Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Another Crazy Monday

What is this? Monday? Really? And a little after 5AM. The Sea of Red has arrived a little early.

Speed limit - 55. Speedometer - 31


That, along with hitting every other red traffic light, it was a slow inbound morning. Stop and go, lurch and sputter, an accordian of multi-ton contraptions move their owners towards their pay-chores.

In the parking garage, quite a few other office-droids have arrived early this morning, taking up much of the near parking. The walk to the building entrance will be a little longer this morning - not a bad thing, as it's a fairly nice morning for a walk. The laptop bag slung over the shoulder and lunch bag in hand, another work week begins, as does another trek towards the end of the day.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Thursday, December 1, 2011

Reflections on a Week of Mornings

Monday. Part I. The Long Road to Friday.

It was warm for a late November morning. The weather announcer noted that high temperature records had been broken the day before, and the warm, moist air continued this early morning. He thought the commute was too easy. As he wended his way down the county route leading to his office, he wondered where his roadmates were. Changing lanes to go around a bus poking along at 45 MPH, the Man In Black (cargos, polo, cowboy boots) had a random thought enter his mind. What if she knew he was wearing BWFC under the boots? Would she care?

The thought was fleeting. He took a sip of his coffee. His mind returned to consideration of a task that was due this morning - creating a matrix of supply sources for the products generated by his company.

Monday. What would this usually hectic day of the week bring?


Monday. Part II.  Planning?  What planning?

Really, Tuesday. The second cycle in the weekly thread. Funny how computer types think about their days in these terms.

The first 85 minutes was spent navigating the Land Barge through a sea of drizzle and red lights. “Quite a change from yesterday”, he mumbled. Apparently, the other work lemmings had recovered from their tryptophan-induced comas and were returning to attend to their pay-chores.

In the office – finally – a rude surprise. There was warning months ago, but no note to say “Now is the time.” The nocturnal IT droids have pushed out an operating system upgrade to his computer. The desktop greets him with a brand new Windows 7 login screen. He removes the black and red rain jacket (covering his green polo, black pants, black belt, black socks and black work sneakers) and places it on the back of his chair.

Logging in, it gets better as he finds that some of his application programs were not reloaded, and those that were didn’t want to cooperate. He would like to scream, but at 6:17 in the morning, nobody else is there to hear it.

Productivity outlook for the day: zero.


Monday. Part III.  The Center

Hump Day, and another arrival at the concrete and glass obelisk after navigating The Red Sea. It was noticeably colder this morning. Perhaps winter will finally arrive. A daydream of a ski trip is quickly overcome by the thought of having to fight with the snow blower; thus, the mental snow thrill quickly fades. He stops at his cubicle, mumbles a few words at the Windows 7 login screen, and puts his heavy jacket (that was covering his orange button-down shirt, jeans, white sneakers and BWFCs) in the closet. He also wonders if his project scheduling software will work this morning – his major chore for the day.


Having had a night of little sleep from EMS duty, he wanders to the kitchenette. He places his mug under the coffee machine, puts in a coffee packet, and pushes the button. The machine does not detect the clear glass mug, so he places his finger over the sensor window to fool the machine. It whirs, squeaks, pops, and dispenses the liquid kick-start. “At least I can get this to work” he thought to himself.

Progress, however small, must be relished.


Monday. Part IV.  Grind On

IV. Is that “4” or is that “intravenous”? Days and nights mix together at this point. The IVth day of the week. The late class last night and resulting short sleep this morning are taking a toll. Perhaps he needs an IV push of coffee. He knows he’d like to give a certain nocturnal IT droid an IV of *something*. Productivity has not come up much past flatline this week. Hurray for pens, pencils, and pads of paper - Yay. Hurray for IT planning – Not!

He settles into his desk chair (with his jeans, green polo, and brown cowboy boots covering a set of fine BWFCs), opens up Outlook, and checks his daily schedule. No meetings today. “Good”, he thinks, “perhaps I can get some catch-up done today.” Then, the co-worker from New York arrives with his 98-decibel Long Island voice. “HEY GOOD MORNING” the New Yorker bellows behind his back.

After he extracts himself from the overhead ceiling tiles and gives the New Yorker a piece of his mind (which New Yorkers love – they’re built that way), he again settles in and starts his daily foray into engineering-land.

Tick tock. Tick tock. (And it’s not the Croc. Perhaps it should be.)


Monday.  Part V.  The End.  Again

"F.".  He stares at the still-irritating Windows 7 login screen.  "F.".  He glances at his wall calendar.  "Friday.  Finally." 

The commute-a-coffee is not kicking in this morning, as often happens at the end of the Five-Day-Run.  "Double Shot," he thinks.  He glances at his watch.  The cafĂ© doesn't open for another hour.  <Sigh> 

He puts his coat (which was covering his blue polo, jeans, BWFCs and sneakers) into the closet.  Would she mind the BWFCs today?  He didn't know, nor did he much care this morning.   It's only illegal in her mind, and he guessed she would not be hopping on the next Airbus to fly down and chew him out for it.

The grumpy attitude is his own doing this morning.  Traffic was normally light for Friday.  The Land Barge was a speedboat.  The nocturnal IT droids appear to have fixed the broken applications on his computer, and reloaded the others.  There will be no apology, however, especially to the New Yorker.   He has lost too much work time this week to be charitable.  Plus, his brown-bag lunch is nothing to look forward to... yet another turkey-leftover sandwich. 

Stupid bird.