My god, how desperate are they? I was...less than completely civil to their staffer on the phone for calling my boss, forbade them to check my references, and I still got a phone interview.

I said no. On the one hand, people have pointed out that it would be AMAZING memoir fodder. On the other hand, I just can't. I CAN'T. I cannot with this place.
My parents are big morning-news watchers. I'm not, because I don't like to start the day enraged, but they're calmer people than I am when it comes to the way television news filters my reality. It's not that I get angry about what's happening in the world; I get angry at how the news spins it. But when I'm home I swallow my bile and sometimes I learn something.

Two days ago, one of the news shows did a piece on a book called 365 Thank Yous. The central thesis of the book is that in 2007 the author felt his life sucked. So in 2008 he decided to write a thank-you note every day for a year, to focus on what he did have, and it made his life better.

Now, this is a wonderful way to think positive, and I'm a total asshole for feeling this way, but i'm a cynic and whenever I see something like this on television I am required to mock it. It's not something I particularly like about myself, but when someone talks to me about the power of positive thinking I have the uncontrollable urge to put salt in their coffee. In some cases it's a reaction to being told how happy I should be or pretend to be, but in most cases it's sheer perverseness. I am capable of separating cathartic bitchery from actual negativity, and if you try to bullshit me that they can't be separated, you will be my next target.

Anyway, the point is, I give this guy props for having, literally, a revelation on a mountain, and turning his life around and writing a book about it. But I can't help it. I spent the rest of the day poking fun at him.

Eventually, after Mum cracked a joke about the customer service at Magnolia Bakery -- oh, don't think anyone in my family has forgotten that -- I said, "That's what I should do. In 2012 I'm going to write one angry letter of complaint per day. 365 Fuck Yous."

I don't think I'll actually do it, because I had an ulcer last year and my doctor is already concerned about my blood pressure, but it's a pretty good idea. I already have a list. (Dear Chase Banks, while I appreciate holiday ads as much as the next guy, your teller that I had to visit after two unsuccessful rounds with your lobby ATM informs me that the holiday ads are the reason the check scanners are malfunctioning and not reading the checks I'm trying to deposit. Maybe you should stop screwing your poor tellers and customers and remove the holiday ads? Yours Sincerely, Sam Starbuck.)

This reminds me, I don't recall if I updated you guys on Magnolia Bakery, but I got a response to my letter stating that they would take my suggestions under advisement (LOL) and I should try the banana pudding, which is available every day. Now, I'm told the banana pudding is really great at Magnolia Bakery, but the point is that it is still banana pudding. No amount of quality infused into banana pudding will make it anything other than banana pudding.

But I'm a Chicagoan and I like to order off menus, so clearly my palate is not sufficiently advanced.

I literally opened Delicious this morning, stared at it, and said "Balls!" really loudly, so it's good nobody else is actually in the office yet.

I do not need a picture next to a link. I do not need any notes under the link that I DID NOT SPECIFICALLY PUT THERE. I just want the motherfucking link.

And nowhere in Settings is there a "Just The Motherfucking Link" option.

And it's not that I don't handle change well, it's that 99% of changes to internet websites are poor design choices brought on by a burning desire to make something more Social Media, because apparently Social Media is the Internet Porn of the new millienium, the hot concept of the moment which has a vague suggestion of "easy money" attached to it.

My rage shall give me energy today. Which is just as well, since today I'm getting paid to read Chicago Magazine cover to cover.
I am at work! I might be dying, but I'm here!

Actually today is nice and quiet. Both my boss and my minion are absent, and everyone else is getting over a cold too, so we're all miserable together.

I've been going round with Dell Financial Services for three days, trying to prove to them that I am in fact me, since they seem to be having difficulty with this concept. It goes like this: I opened a line of credit with Dell, which was approved. I bought a laptop, and the purchase went through fine. But then apparently someone decided I'm not me, and put a hold on my line of credit, which in turn put a hold on the laptop's shipping.

I've been attempting for three days to verify to them that I am me, but it's hard going because one of them kept calling me "Mr. Starbuck" and then in the next sentence "Ma'am"; another decided my name was Dan Starbuck (this happened once before, when I tangled with the LOL Office). They continually asked for a telephone number they could call to verify my identity, and then didn't call me on any of the three numbers (cell in my name, work phone with the number clearly attached to my name in a public directory, cell registered to me through my company) I gave them.

Finally this morning I had a very long chat with a woman who seemed confused about whether or not my application was going forward. At one point I actually had to use the phrase "Okay, but assuming that I'm me..."

