Groan. Never has being burnt out and bitter rewarded me so very well. I've been given various projects at work that'll make me look awesome when completed, but lead to me having no time for any of my own personal time - this means that until I get my rack up and accessible via the home box so I can SSH and telnet into it, I'll only be working on the CCNA during my weekend. It also means that National Novel Writing Month just went out the window, as my inspiration has dropped to approximately zilch.

It's certainly a learning experience, though, as are the accompanied bruises, muscle strain, cuts, and abrasions. "What does not kill me..."
My schedule has solidified into mid-October. Next week will be my last week of the year working night shift, after which I'll have a luxurious six days in which to adapt to working day shift again - this will be a back half shift, so I'll be working noon to 8 PM Wednesdays, then twelve hour shifts on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday from 8 AM to 8 PM. I've also been told that after October, since I'm now a senior technician(!), I get my pick of shifts.

Oh, and this also means having exactly one datacenter on my radar, as well as further training in more involved networking projects, since I've managed to make management pretty happy with various small projects here and there. Now if I can just get the senior manager to stop making noises about aptitude for leadership and taking ownership of various problems, I'll be all set.

Vacation out to Washington State has been approved without comment, so I need to get plane tickets when I get off work in another couple of hours. Looks like the shortest (and cheapest) option involves flying to Spokane and getting on Amtrak into Pasco.
Still on night shift, although this upcoming week may be my last week of the year. The count for months spent working various shifts overnight is at five, which means that unless I request it, I'm likely to be kept on days until sometime next spring. Then again, when spring comes, I may be in an entirely different position with the company. Hard to tell. The smell of politics is particularly intense this fall, and it isn't all from the elections.

I've put in for vacation over October 16th-22nd, and will be spending the 17th-21st of that, hopefully, in Washington State. Depending on whether or not I get my act together by then, I may have a Ruger Mk.II along with me.
Yeah, about that dayshift thing...

I stayed up most of yesterday, till about 1730, when I took a dose of melatonin and promptly conked out, only to wake up around 0200 with a headache and a distinct craving for brownies. This was followed by spending the day at home. About fourty-five minutes ago, I took a dose of melatonin and crawled into bed, content in the knowledge that I would wake up fully calibrated for working days.

And then S, the younger of my three managers called.

"Uh, yeah, K has to go out of town to do this project, so we need someone to cover nights for the next two weeks... how do you feel about working next week?"

Which is how I find myself wide awake and twitchy now, while I fight the sedatives and exhaustion. I wonder how long it takes 3mg of melatonin to wear off? Google has failed me.

haruspex: babylon (Happy Sephiroth Kitty)
( Apr. 5th, 2007 09:29 pm)
Dear users-

-The default amount of perfume you should be wearing should not necessitate a Hazmat mask or severe allergies. If the entire elevator smells like your perfume/ aftershave/ lotion for three hours after you've spent all of two minutes in it, you're wearing too much damn perfume.
-As a corollary, keeping six bottles of heavily scented substances at your desk just isn't cool. It doesn't smell good, either.
-For the love of GOD, stop leaving things to rot under stacks of paper. Your new computer will not look good once I vomit on it.
-My name is Melody, or ma'am, or "hey you", NOT "dearie", "sweetie", "girl" and ESPECIALLY not "little one". Do that again and I'll relieve you of several important and out-of-the-way system files. You don't need a browser.
-Indoor fucking voices. You are thirty years old and gainfully employed in a cube farm. I shouldn't be able to hear you all the way from the Metro Station. Shouting in my ear is bound to get you pilloried to the second floor, where the programmers (who have more goddamn sense) live.
-Discussing my shortcomings with your coworkers when you're ten feet away, and constantly glancing at me to see if I'm noticing, also doesn't win you any brownie points.
-A bum hard drive does not make your entire computer bad. No, I am not authorized to replace the entire goddamn computer. Have you heard of hand-receipts, bitch?
-It's not my fault you can't read.
-It's also not my fault that I don't have sufficient permissions to install the drivers for your extraneous USB shite.
-Or your Blackberry. Jesus, haven't you people ever heard of a helpdesk?
-Trying to set me up on dates with the thicker and uglier of the sergeants isn't funny.
-No, I am not interested in converting to Baptism.
-No, I do not want your crappy rip-off Bible. If I want a Bible, I'll bogart a King James Version, you fucking schismatic snake-handling asswipe.
-"She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy" does not need to be played loudly enough that I can hear it five desks away.
-Neither does bad gospel music.
-I do not want to discuss Fred Thompson.
-Or politics.
-Or my fellow techs. Frankly, they're all smarter than you lot, and I'm not going to indulge in sniping because your desk wasn't put back exactly the way you want it. We are not in the business of rehanging the truly massive amounts of knick-knacks that festoon your desk.
-I am not an electrician.
-Or a plumber.
-Or a laptop saleswoman.
-Or the Magic Clue Fairy.
-Or psychic.
-Or capable of installing five computers at once, especially in different cubicles. Wait your turn. There's a reason I've got five installs running concurrently.
-If I'm off of work, I will not troubleshoot for you.
-Especially if it's your home computers or network. I will chat during the install because it's polite, and I insist on being nice to users, as it greases wheels. Outside of work, I hope you die in a fire, you ignorant shitheads.

To the users on the second floor, who brought me cookies, soda, and offerings of cheesecake, you rock. Thank you especially for being embarrassed about your (very clean, I assure you) desks, and helping me untangle the cords.
To the user on the seventh floor who served me some really good gunpowder tea and chatted with me about birdwatching, tea, and Korea, you rock.
To oh, well, pretty much every Army guy or gal that I've worked with, you guys are, on average, the most polite and well-informed bunch in the building, aside from the programmers. Thank you for not making my life difficult.
To a certain Colonel on the second floor: I'd be a lot more impressed with your claims if you hadn't equipped all of Baghdad with Dells. Chump.

Love and Kisses,


haruspex: babylon (Default)


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