Azure Jane Lunatic (Azz) 🌺 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
azurelunatic) wrote2015-07-23 11:24 pm
azurelunatic) wrote2015-07-23 11:24 pm
(no subject)
I woke up a few minutes before the alarm was set to go off. I'm not sure if it actually did. I was out the door fairly promptly, and beat traffic in to work. I set myself against the task of attempting to replicate the structure of the old database in the new tool, and found myself asking many questions (many rhetorical, and moderately profane) about the designers of the new thing. Ahh, the honeymoon phase of a new tool, marked as it is by excessive sugar consumption (honey) and rude gestures to the program (moon). I also filed a bug, P0 catastrophic, against the old tool. I keep saving that for best.
There was an all-hands early, which was why I was in at that hour. I might as well get the good commute and score a few hours of near-silence.
I found a seat next to Mr. Wizard Beard. I peered around for Purple but I didn't see him. It was equal odds whether he'd be on site or not.
Eventually it came to be Q&A time. I raised my hand for the microphone, and (hands starting to slowly turn to ice) rehearsed what I'd say. The bored-looking guy whose face reminds me a little of Shawn made some arcane signal to the guy covering the other half of the hall, and shortly an older man was behind me with a wireless stick microphone, avuncular and reassuring.
"I know this is somewhat of a squeaky wheel question, and I know a lot of people have been working very hard on improving this," I began, the first few words clipped off in the ears of the room as the mixer played catchup. "But how soon do you think [helldesk software] will be as functional as [beloved old zilla install]?" I handed back the microphone. If I was in trouble, so be it.
I got spontaneous applause and a wave of laughter. "That was a great question," the avuncular man told me in my ear, suddenly personally warm in a way that outshone his professional easiness.
The CEO indicated that this was a very important question to have asked, and put me at ease that I was not going to be in trouble. As for the substance, he was going to punt to the financials guy, but he saw the CIO there in the back of the room...
Later, my teammate would tell me that the CIO had seemed dreadfully embarrassed to be asked. Let us be clear: the CIO was attending this meeting as any employee might, in the standing-room-only area. He wasn't in some sort of reserved area. He was not mic-ed up. (This subtlety was lost on the folks on the phone.) The avuncular man with the handheld mic presented it to the CIO. He mentioned that they definitely knew that the helldesk software was terrible, and that they were also afraid that it was so terrible that people had sort of given up on trying to make it better and give feedback on what would actually work for them.
The CEO addressed me and told me that squeaky wheel questions like that are necessary and to keep asking them. I flashed back a thumbs-up and heart-hands.
"If you hadn't asked that, I was going to," Mr. Wizard Beard told me.
There was a sort of buzzing in my brain that obscured most of my senses; I only got it back when I heard a voice say the words "squeaky wheel" -- it, of course, was Rubber Chicken Guy, wanting to make sure that our route to complain was as clear as possible.
My phone started buzzing a little, with my team cheering at me in slack, some Twitter high-fives, plus![[twitter.com profile]](https://p.dreamwidth.org/e0caa790ec10/-/twitter.com/favicon.ico)
godtributes.
There were a few more questions and then the meeting was over. I kept the CIO in my line of sight and wandered over the few meters to where his little group was standing, to take my place in the little knot of people that served as an informal line. I had a very nice chat with Rubber Chicken Guy and his buddy, a fellow who'd just been moved in to my building and who helps run a demonstration lab at one of the work conferences.
Eventually the topic of the helldesk software came up, brought up by some fellow in glasses with grizzled hair. I was able to explain where you file a ticket against the software within the software, which was news to the CIO -- he'd mostly been relying on not!Facebook, and that was such a yellfest that he was burning out on listening at all. Drinking from the flamethrower.
I said some things that I hoped were full of empathy and understanding, that it's super hard emotional work to face people who are that angry and in that much pain. I feel like we bonded a bit. The other guy had his pet feature, which will make things better if they do it.
I walked the lab guy back to our building, since he's been moved around on campus and he's still disoriented. Various information was exchanged; he knows Carmageddon and Researcher Cheesehead from helping out in his lab.
Purple turned out to have a meeting that ran through lunch. I decided it was time for lunch at a reasonable time despite the lack of lunch ping, as I'd had my eye on the banh mi sandwich and good sandwiches tend to go quickly.