I did not yell at her or be rude to her, but finally when we had reached what appeared to me to be a dead end, I said, "Well, thank you for your help," and hung up before she could say goodbye. This is a very powerful weapon, to be used only in extreme cases, because if you're polite to someone and then hang up before they're ready for you to hang up, the guilt is unbelievable.

Two minutes later she called me back at my office phone, and said that since I answered the phone number I'd given them, I must be me, and she was going to be releasing the hold on my account.

So, that's a triumph of perseverance if not of logical thinking. Honestly for a while there I was beginning to wonder if I was me.

In local news, it's all about the University of Chicago today; much as I love the school, I can't deny their free speech policy this week seems...iffy.

On the other hand, a place that's been sponsoring an intellectual debate about the relative merits of latkes and hamantashen for sixty-five years can't be all bad.
Once or twice a month my office lets people go early if they want so they can attend a networking event HR puts on. Usually it's at a bar, and people drink and talk and have a good time. I've never been able to go, because I didn't get to go early when other people did, and I was 100% fine with that because I don't generally do well at social events.

Now, that being said, I was looking forward to today's. I was actually going to get to go, and I have a whole clique of new team members who will let me sit with them and look like I'm actually someone who knows how to make friends outside of the internet.

So I RSVP'd, like you're supposed to do in order to give them an accurate headcount. RSVPing is the polite thing to do, and one is not supposed to be punished for it.

And then today I get an email that we are not meeting at a bar. We are meeting in a conference room on the 19th floor to have an Office Building Scavenger Hunt. There was a list of clues, even. The thing is, given that I am the ex Ninja Office Boy, I know everything about this building and what happens where and could have filled the list of clues out like a survey without moving from my ergonomic cubicle chair.

Then I get a second email about what team I'm on. Guess who else is on my team? Douchey ex-Overboss! By now, my outrage about the scavenger hunt has infected the rest of the team, so everyone's looking over my shoulder like "AWKWARD, SAM. AWKWARD."

And then I get the general announcement email saying "By the way, if you didn't RSVP, you can still come to the party around five, after the scavenger hunt has concluded, and have snacks!"

So wait, I've been roped into a scavenger hunt I didn't know I was signing up for and the slackers who didn't click the "RSVP" button get to show up at five and eat snacks?

I am going home instead, and my boss is going in my place because she agrees that this is made of awkward and she should have spoken up and put a stop to it when they emailed the supervisors to suggest it.

There better not be pizza. If I miss out on pizza because I inadvertently RSVP'd for team building activities, I might have to break out the old Ninja skills and torment HR as only someone who intimately knows this building's climate control system can.
So the story of the woman who thought I was going to Rhode Island isn't all that complex.

...he says, and then wonders how he reached this point in his life.

I had bought a breakfast pastry in the airport this morning because I had three hours to kill before my flight, and I was sitting at, let's call it Gate B10. This wasn't my gate, because I had THREE HOURS to kill, but it was near my gate and it had empty seats at the long bar-tables Midway Airport boasts.

So I'm sitting there at this bar-table, eating my pastry, and a woman walks up to me and says, "Rhode Island?"

"Beg pardon?" I ask.

"Is this the gate for the flight to Rhode Island?"

"Oh, I don't know, it's not my gate," I say, and here is where the crucial misunderstanding, I think, took place. I think she made an assumption that I was going to Rhode Island but wasn't at my gate. "What gate did the ticket agent tell you?"

"Gate B10."

"Well, you're at B10," I tell her, and assume that's the end of it. But no, because I have an invisible talk to me aura, she says "It's not listed yet, maybe we're too early" and goes into this detailed description of how she was going to take a shuttle to the airport, but her husband insisted on driving her -- there was some kind of husband logic involved, but I was busy boggling at the level of information this woman was pouring out to me, a complete stranger, someone not even traveling to Rhode Island. A description of her breakfast was involved.

But I've developed some new dealing-with-strangers social skills in the past few months of Adventuring to supplant my usual "break eye contact, mutter, and run away". One of them is the "actually listen and respond like a human being when someone overshares with me" technique, which works well on elderly museum docents and hamburger cooks. The other is the "remind yourself you don't care what this person thinks of you, and do what makes you happy" technique, which works on -- well, technically everyone, but I only use it on people who approach me when I'm on public transit, usually. That level of disrespect must be earned.

