Skip to main content

Nuthin' but E

You know how runners get a second wind after hitting the wall? A place where you just couldn’t possible go on – but then you do, and it’s all kind of ethereal and out-of-body and life is bunnies and kittens and Breyer’s M&M Ice Cream from then on? I don’t. I’m not a runner. But I’ve heard tales told, and suspect this is what’s happening to me at work. The troubles have become parodies of themselves, and I am left with laughter as my sole recourse.

I can look colleagues in the eye, explain that no, I couldn’t get to project E, because I can’t stress enough how time consuming projects A, B, C and D were – and they’ll just briefly eyeball the projects that are sitting there completed, and say “So… you didn’t do project E?”

So this month it’s all about project E. Nothing but E in April. And when they ask me why I didn’t get to A, B, C or D, I’ll look them straight in the eye and say “What do you mean? I thought we were in agreement that nothing counts but E. Curses!” Then they'll back away from me slowly, because everyone knows that when people start channelling moustache-twirling villains, it's time to back away from them slowly.

As reward for listening to me, I offer to you Dilbert (please don't sue me Scott Adams) and a blessing: May you never understand Dilbert the way a civil servant can understand Dilbert.

Comments

Tara said…
This is funny, glad I stopped in!

Popular posts from this blog

A Picture Puzzler

A friend sent me another picture from the wrap party. As I looked at it, and recalled the good times, I was struck by something really unusual. See if you can spot it: I'll give you all some time to guess...

And they called me mad when I bought the bunker in the woods!

I had heard that one way of thwarting telemarketers was to make them think the number they have dialed is in fact a fax machine.  I've tried different tones on my cordless phone, all to no avail.  Then I had an epiphany: When I turned sixteen, my sister bought me a new-fangled telephone.  It had push buttons, but it was still just a rotary phone - when you pressed each button to dial, you still heard the rotary "tat-a-tat-tat-tat" with every number.  I had held onto this phone ever since.  It's cute.  It works.  There was no reason to get rid of it. I was willing to bet that, in this day and age of advanced technology rendering yesterday's device obsolete on a daily basis, a telemarketer - who is likely going to be decades younger than my phone - would be unable to even identify a rotary phone by sight much less by sound. And voila!  Answering the phone with my rotary phone, and constantly pressing the buttons, the telemarketer kept repeating "Hello?

Favourite Thing About Working in Production - #2

That my monkey is both the colour of Pink Script Revisions...  ... and Blue Script Revisions: (pure coincidence) Production Fave #2: Stealth Monkeys. __________________________________________ p.s. you thought I didn't exist any longer, didn't you?