Our intern conquered the plotter quickly, despite my bad puns. He'd set aside an entire afternoon for the project, and (at my suggestion) set up with a network cable near the plotter, rather than running back and forth.
#cupcake congratulated me on my good question. I was greeted with more congratulations as the team meeting gathered. Apparently my thoughts have been on quite a few minds.
Mr. Sub-tle's apprentice emailed us all to say that the pride shirts were in. I decided it would be a reasonable idea to go on a milkshake stomp. Purple was the only one free, so we wandered up. Purple had called in to the meeting, and he'd thought he'd recognized my voice on the line. Then I mentioned the helldesk software, and he knew it was me. He'd thought that maybe I could have done without some of the cushioning. I explained that by acknowledging those issues before anyone else could, not only did it make me sound reasonable, it also partially barred them from digressing on to those issues and tracked them down the actual issue. Heh.
Mr. Sub-tle's apprentice was on the phone when we arrived. One of the other events people barged into his cube and dug around in the box, looking for my shirt. She found it. Then she regarded Purple and started pawing through the box muttering his name. But nah, he was just there for the walk and the ice cream.
We wandered back. Purple offered to carry my t-shirt, so I could eat my ice cream. I allowed this. Purple had been explaining, as we walked past the parking lot, that the short version of the just-how-bad-this-is that he had given me was like giving me just one writhing snake, as opposed to a whole boxful. As I was about to ask if he'd read Ivan: His Book, we came to the door of my building. Inside, someone in a security uniform was staring at the door from the south end. Someone else was staring at the door from the north end. Purple badged the door open. "Is it doing it again?" I asked the security guard.
"See, I'm not crazy!" she told the electrician. Purple and I had seen the door failing to lock as recently as the previous night.
I explained how I had been able to get it to lock, but that I had not been able to get it to exhibit the stuck-open behavior on command.
Purple was unsure where to set my shirt, so he placed it across the top of my paper sorter. I pointed out that he could have used the cabinet outside my cube. He told an anecdote (which I'm still not sure if it's real or comedy, featuring the sort of intimate-partner broken communication that is the hallmark of adversarial relationships) ending in "Well, anywhere I put it would be Wrong Anyway, so I decided to go for Obviously Wrong."
This was a clear invitation, and he was fixing to leave anyway, so I cheerfully told him, "Go be Obviously Wrong in your office!" and giggled as I shooed him off.
The rest of the evening ensued. I was for sneaking out a little early, but Purple had a few things to wrap up. I tidied up some and caught up on what's happening across campus. Purple then said he was on his way.
It usually takes two minutes for Purple to gather his gear and walk between buildings. Two minutes passed. I figured he might have hit the restroom. More than seven minutes passed. I finished the last cinnamon roll, turned off the lava lamp, put three chocolate-covered espresso beans and a strawberry runt into a little snack cup, and wandered out of the building on the path that Purple would have taken between our buildings.
I didn't have that far to go. At the end of the sloping sidewalk connecting my building to the quad, there were Purple and some guy, leaning on the railings and talking data center shenanigans.
When Purple and I eventually walked out to the parking lot, sunset was still in the lavender and blue final stages. It was cool and lovely. Purple saw a redtail hawk flying overhead and whistled at it. He used to be able to call them to come say hello. I find this completely charming. Then there are turkeys, which don't have that great of an angle of flight, but can stairstep their way up trees by flying from branch to branch. Unfortunately, their descent is much less graceful, so beware disturbing them. "The potential energy of a treeful of turkeys," I giggled.
Somehow, and I'm not entirely clear how, this led to the mental image of Greybird-ha, in a cardboard box knee-high in tiny garter snakes. Also, not everyone finds pictures of broody hens soothing, especially in that not everyone identifies with the chick, and Mama Hen sitting on your head, and instead identifies with the unseen hand that's about to get the shit pecked out of it by protective Mama Hen. When at some point the word I meant to say in response was *sleepytrill*, Purple pointed out that *sleepytrill* isn't a word. "It is in Chicken!" I protested. I speak Chicken as a second language. Purple isn't bad at Cat, although he speaks it with an East Coast accent, and West Coast cats find it hard to understand him.