If I had been less startled or significantly less "in an airport", I would probably have asked her about Rhode Island and learned something fun about a state I've never visited. Did you know they had a vampire? Google "Mercy Brown" and hit me back.

But I wasn't, so I decided to just stare at this woman in patient, visible surprise, like I couldn't believe what she was doing. When she just kept going, I finished my pastry, got up, and walked away while she was still talking. I assumed that would be a subtle hint that she was WAY OVERSHARING WITH SOMEONE WHOSE NAME SHE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW.

But apparently she thought we were going to our gate. To go to Rhode Island!

So she followed me to the water fountain, then into a shop where I bought a Snickers bar, and then to my gate. Where she sat down next to me and kept talking until finally she sort of petered out and I put in my headphones.

I think possibly she left when I got up to get in line for my flight to Austin, but by then to be honest I wasn't going to dare eye contact.

I genuinely hope she made her flight to Rhode Island. I mean I don't feel good about leading her on a merry chase round an annex of Midway Airport. On the other hand, she brought it upon herself. Even if I were to be trusted, which I clearly am not, she had no way of knowing that. Plus her manners were atrocious. You're getting on an airplane, come prepared or go home. Don't depend on the kindness of strangers, fuckwit, it's the twenty-first century! You have Google, look it up! Take control of your life. I already have more life than I can handle, I don't need yours too.

I should visit Rhode Island sometime, though. Apparently they have lovely beaches.
What the actual shit.

My mother, some of the more motherly admins, and the temp who wants my job are all more or less constantly asking me if I am BossBoss yet. Which doesn't bother me, actually, I get why they're curious.

But last week I was all "I wonder if I will get the offer letter this week!" and then this Monday I was called for a third interview for a job I have already been promised. And then Overboss looked at me at the end of this third totally gratuitous interview and said, "By the way, I need three references."

And I laughed. Not a lot, just a little bit. Because that's funny, right? We both know they need references for my file to be complete, but I've been working here for almost four years, it's not like the people I list aren't going to be people he sees every day. So it's funny!

But the poor guy gives me this kind of blank look, like he can't figure out why it's funny, and I think that is probably going to be the moment that defines our working relationship for all time.

So he asked if I could have them for him by tomorrow, and I said "I can have them for you in an hour" and went back to my desk and called three admins and my buddy in HR to ask if they'd be my references. My buddy in HR was confused; "But you don't report to m -- ah. The guy you report to is the guy hiring you. This is messed up."

Oh, you think?

I assumed he would either simply file the references or quickly call them on the phone or even email them briefly, but no -- the people I've listed as references have told me he is in fact emailing them to set up meetings to discuss me. I get that he has to follow protocol, but I think possibly he's taking things a trifle overboard.

My God, what have I done.
Guys, wish me luck today. I have an interview at lunch and a duck racing in the Rubber Ducky Derby at one.

The whole interview thing, it's...amusing, yes, okay, but also so frustrating to me. I basically have a lock on BossBoss's job, which I've already interviewed for, but Overboss is really paranoid about HR finding out, so he won't actually come out and say it, and I can't be seen to be anticipating it too much. So when HR told me to apply for this other job, which is basically administrative, I couldn't really say no. Especially since if HR found out about the BossBoss job thing they might interfere because, I can't stress this enough, this company really, really hates it when admins get promoted out of admin positions. And that can be all the illegal, but it still might happen and there's not much recourse I have if it does.

These people I'm interviewing with today know me, and I know them. I have to work with them. Even if I don't get the admin job, I will have to work with them as New BossBoss. And they're so excited about possibly getting me for their team.

I want to tell them, look, I have another job impending so please don't depend on me as your Golden Future Admin, take some other candidates seriously. But of course I can't do that because 1) it isn't done and 2) if the BossBoss job does for some reason go south, this admin job would be a nice backup. So now I'm wasting the the time of people I like and have worked with for three years -- I'm lying to people and there's no way they're not going to eventually know that I was lying from the start when I take another job.

It's just a small part of a larger annoyance, though, which is that however you want to cut it or argue about details or semantics, the process of hiring and being hired is essentially rooted in dishonesty. You can have all the accomplishments in the world and be proud of them and be good at what you do and perfect for the job you're applying for, but you still have to know the "right" answers and you still have to sell yourself, and a great deal of salesmanship is dishonesty. Spin, if you want to give it a nicer name. It's not the dishonesty that bothers me -- I can appreciate a good lie, and even a good lying competition -- it's the fact that a process meant to evaluate a person's actual strengths and compatibility is a process in which everyone, on all sides, lies through their teeth. And everyone knows they're lying, so it becomes a competition for who can lie the best.

