee was optional and ultimately small.
The meeting was sparsely attended but went smoothly, after the guy on the other end of the phone called back for a better connection (yay).
I wrestled with syncing the pages off the pen. I'm taking this as a warning sign of some sort. By the time I got them off, it was just about time to leave for the picnic, but things were already wacky even before we left.
One of the guys had brought a football, and they were tossing it about in our beautiful just-us-chickens lobby area. Designer Bro had Researcher Carmageddon throw the football so he could throw himself down on the seats while diving and catching it.
Me, to various in IM: If they break any of my bottles of syrup, I'm going to pour the rest over their heads and send them to the showers.
The Randomizer walked up while all this was going on, and declared that we needed scooters to properly take advantage of our lovely long and clear hallway.
"Skateboard jousting!" I called from my corner.
"Yes!" he said.
Then we all started heading off to the picnic. I got one of the last good parking spaces. I had a bag of gear, including a towel, some bubbles, a squirt gun, and of course my hat.
"Not THE Hat?" Purple asked later.
I knew, of course, what he meant by "THE Hat". It wasn't that hat. I explained: for those who have not been introduced to the definitive hat, there are three other candidates. One is my venerable Purple Hat, by which I was known in high school. One is my Pride Hat, which looks like an Easter bonnet collided with a Pride parade. The third -- well.
The base is a screaming fuchsia straw hat. Then I Happened to it, armed with a trip to the dollar store and a hot glue gun. There are any number of very vivid, mostly tropical, flowers. There are ribbons. There are test-tube style neon plastic shot glasses. There are little umbrellas. There is a pair of sunglasses shaped like margarita glasses. There is, incredibly, a drink container shaped like a pineapple or palm tree (it's not quite clear which), to which I attached a pinwheel. The effect is aggressively festive.
Reactions were mixed between horror and delighted hilarity. To my delight, one of my uncle-managers declared that it was almost worthy of Carmen Miranda. I received compliments from complete strangers. The most common question: "Did you make that yourself?" Purple pointed out that if I hadn't made that myself, that would mean that such things were available for purchase somewhere out there. I didn't think at the time to point out places like Etsy.
I laid out my towel on the lawn, setting down my bag of gear. Designer Bro found the supersoaker. Designer Bro filled it up. He declared team amnesty -- and then caught sight of Researcher Carmageddon. "Except for Researcher Carmageddon," he amended, as Researcher Carmageddon spluttered damply. Researcher Sweatervest was next under
I sat on my towel and waved my bubble wand. One of the interns joined me for a bit. Madam Standards showed up and declared that again I'd managed to just appear rather than arrive, and made sure that I was properly sprayed down with sunscreen. #whofishmumsthefishmum #fishmummingtheunfishmummable
Lunch was late, but tasty.
There was a game involving not talking shop, with little ribbon and card necklaces which you had to surrender to the person who asked for them if you said one of the forbidden words. Designer Sparkles, who is hella competitive, declared that she wasn't playing. Most of the team promptly donated their necklaces to her. Word got around, and soon a very large number of people did likewise.
There were prizes for various things. The no-shop-talk game was one of them; Designer Sparkles was in the top 3. I believe she and someone else tied for first place, but I could be wrong; there was a difference of 4 necklaces between first and second place, and one was a tie.
I won the prize for best hat. There had not even been a contest for best hat until I had walked in and won it. The prize I picked was a picnic/beach blanket.
Mr. Zune was there, as he is an organizational second cousin and therefore in this department, and we talked about the logistics of having Shirley Temples at work. (I have pomegranate syrup, and we discussed how to keep the cherries -- I said that it would have to be in the condiment shelf of the milk fridge, and accept that it would be shared.) I had been the first to ask for a Shirley Temple at the bar -- it was within an hour of leaving time, and I wanted something fun but safe. The bartender had been waiting for someone to ask. :D
I'd lost track of how I'd gotten to know Mr. Zune, except of course work IRC, but he was able to fill in -- he'd known
I threw myself into the transcription when I got back.( Read more... )
