Today was another day of catching up. It started out not entirely well-omened, with the shadows of distressing dreams, and too hot, to the point that wearing one of the normal thickness cardigans was making me panic at the thought of overheating, badly enough that I wouldn't be able to leave. So I dug through the laundry until I found the thin soft black cardigan, the previously maligned one with the "drop pockets" which drop things out of them reliably. (Bare arms wouldn't have done either: sun, and I have some body-shyness with my upper arms. Though I'm becoming okay with going bare-armed around my team, indoors, out of the sun.)
The rest of Purple's crew had been delayed, so it was just us outside at one of the little umbrella tables for four that we usually cram with at least six, sometimes up to ten.
We'd run into R on our way out; she'd regaled us with tales of horror and woe. She's going to Colorado for a couple weeks to spend time with her ailing mother.
"No meetings this afternoon?" she'd asked Purple, indicating the onions on his tacos. That hadn't really been a consideration for him. ( An irreverent onion-related poll )
One of the guys had been trying to poll for dinner soonish, and hoped to get some of the things hashed out over a milkshake. So we went up to the milkshake bunker.
This guy, the new guy, is one of the guys in that notable corner office with the mommy and daddy bananas, the minion, and ET. The office also has 7 of 9, and enough booze to intoxicate an entire Borg cube.
There are plans to renovate the milkshake bunker and add a genius bar. The locals are dubious. I inquired, and got back reassurances that the milkshake bunker will still be good for milkshakes during most of the swapping around, the genius bar is going into the now former catering office, and the catering office is moving into the nearby conference room (I think). They're swapping furniture around as well. We shall see.
There was various hilarity, including wireless networking problems, UK and Australia vs. US electrical woes, a new face comparison for the Australia plugs that is not horrible and is in fact the Scary Movie mask, and accidental desk hockey. Purple and Mr. Zune had been playing with their ice cream cups, and skidding them across the table a bit. Mr. Zune accidentally flung his across the table between Purple's arms. This was declared a goal, despite Purple declaring that he wasn't playing hockey. Then Purple licked his spoon, wiped it off on his pants, and began brushing at the table with it, declaring that he was curling.
I spent a good amount of last week laughing. Today's milkshake walk filled this week's laughter quota.
Shortly thereafter, the Dean showed up. He very nearly threw himself onto the table and slid down it, which would have been exactly perfect. I promptly lost the words that I was looking for to communicate that we needed to set up plans for the ... the ... I gestured a rolling ball, a hat, a whip. The thirteen-year-olds I was with interpreted it all as BDSM. Thanks, thirteen-year-olds. After the Dean headed off, I found words again. "INDIANA JONES." The "You perverts." was unspoken. <3
The guy from the office of the suspiciously gendered bananas has an implanted medical device, and therefore needs to avoid hobbies like arc welding, making tesla coils, and being in the vicinity of that former Hitachi magic wand of mine that interfered with that keyboard. We never did get the dinner plans nailed down.
The attempt to get my entire team on versions of Adobe Creative Suite from the century of the fruitbat continues. Still.
Rocky's father-in-law died last week. The Stage Manager sent a fruit basket, which will do a large part to help Rocky's wife survive the memorial, as her mother does not really keep fruit around and she basically lives on it. I expressed my condolences, and he talked about things.
The weather changed, enough that it could be felt inside. I felt much better, although still sticky.
In advance of the latest round of helldesk software improvements, I tried to order my thoughts onto a wiki page. It took me about fifteen bullet points before the lack of horizontal scrollbars (when content would otherwise get cut off by a narrow aperture) caused me to emit grawlix and promise to publicly embarrass myself and everyone else if it happened one more time. I shared this wiki page with main-channel of internal IRC, and that was when the usually patient guy on a friend's team (who has been watching this whole thing unfold and getting steadily less patient) apparently first got his hands on my wiki page of sortable grousing. I could see him going point by point down the list of tickets and getting steadily more frothy.
There was, at one point, a survey sent around. He expressed disappointment at not getting to see the output of said survey. "Oh, they posted it," I said. "It was a real $NAME special." Then I linked to the not!Facebook post about same, commenting that this was the one where Purple had re-balanced the survey, and everything no longer came up Milhouse.
Dude was not pleased with our now-ex C-level SaaSmonger. To the point where I started explaining the gospel of the Unimportant Fire
. And the usual accompaniment of same, the importance of conserving one's water for the important fires. At which point some of the usual suspects started talking about mulch, and that if a certain ex-exec did not care for mulch on his head, well, he could file a ticket.
On that cheery and salubrious note, Purple emerged from the depths of his cave and swooped me off into the parking lot. We chatted about various things, including various people we had known who did not come to particularly great ends. Cheery topic. Also lunch plans for tomorrow -- the QUILTBAGPIPE group is meeting for lunch (bring your own lunch) in the milkshake bunker, and while Mr. Sub-tle couldn't be there himself, he did authorize the organizing principle to expense the champagne for the mimosas. All of which is to say that while Purple is getting lunch, I was going to be waltzing back down, tight as an owl.
"What does that even mean? I grew up in Ohio! I'm familiar with owls!"
Purple had never heard that phrase before. It is an old one, but not apparently super well known. http://freaky_freya.tripod.com/Drunktionary/T-Z.html#tight
So that was Wednesday.