Wouldn't it be nice if, when I applied for this job and was asked where I'd be in five years, I could just have said "We both know this is not a job people make a career of. I won't be in this job in five years, but nobody you hire will be, and I have a better work ethic than they do." But you can't say that. Even if the other person would be relieved to hear it.

It's a fundamentally broken system, and I know there's no real way to fix it without radically redesigning our entire culture. But it still frustrates me that we have to go through this pointless ritual, which stresses out everyone involved and doesn't actually do much more than weed out the drastically inappropriate, leaving the rest of the field to see who can sell themselves the best.

And people wonder why I don't date.



Spoilers for Episode 3.01: On Guard )

3a. One thing I do love about White Collar is that they can take the most dramatic moments and make them stupidly funny. Peter's little move with the windshield wiper near the end was priceless.
This one elderly woman has been calling me all day because my desk number is the number of a company she worked for in the 1970s who apparently still have some of her 401K. She's actually managed to make contact with the company, but every time she gets confused, she calls me.

Last time she called, she was confirming an area code of a phone number someone else gave her.

"Is it 773 or 312? When I call 312 I get a busy signal."
"Well, ma'am, the best I can do is suggest you try 773."

While I was on the phone with her -- Phone #1 -- both Phone #1's second line and Phone #2's first line rang. And the UPS guy got stuck in the (broken) door, which was just as well because he prevented the food delivery guy from entering until I'd dealt with the Epic Telephones.

I knew I shouldn't have said I was coping better. Since then, it's been like some kind of industrial stress test only instead of a car it's my ability to deal with chaos.
It is Desk Cleaning Day! I have cleaned my desk and sorted stuff and thrown stuff away, and put a few small items in a box with the hope that soon I will be cleaning my desk because I'm moving to a new one. DON'T CRUSH ME NOW, UNIVERSE.

Ordinarily I'd save stuff like this for RFM but as it's a one-day-only deal, I thought I should let you guys know that due to a challenge grant, the Los Angeles Regional Foodbank is doubling all donations made today. If you're going to give, now's the time!

This morning I stood in line at the drugstore to buy a soda and some aspirin and the woman in front of me decided to pay with exact change. Mind you, she decided this after everything had been rung up and totalled, which drives me bonkers -- if you're going to pay cash, get your cash out while you're in line, what the fuck.

Anyway, I'm standing there watching her, and this is what she does: she takes off her gloves, unshoulders her purse, takes a smaller purse out of her larger purse, takes a pocketbook out of the smaller purse, opens the pocketbook, takes out a wallet, and then takes a tiny coin purse out from inside the wallet and digs around in it for the exact change.

I mean normally I would be annoyed and eyerolling at someone who waited until their total came up to get their cash out, but this woman was hypnotic. After a while it was like watching some kind of performance art.

Okay I was going to end the post there, but one of the staff just walked past, obviously in the middle of conversation with her friend, and said "I think it would be very awkward to be a hot chiropractor."

That's all I heard of the conversation but I think she must not go to the chiropractor very often. My chiropractor is objectively pretty hot, but I have never felt less aroused in my life than when she's trying to re-align one of my ribs.
Speaking of bad phone manners, I cannot be silent about this any longer.

If you ever do the thing where you put your phone on speaker, call someone, and then pick up the phone when they answer? STOP IT. OH MY GOD STOP IT. YOU ARE PART OF THE PROBLEM.

Because what happens when I answer the phone, about one time in five, is the very first thing I hear is a loud burst of static as someone picks up their phone. Not just a little crackle. It's like a tiny bomb going off in my ear. And it immediately makes me:

a) 90% less willing to be helpful and polite
b) Want to bite the other person until they bleed.

I get that people may not be aware how annoying this is, or they may not even be aware picking up the phone sets off a bomb in the other person's ear. BUT NOW YOU KNOW. No more excuses. Commit to speakerphone (please don't do this unless you cannot physically hold a receiver; speakerphone is a tool of Satan on innumerable levels) or pick up the phone, hold the receiver in one hand, and dial with the other. It's just not that fucking hard. And it means one less person in the world will desire nothing but ill for you.

This post is dedicated to the asshat who just called me three times and every single time dialled me on speakerphone.
You know, I get very angry about plagiarised work when it's done in academia; as a graduate student I always felt it was not only lazy, but a waste of my time and an insult to my intelligence as the person grading the paper.