Tomorrow's going to be interesting. First there's a greater-departmental meeting. Purple and I are both in that greater department. Then there's a helldesk software thing. Following that will be the diversity-themed beer bash. I will be there, I will be queer, and I think I'll pass on the beer.
Expected: selecting an arbitrary value from Company, Product, or State (individually or in combination with other items) would be searchable.
Actual: selecting arbitrary values from any of Company, Product, or State makes any search fail to run.
Expected: possible to use the Clear Filters operation.
Actual: the only way to clear values from any of Company, Product, or State is to refresh the page.
Rather than actually repairing this, I'd just like the contents of all the tables in .csv format, along with a diagram of the table relationships.
There was an all-hands early, which was why I was in at that hour. I might as well get the good commute and score a few hours of near-silence.
I found a seat next to Mr. Wizard Beard. I peered around for Purple but I didn't see him. It was equal odds whether he'd be on site or not.
Eventually it came to be Q&A time. I raised my hand for the microphone, and (hands starting to slowly turn to ice) rehearsed what I'd say. The bored-looking guy whose face reminds me a little of Shawn made some arcane signal to the guy covering the other half of the hall, and shortly an older man was behind me with a wireless stick microphone, avuncular and reassuring.
"I know this is somewhat of a squeaky wheel question, and I know a lot of people have been working very hard on improving this," I began, the first few words clipped off in the ears of the room as the mixer played catchup. "But how soon do you think [helldesk software] will be as functional as [beloved old zilla install]?" I handed back the microphone. If I was in trouble, so be it.
I got spontaneous applause and a wave of laughter. "That was a great question," the avuncular man told me in my ear, suddenly personally warm in a way that outshone his professional easiness.
The CEO indicated that this was a very important question to have asked, and put me at ease that I was not going to be in trouble. As for the substance, he was going to punt to the financials guy, but he saw the CIO there in the back of the room...
Later, my teammate would tell me that the CIO had seemed dreadfully embarrassed to be asked. Let us be clear: the CIO was attending this meeting as any employee might, in the standing-room-only area. He wasn't in some sort of reserved area. He was not mic-ed up. (This subtlety was lost on the folks on the phone.) The avuncular man with the handheld mic presented it to the CIO. He mentioned that they definitely knew that the helldesk software was terrible, and that they were also afraid that it was so terrible that people had sort of given up on trying to make it better and give feedback on what would actually work for them.
The CEO addressed me and told me that squeaky wheel questions like that are necessary and to keep asking them. I flashed back a thumbs-up and heart-hands.
"If you hadn't asked that, I was going to," Mr. Wizard Beard told me.
There was a sort of buzzing in my brain that obscured most of my senses; I only got it back when I heard a voice say the words "squeaky wheel" -- it, of course, was Rubber Chicken Guy, wanting to make sure that our route to complain was as clear as possible.
My phone started buzzing a little, with my team cheering at me in slack, some Twitter high-fives, plus
There were a few more questions and then the meeting was over. I kept the CIO in my line of sight and wandered over the few meters to where his little group was standing, to take my place in the little knot of people that served as an informal line. I had a very nice chat with Rubber Chicken Guy and his buddy, a fellow who'd just been moved in to my building and who helps run a demonstration lab at one of the work conferences.
Eventually the topic of the helldesk software came up, brought up by some fellow in glasses with grizzled hair. I was able to explain where you file a ticket against the software within the software, which was news to the CIO -- he'd mostly been relying on not!Facebook, and that was such a yellfest that he was burning out on listening at all. Drinking from the flamethrower.
I said some things that I hoped were full of empathy and understanding, that it's super hard emotional work to face people who are that angry and in that much pain. I feel like we bonded a bit. The other guy had his pet feature, which will make things better if they do it.
I walked the lab guy back to our building, since he's been moved around on campus and he's still disoriented. Various information was exchanged; he knows Carmageddon and Researcher Cheesehead from helping out in his lab.
Purple turned out to have a meeting that ran through lunch. I decided it was time for lunch at a reasonable time despite the lack of lunch ping, as I'd had my eye on the banh mi sandwich and good sandwiches tend to go quickly.
Our intern conquered the plotter quickly, despite my bad puns. He'd set aside an entire afternoon for the project, and (at my suggestion) set up with a network cable near the plotter, rather than running back and forth.
