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Lemonbeans and jellyheads
Nov. 4th, 2014 01:12 amI arrived at work to find that someone had brought in their extra Halloween candy, and had topped off my pumpkin and had left the rest on the team table. To my delight, it included some of the large lemonheads, which are among my favorites. (They are also enjoyed by both my Overlady and our manager.) I saved out most of them. :D
I also learned that someone had added me to the cc: list on an email thread about some piece of infrastructure which had gone down over the weekend. I learned: a lot of the thread is about adding people to the cc: list; it came back up by itself; they would be investigating why it had gone down; one of the main people who should have been called was not reached in a timely fashion; this is because they were calling her cellphone and not her landline; she has a landline for the express purpose of being called by work because her cellphone flakes out at home; her preferred name is not the name in the directory. Then I emailed the guy who had added me privately, and asked whether I was the [name] he'd meant to add because I don't actually support that service.
The fucking email filter chewed on some customer responses that I was waiting for in arranging participants for Researcher Sweatervest. No permanent harm done though.
Even though the phrase is short and evocative, I should avoid "bloodcannon" around Purple, as it's ... a bit too evocative. But that was why I spent the weekend mostly asleep, in pain, or both.
I remember lunch conversation as being good; I can't remember offhand what-all it was, although some of it was movies and video games. One of the newer guys on Purple's old team, the one who makes kind of a point of wearing sweatpants when he can get away with it, was dressed up (for him) in a red polo shirt and khakis. "Heyyy, you're dressed up!" someone said. "You got an interview?" someone else teased. "At Target?" I added, and then immediately said "I'm sorry, that was mean." Good times were had.
The guy who moved out from the Monkey House into the cube back behind me wondered why there was no action on his move ticket. So I called helpdesk. Twenty minutes of hold time later, I learned that while the Stage Manager had verbally approved the move, he also had to approve it in helldesk. So helpdesk walked me through the procedure, and then I went and walked him through the procedure.
My jellybeans arrived. Jelly Belly sells "belly flops" at a slight discount. Gimbal's sells "bumble beans". The Stage Manager asked why so many of these beans were stuck together. I explained that these were the imperfect ones which had been sorted out from the rest. "Like me," he said.
And then I 1:1-ed with my manager, who had an update on a question that I've been checking on for a while; wasn't the best answer and wasn't the worst answer.
lb dropped by. That was good. I showed him my new jellybeans. Some of the stuck-together ones were pink and looked like butts. #grownassadults
I did some data entry while listening to the greater department all-hands. I wandered up to the top of the hill for the post-all-hands debrief shindig, and complimented She Who Put That All Together. We compared notes on a few things. I also got a chance to talk with the Polka-Dot Researcher, who confirmed that yes, she and her officemate (last year's Party Commandant) are planning to co-chair the upcoming year's team+ conference. Good times!
Designer Sparkles is headed off to do the tech equivalent of missionary work for the next three weeks, and I had some printing to do for her. This resulted in the discovery that somehow the goddamn three-hole punch had disappeared from the mail room again. This resulted in an office depot order in high dudgeon after a tour around the first floor entirely failed to produce the instrument.
Purple came to retrieve me. He picked some Starbursts. I presented him with a roll of Smarties which I'd saved out for him. We wandered out chatting about three-hole punches, and how I am on the point of asking helpdesk for a tie-down or something to keep it in the mail room. From there we somehow got off onto crying at work. We've both done it.
I will three-hole-punch tomorrow.
I ran a brief mission for Sass, hooray! I will attempt to fit a trip to the post office into my schedule tomorrow.
Bonus: Steve vs. Electricity; tiny!Azz vs. the Honda Civic.
I also learned that someone had added me to the cc: list on an email thread about some piece of infrastructure which had gone down over the weekend. I learned: a lot of the thread is about adding people to the cc: list; it came back up by itself; they would be investigating why it had gone down; one of the main people who should have been called was not reached in a timely fashion; this is because they were calling her cellphone and not her landline; she has a landline for the express purpose of being called by work because her cellphone flakes out at home; her preferred name is not the name in the directory. Then I emailed the guy who had added me privately, and asked whether I was the [name] he'd meant to add because I don't actually support that service.
The fucking email filter chewed on some customer responses that I was waiting for in arranging participants for Researcher Sweatervest. No permanent harm done though.
Even though the phrase is short and evocative, I should avoid "bloodcannon" around Purple, as it's ... a bit too evocative. But that was why I spent the weekend mostly asleep, in pain, or both.
I remember lunch conversation as being good; I can't remember offhand what-all it was, although some of it was movies and video games. One of the newer guys on Purple's old team, the one who makes kind of a point of wearing sweatpants when he can get away with it, was dressed up (for him) in a red polo shirt and khakis. "Heyyy, you're dressed up!" someone said. "You got an interview?" someone else teased. "At Target?" I added, and then immediately said "I'm sorry, that was mean." Good times were had.
The guy who moved out from the Monkey House into the cube back behind me wondered why there was no action on his move ticket. So I called helpdesk. Twenty minutes of hold time later, I learned that while the Stage Manager had verbally approved the move, he also had to approve it in helldesk. So helpdesk walked me through the procedure, and then I went and walked him through the procedure.
My jellybeans arrived. Jelly Belly sells "belly flops" at a slight discount. Gimbal's sells "bumble beans". The Stage Manager asked why so many of these beans were stuck together. I explained that these were the imperfect ones which had been sorted out from the rest. "Like me," he said.
And then I 1:1-ed with my manager, who had an update on a question that I've been checking on for a while; wasn't the best answer and wasn't the worst answer.
lb dropped by. That was good. I showed him my new jellybeans. Some of the stuck-together ones were pink and looked like butts. #grownassadults
I did some data entry while listening to the greater department all-hands. I wandered up to the top of the hill for the post-all-hands debrief shindig, and complimented She Who Put That All Together. We compared notes on a few things. I also got a chance to talk with the Polka-Dot Researcher, who confirmed that yes, she and her officemate (last year's Party Commandant) are planning to co-chair the upcoming year's team+ conference. Good times!
Designer Sparkles is headed off to do the tech equivalent of missionary work for the next three weeks, and I had some printing to do for her. This resulted in the discovery that somehow the goddamn three-hole punch had disappeared from the mail room again. This resulted in an office depot order in high dudgeon after a tour around the first floor entirely failed to produce the instrument.
Purple came to retrieve me. He picked some Starbursts. I presented him with a roll of Smarties which I'd saved out for him. We wandered out chatting about three-hole punches, and how I am on the point of asking helpdesk for a tie-down or something to keep it in the mail room. From there we somehow got off onto crying at work. We've both done it.
I will three-hole-punch tomorrow.
I ran a brief mission for Sass, hooray! I will attempt to fit a trip to the post office into my schedule tomorrow.
Bonus: Steve vs. Electricity; tiny!Azz vs. the Honda Civic.