Frankly, when people lift my fanfics, it's almost adorable. I mean honestly.

Get your lulz out: a bb writer over on fanfiction.net lifted Lab Book this morning and posted it under their name. I've reported it to Abuse, we'll see what they have to say.

I'm not especially worried about anyone thinking it's not mine. Lab Book's a pretty well known fic, and while I'd like to see the plagiarist squirm a bit, just so's they won't do it again, I'm mostly amused. I mean, it's fanfiction.net for christ's sake. Not that I don't have fond nostalgic memories of FFN, but it's not exactly the hub of Sherlock fandom.

(That said, thank you, Nonnie, for notifying me of the theft! It's much appreciated.)

On a more serious note, if this person nicked my fic, they may very well have nicked the other one they've posted. Sherlock writers, you may want to have a look at KiltsDaarlings and make sure it's not yours.

Try to keep your head from exploding when it hits the WALL OF UNFORMATTED TEXT.

ETA: AHAHAAHAHAH they're on DeviantArt too. Off to report them there as well...Sherlock artists, check the gallery...
One of my bosses this morning (I've given up tracking them for you, other than BossBoss) sent me an email about a mugging that occurred in the area recently. I guess it wigged him out; I also guess he hasn't looked at the crime stats for our area recently, which list three or four muggings/assaults a day, not counting theft from office buildings, stores, and cars.

Anyway, he asked me to write an email about "how not to get mugged" that we could send out. That is very much in the Culture Of Fear vein, but mine is not to reason why. Not that I know how not to get mugged, as I've never been mugged, and it's hard to tell if I've ever been almost-mugged. So I googled, which I knew was a mistake, but it gave me a starting point at least.

(Before anyone says anything, yes, I have read about the Epic Wrong of "How Not To Get Raped" posts, and the Epic Win of "How To Prevent Rape". While there is a significant difference between getting mugged and getting raped, I acknowledge that this email he's asking me to write is bordering on hinkey.)

Here are some gems I found about preventing mugging. These are from a number of different websites, because everyone has an opinion about this crap.

  • Dress to discourage unwanted attention. Do not wear obvious, flashy jewelery. Large bags that might contain valuables makes you a potentially more lucrative target.

  • Avoid dangerous parts of town. If possible, try not to walk through dangerous parts of town, especially at times of day when there are few others out. If you aren't sure, talk to locals to learn what places aren't safe.

  • Walk near the curb, facing traffic. This gives you a better angle to see in doorways or alleys and a better path to escape if attacked.

  • If you're walking through a dark or dodgy neighbourhood walk in the centre of the road - away from any possible ambush.

  • Stick out your chest, push back your shoulders and hold your head high. Look like a physical winner rather than a loser. Don't shuffle along with your head down.

  • Wave occasionally as though you've seen a friend, a shopkeeper you know or a relative you've noticed in an apartment window overlooking the street.

  • If you can act crazy then do so. Muggers don't like crazies - they are too unpredictable. Try talking to yourself as you walk.

  • Asking for the time is a classic trick used by muggers to distract victims. Looking down or putting a hand in a pocket leaves you vulnerable to attack.

  • If you see someone who could be a mugger don't look at him. If you look at someone you're challenging him - and he'll probably respond.

  • If you are approached by someone who looks like a mugger, run as fast as you can and make as much noise as you can.

  • Consider making a "mugger's wallet". Muggers wallets are simply wallets with several fake credit cards and a few bills of real money. If you are attacked, handing this wallet over to the mugger may satisfy him and give you a better chance to escape.

  • If you believe you are being followed, consider defending yourself if you have the skills or a weapon. Pepper spray can be a very effective deterrent and is easily carried on your person.

  • If available where you live, you can get a CCL (Concealed Carry License) or a permit to carry a concealed firearm. When a Mugger is looking down the barrel of a pistol it normally deters them.

Do you feel sufficiently afraid yet?

These are, of course, moving towards the more ridiculous end of the spectrum. My email said three things: Know what's going on around you, stick to well-lit areas when possible, and walk in pairs or groups when you can.

I thought about throwing in "Consider getting a concealed firearm permit" just to see if they were actually reading, but I like my job and don't want to lose it.