#cupcake congratulated me on my good question. I was greeted with more congratulations as the team meeting gathered. Apparently my thoughts have been on quite a few minds.
Mr. Sub-tle's apprentice emailed us all to say that the pride shirts were in. I decided it would be a reasonable idea to go on a milkshake stomp. Purple was the only one free, so we wandered up. Purple had called in to the meeting, and he'd thought he'd recognized my voice on the line. Then I mentioned the helldesk software, and he knew it was me. He'd thought that maybe I could have done without some of the cushioning. I explained that by acknowledging those issues before anyone else could, not only did it make me sound reasonable, it also partially barred them from digressing on to those issues and tracked them down the actual issue. Heh.
Mr. Sub-tle's apprentice was on the phone when we arrived. One of the other events people barged into his cube and dug around in the box, looking for my shirt. She found it. Then she regarded Purple and started pawing through the box muttering his name. But nah, he was just there for the walk and the ice cream.
We wandered back. Purple offered to carry my t-shirt, so I could eat my ice cream. I allowed this. Purple had been explaining, as we walked past the parking lot, that the short version of the just-how-bad-this-is that he had given me was like giving me just one writhing snake, as opposed to a whole boxful. As I was about to ask if he'd read Ivan: His Book, we came to the door of my building. Inside, someone in a security uniform was staring at the door from the south end. Someone else was staring at the door from the north end. Purple badged the door open. "Is it doing it again?" I asked the security guard.
"See, I'm not crazy!" she told the electrician. Purple and I had seen the door failing to lock as recently as the previous night.
I explained how I had been able to get it to lock, but that I had not been able to get it to exhibit the stuck-open behavior on command.
Purple was unsure where to set my shirt, so he placed it across the top of my paper sorter. I pointed out that he could have used the cabinet outside my cube. He told an anecdote (which I'm still not sure if it's real or comedy, featuring the sort of intimate-partner broken communication that is the hallmark of adversarial relationships) ending in "Well, anywhere I put it would be Wrong Anyway, so I decided to go for Obviously Wrong."
This was a clear invitation, and he was fixing to leave anyway, so I cheerfully told him, "Go be Obviously Wrong in your office!" and giggled as I shooed him off.
The rest of the evening ensued. I was for sneaking out a little early, but Purple had a few things to wrap up. I tidied up some and caught up on what's happening across campus. Purple then said he was on his way.
It usually takes two minutes for Purple to gather his gear and walk between buildings. Two minutes passed. I figured he might have hit the restroom. More than seven minutes passed. I finished the last cinnamon roll, turned off the lava lamp, put three chocolate-covered espresso beans and a strawberry runt into a little snack cup, and wandered out of the building on the path that Purple would have taken between our buildings.
I didn't have that far to go. At the end of the sloping sidewalk connecting my building to the quad, there were Purple and some guy, leaning on the railings and talking data center shenanigans.
When Purple and I eventually walked out to the parking lot, sunset was still in the lavender and blue final stages. It was cool and lovely. Purple saw a redtail hawk flying overhead and whistled at it. He used to be able to call them to come say hello. I find this completely charming. Then there are turkeys, which don't have that great of an angle of flight, but can stairstep their way up trees by flying from branch to branch. Unfortunately, their descent is much less graceful, so beware disturbing them. "The potential energy of a treeful of turkeys," I giggled.
Somehow, and I'm not entirely clear how, this led to the mental image of Greybird-ha, in a cardboard box knee-high in tiny garter snakes. Also, not everyone finds pictures of broody hens soothing, especially in that not everyone identifies with the chick, and Mama Hen sitting on your head, and instead identifies with the unseen hand that's about to get the shit pecked out of it by protective Mama Hen. When at some point the word I meant to say in response was *sleepytrill*, Purple pointed out that *sleepytrill* isn't a word. "It is in Chicken!" I protested. I speak Chicken as a second language. Purple isn't bad at Cat, although he speaks it with an East Coast accent, and West Coast cats find it hard to understand him.
Tomorrow's going to be interesting. First there's a greater-departmental meeting. Purple and I are both in that greater department. Then there's a helldesk software thing. Following that will be the diversity-themed beer bash. I will be there, I will be queer, and I think I'll pass on the beer.