Purple did not in fact go skydiving as he'd thought he might over the weekend, because it was one of those "weather permitting" activities. The weather did not in fact permit.
By the time I got through the lines with my lunch, the little table that Purple and the guys were at outside was crammed with about 8 guys (it is a 4 person table). CTY memories aside, that didn't seem like it would be pleasant, so I opted for inside with Mr. Tux and his officemate.
The guy from the internal department responsible for my little database said he'd likely be able to have a .csv pack of my tables to me either Monday or Tuesday. Unfortunately, the host on which the new thing's VM is located, was the one that managed to die over the weekend.
The bbq station's thing was a roast half-chicken. I'd declined to try it, since chicken meat on the bone is not a thing I do (mainly texture aversion, with a side of fear of even slightly raw chicken). I was lucky in this case -- while the internals had slow-cooked very nicely, the skin had not rendered and Purple said it was
revolting.
I caught the big door by my cube doing the thing where it locks open again. I called security so the latest guy could see it in action. He came over, and by that time it was no longer doing the thing. I indicated which one it was, and he called it in. As he was heading off, it started doing it again for no reason. I called him back. "It's doing it again!"
"Call Cesar," said the guy with the ladder from over where he was doing something unspecified to a fluorescent light fixture. Apparently this is the sign of a particular part in the door going bad, you could see right up there at the top where it was not doing something or other. I was very glad that I'd happened to say something about this in his presence, because otherwise we would have spent another six months going around on it.
I dropped some chocolate on the desk of the community manager type who had been namechecked so memorably in the comment thread referenced in Friday's all-hands. I reckoned he deserved it.
Purple's brain ran out of space early. I was amenable to wandering home early, so that's what I did as well. We stood in the parking lot a while, letting our cars cool off with doors open. Purple doesn't actually hate shoe shopping more than I do, it's just that it's hard for him to find shoes that actually fit comfortably.
Leaving early meant time and brain to do the potroast I'd got over the weekend (no particular feat for a regular cook, as it was Costco precooked, which meant microwave and leftovers, but that's the state of my brain vs. cooking these days) and to catch up on Friday's recap.
My calendar reminded me of the date, and I observed the last Tuesday in July quietly, telling
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silveradept the story.
I woke up before my alarm today (Tuesday), and meandered in happily. Today's bbq offering was pulled pork sandwiches, albeit somewhat more chopped than pulled. I mixed the peach and the firefighter-hot sauces, and got a very pleasing combination.
The problem with the host is the motherboard. I got the .csv files, though, so that's good.
My task now after the helldesk software meeting on Friday is to spread the good word that no, the team in charge of fixing the thing appears to hate the terrible front end
more than I do. I shared this at my 1:1; that cheered my manager, especially when I explained the part where the fancy expert just dropped his pen and stared at us. Also, I am treating the need to express myself in the tickets about the thing without swearing as a writing exercise, with creative results. Also, I added cheerfully, it's amazing what you can slip under the radar with references to Sumerian gods. There are not many people who know what's in Sweet Enki's Pitcher...
It was good for both of us that my manager was not drinking anything at this juncture, as she would have sprayed both of us. Apparently she has at least some small familiarity with Sumerian mythology.
When I wandered past the cube of the Namechecked Community Manager, he was in. I introduced myself. He correctly identified me as the source of unexpected chocolate. I thanked him for his service in the Trenches of Upset Users. The worst part, we agreed, is when the users are upset for good reason and we can't just magically make their legitimate beefs better. We both have the Pebble, also. I never got used to a touchscreen, so I'm not feeling the lack, but he is.
Purple called time at a reasonable hour, so we wandered out to the parking lot as the sun was disappearing behind one of the buildings. A hawk-shaped something flew across the parking lot, and smaller birds scattered as it found a redwood to perch in. Purple recounted an interesting little comedy of manners involving a murder of crows and a line of redwoods: each tree was topped by a crow, with two somewhat disgruntled-looking crows flanking it lower in the tree.
A second hawk flew across the parking lot and landed in another tree. It started calling, its cries rising in pitch to what both of us thought was some sort of distress. The first hawk looked in its direction, but made no move to go any closer.
Purple has a weakness for
good black cherry soda, but doesn't much care for orange, despite his love for orange juice.
Paging through some hawk sounds, it sounded rather like juvenile squeals #2:
https://www.audubon.org/field-guide/bird/red-tailed-hawk
