This catches us up, more or less, to the present day.

Part 8

276. If the devs are observing my workflows in my real work environment, it may be cheating to arrange interruptions for the point of illustrating how things actually happen, not how things ideally happen.


277. There is no budget-justifiable reason for me to order a badge printer.


278. The adhesive transfer gun is closer to budget-justifiable, but only because those are cheaper than badge printers by a factor of ten.


279. Not allowed to actually explain "the cupcake incident".


280. At least not to people outside the same NDA.


281. Even though those three layout sketches on the whiteboard look to the untutored eye like microwaves, no one but you is going to be amused if you fill the fourth section of the implied grid with a sketch of an actual microwave.


282. Any workplace help request summarized "Angry Birds" is really going to require some explanation.


283. Required to include all buttons in the tab order, even if they're "special" buttons.


284. Shouldn't cry in front of Grandmanager, but if I do happen to again, try to get his expression on camera.


285. Allowed to accept hugs from Manager.


286. Not allowed to claim something is an "ADA compliant path" if there are stairs in front of it.


287. Should maybe put some of the "handicapped" parking on the same garage level as the non-stair access to the "ADA compliant path".


288. Shouldn't VPN in from home for the sole purpose of adding more ranting to the help ticket about the "ADA 'compliant' path". That can be done at work.


289. Not allowed to meet the Overlady's Evil Clone in person.


290. If Amelia Bedelia would do it, I shouldn't.


291. Encouraged to step up and take responsibility for a task that everyone else is hesitating about, even if that task is dumping a co-worker in the duck pond.


292. Not allowed to add one tiny magnetic ball at a time to my Overlady's officemate's collection of them.


293. ... if only because it would balance out my Overlady's careful removal of one at a time.


294. Should clarify that the annoyed-looking "do not touch" labels apply to lookie-loos, not my Overlady's excellent officemate who suddenly has ALL THE CONFERENCE GEAR showing up in his shared office (and who may need to move it to grab the spare chair).


295. M&Ms don't belong up my nose.


296. Jelly beans don't belong up my nose.


297. Chewing gum does not belong up my nose.


298. Blu-tac does not belong up my nose.


299. If it is an office supply, it probably does not belong inside my face.


300. Any email beginning "I know this is going to sound like a really, really bad idea but hear me out" should never be ignored. Its suggestion should likely not be attempted, but the email shouldn't be ignored.


301. Allowed to bring kazoos if it would help the conference run more smoothly.


302. If an image makes me physically recoil, there is no need to share it with others, especially not my manager.


303. Not required to include a screenshot if text will serve the purpose just as effectively.


304. Poorly trimmed screenshots of tweets with Lovecraftian backgrounds are the gift that keeps on giving.


305. Not allowed to label everything in Overlady's office to be discovered upon her return.


306. Shouldn't be operating a label-maker without a license and training.


307. How much I loathe the Offending Application maybe shouldn't need to be shared with my ISP.

Have introduced the "nasal stage" as a level of Freudian psychology that Freud missed to Management (and everyone else left in the cube farm).

The Nasal stage of childhood is that period of toddler curiousity that leads to attempting to stick everything up the nose. Freud might have lumped it in with Oral, because some of it winds up in the mouth as well, but I think that the Nasal stage is something completely different.

It's not about deriving comfort from mouthing something, it's about finding out about the world via that immensely sensitive instrument, the nose.

Children smacked down in the nasal stage are uncurious and neophobic later in life, and don't care to learn things. They may have a horror of snot and other bodily substances. They may be utterly indifferent to smell, which could lead to a certain level of Personal Stank through inappropriate personal scents of either an artificial or bodily nature.

Children not given enough guidance in the nasal stage are inappropriately curious, and will either wear too much perfume on the grounds that it smells good to them, not do anything to curb a rampant body odor on the grounds that they want to smell like themselves and they don't mind it, put weird stuff up their nose in adulthood (snorting drugs, Homer Simpson and his crayon) or be obsessed with gathering knowledge to an unhealthy extent (malicious or overly familiar gossip, prying into things they know are none of their concern, or, in extreme cases, Mad Scientist Syndrome). Snot jokes are funny to these people. Computer security crackers did not get enough ethical structure during their Nasal stage.

Children who have healthily exited the Nasal Stage remain curious about the world as adults, but know when to stop in the search for information.


I was talking this over with trystan_laryssa last night, see. And hcolleen during the Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster thing, and hcolleen, kilarneyblarney, azwriter, M, and V at freshstartwrite on Wednesday night.
Great fun was had by all.

Then Management noticed what I think was actually my lotion, and remarked that I smelled particularly nice today. I wasn't sure whether it was the lotion, another of a wide range of toiletries, or my un-brewed tea bag in my cup. She urged Blood Pressure Cuff Manager (who wears a combination elbow brace/blood pressure cuff/something-or-other monitor) to sniff me. There was much hilarity involved in the subsequent discussion of "any plan that involves sniffing an employee is probably a bad one," whereupon I broke out the Freud.