Him: Sign here.
Me: Can I see the package?
Him: Not until you sign for it.
Me: I'm not signing for the courier delivery until I see who it's for, so that I'm sure it's for us.
Him: I can't give you the delivery until you sign.
Me: But I don't know that it's actually for us. Can you show it to me?
Him: Not until you sign for it.
Me: So we have reached an impasse.
Him: Is this the French consulate?
Me: What?
Him: Are you speaking French?
Me: ...because I said impasse? Can you tell me who it's for?
Him: This is for [Business that is not us but used to be on this floor.]
Me: They're on the 14th floor now.
Him: So you can't sign for it?
Me: No. It's a different company.
Him: Are you sure?
Me: The elevators are that way.

Not all the bike messengers are as charming as the woman who keeps flirting with me.
Dear sir,

I do not know who you are, and it's very doubtful that if we have met once in the distant past I will remember you. I am entrusted with the care and feeding of two hundred staff members, all of whom have the occasional guest, very few of whom warn me in advance.

When you walk into the office while texting on your phone and bark your own name at me without looking up, the blank silence you will receive is not because I'm an idiot. It's because I'm capricious, and enjoy toying with rude people. I pretty much knew from context that you were saying your own name, and if you were important enough to get me into trouble I would recognise it and know why you were here.

So, your name is not what I need. The name of the person you're here to see would be ideal, but if you have a general conception of who you need to speak to I can probably make some suggestions.

All of this, however, is predicated on you looking up from your phone for twenty seconds in order to interact with me, and not expecting me to read your mind when you proudly tell me your own name like a two-year-old. I don't play stupid as a policy but for you, sir, I am willing to make an exception.

Thank you for visiting, and have a nice day!


The Receptionist
Coworker: Brr! It's cold!
Sam: Would you like me to put in a call to the building to have the thermostat adjusted?
Coworker: Well, I don't know, what temperature is it? *checks readout* Oh, it's cold!
Sam: I'm actually very comfortable, but I like it a little cooler than most. Are you cold just here in the lobby, or at your work area?
Coworker: It's just cold!
Sam: Would you like me to put in a cold call for your work area? There's no charge.
Coworker: Umm...whatever.

When I finally write my guide to independent adult living, entitled Your Sink Is Not A Dishwasher, I am going to dedicate a chapter to the gentle art of vocalising your needs and communicating with others. Surely at some point in their lives these people were taught how to answer a direct question...maybe they're just out of practice.
Ohai: trigger warning on this post for (highlight to read) doctors mutilating and then diddling little kids.

So, I was asked to signal boost this story about child genital mutilation at CORNELL UNIVERSITY -- about a doctor cutting up five year old girls because their clitorises are "too big" and then, as a follow up, sexually stimulating those six year old girls to find out if they're still responsive after he cut a piece of their genitals off. I'd seen the story doing the rounds, but I felt a bit hapless, like, okay, let's raise awareness but...what then? Obviously most of the people reading this will be horrified, because most of the people reading this are not idiots, so how do we direct our horror?

So I said to a friend of mine, "I want to signal boost this, but I feel hapless."

And she said, "Allow me to give you a faceful of information!"

If you've read the above story, or seen [livejournal.com profile] rm's post on why this is not just about mutilating little children but also about homophobia and misogyny, and you're angry, here are some concrete actions you can take:

Write about your outrage and send it to Weill Cornell: http://weill.cornell.edu/visitors/contact-us.html
Or to the Office of Research and Sponsored Programs, ORIA at med.cornell.edu, (646) 962-8200
Or to the Dean of the hospital, Antony M. Gotto Jr, dean at med.cornell.edu
Or to the college's general address: Weill Cornell Medical College, 1300 York Avenue, New York, NY 10065.

And of course, pass it on.
I just had to call security on someone in my lobby for the first time. Jesus, that's not entertaining at all.

You get used to business solicitation in big high rises; reps for print companies, temp agencies, tech agencies, whatever, I get maybe two a week. Usually I just say "I'll save you the speech, we don't accept solicitations" and they say "thanks" and go on their way without wasting any more of my time.

These dudes just would not quit. They kept trying to explain what they do, as if I was somehow not getting it, and then one dude started wandering off towards our offices like he was going to find someone else to talk to. Uh, no.

So I said, if you don't leave, I'm going to call security, and they called me a few names and left, and I called security.

And I'm sure I'll stop shaking any minute now.
"So I need to present the Big Book to HR, sort of, but not really. What I want to do is show her, using the Big Book, how much we do and how little support we have."


"What I need you to do is take the Big Book, condense it into two pages, and annotate every line to explain whether we implemented the protocol and what support we have for it currently."




Fuck me sideways.


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