Butter my Butt and Call me a Biscuit
Friday, Jan. 16, 2009 at 8:03 a.m.
So this is my last day with the COMPANY, and things have been winding down like I expected. Also, as I expected, the �transition� (gads, how I hate that word now) to India has been, to put it lightly, a Mongolian Cluster Fuck.
Why the Mongols get such a bad rap when it comes to cluster fucks, I don�t know, but this is certainly one, and the capitalization of �Cluster� and �Fuck� is also necessary. Now we know why S, my buddy in the next cube, will be retained by the company for at least another month. To summarize, the folks in India just don�t get it.
Now, of course, you�ve been reading for years how this is a trained monkey job, and it is, but there are nuances to every job that I�m sure you�re all aware of. There�s exceptions to every rule in a corporate world, and every hospital has their own way of dealing with their own IT. When we hear the voice of GE from B*****, we cringe and get our ears set up to deal with her annoying voice. When SC calls from NY******, we settle in for a nice chat. If we have to page MF, we expect to be called �darlin��. If we have to contact the AM group, we groan. S and I were talking about how we actually missed the guys from the help desk at a certain hospital in Manhattan, as their contract was changed so that we don�t get to hear from them anymore.
But, the folks in India . . . they seem to have difficulty answering the phone by saying, �Hello, this is Universal Asshole Company, my name is (blank)�. On a good day, we get �Hello.� That�s it. Nothing else. I�m not sure if there�s been any angry outcry from the customers, but the truth is, they�re simply screwed. They can complain, but the Company won�t be changing their policies just because people complain. And it�s not as if the customers can simply take their business elsewhere, because you�re talking about millions of dollars in software, hardware, and service contracts.
So anyway, that�s about it about that. Moving on.
I haven�t heard anything new from Mom, and it�s gotten so that I cringe whenever the phone rings. Oh, what am I saying? I�ve been doing that for years. Talking with Mom is the telecommunications equivalent of filibusting in the Senate. Thank god for ear buds, since it�s hard to hold a phone for the 100-minute average phone call time from my Mom. I will be flying out next Tuesday. For ten days. Yikes.
Hubster took me to see The Lion King the other evening, and of course, if was spectacular. The puppetry and the costumes are just as amazing as you�ve heard. Sometimes it seemed, though, that the emphasis was more on the chanting and dance numbers and less on the actual story itself. For example, while the stampede ballet was incredible to watch, I needed more time for the moments when Simba is with the dead Mufasa, coping with his death. That scene was so truncated (practically a throw-away scene), yet there was a ballet and chant with the lionesses that lasted several minutes. That really, really bothered me. There were also times that I asked myself, �Are we watching a musical with some really dark themes, or did they just do Lion King on Ice without any ice?� For example, the number with Scar in the second act, �Please Tell Me I�m Adored�, was such a caricature of the pure evil that Scar needed to be for me. Scar is supposed to be Claudius and Judge Turpin rolled into one, and instead, well, he was Malcolm McDowell chewing the scenery.
There�s a line between humour and just being silly, that�s all I�m sayin�.
Speaking of silly, I have no pictures for y�all. I�ve already stripped my work laptop of all my personal stuff so that it can be wiped later today.
Hold on. Lemme just google �silly pictures� and pick one out for you . . . and here we go:
Yes. We needed this sign:
Otherwise, the aged pedestrians would be just wandering all over the damn place.
Wait a minute . . . . Hey!