September 25, 2000

professional

Poor Spid II. He's dying, and I don't know why. His bottom leaves look sad and yellow, and are drooping over the lip of his pot. I would think that it's some willful display of temper, if it weren't for the fact that he has absolutely nothing to complain about. He's been watered, he's been loved, he's been coddled, he's even had a little ribbon tied on his pot and removed again just in case he didn't like it. He even has toys.

Poor Spid II. it's probably my fault somehow. I shouldn't be allowed near plants. My Golden Pothos is doing just fine, though I haven't named it yet -- have I? I can't recall, suddenly -- and it's busily extending tendrils of leaves in a greedy attempt to eat one of my desk lamps. i don't think I've watered that particular plant since the day I got it. Could it possibly be a weed, fobbed off on me as an indoor vegetable? You can never put anything past those smarmy Home Depot people.

I note that I said something about losing my job in my previous entry, and though I know quite well that nobody has had time to panic on my behalf, (thank you, well-wishers, all), I should probably explain promptly as opposed to letting the thought linger in the aether, as it were. (Hm. Mark just walked by my cubicle looking haggard and carrying an armful of small potato chip bags. He's obviously having one of those days.) The short form of the story is that my job description is going to be changing to Operations Software Engineer, or maybe Release Engineer, and that the job duties that I've been performing are going to go to a newly yet-to-be-hired Project Coordinator. I should say that the job duties that I'm supposed to be performing, since I'm not, really. What I've been doing is not detailed in the job description, since it involves actual coding and the like.

"I'm looking for a Project Coordinator who actually wants to be a Project Coordinator," the Director said wistfully. Her first one is now a tech writer. Me, I'm going to be an Engineer. Which leaves the Director-lady trying to figure out what projects she's involved in, and why she's involved in them. In the meantime, well ... if anybody's wondering, this job change is a Good Thing.

The Norwegian is at home in bed, sick with the flu. Smurfette, when I just called, told me that she had a scratchy throat. "But I've had it since last night," she reassured me, as though I should find that a comfort wholly disassociate from the fact that the man is viral and quite possibly infectious.

Poor Norwegian. At least he has someone to coddle and mother him.

In the meantime, Smurfette and I went out shopping yesterday to find a birthday present for my mother. Because -- (because, because, because, because) -- I hadn't gotten her anything yet, and I needed to get her something, and now I'm second-guessing myself. The present is bought. It's beautiful. But was it really worth the amount of money that I spent? I don't even dare write it out here, ($173), because it's embarrassing just to think about it. It was a lot of money. ($173.) I've never bought an object of this type for quite so much money. ($173). It's beautiful, though, and that should count for something, right? Gorgeous. Just...you know. Pricey. I could probably have gotten it for cheaper, if I'd been willing to wait. But. But.

$173.

It was a wool skirt. Wrap-around. A beautiful, dark maroon plaid. By Ralph Lauren.

At that price, it should've been hemmed with diamonds.

But it's gorgeous, and I don't regret it, I don't, I don't, it's great, she deserves it, end of story.

($173.)

Besides, what's the point of money, if you can't spend it to get things for people you love?

Christ. I'm out of my nuts.

My sister wants me to meet some random other person she knows. It never ends; she'll continue throwing people at my head until I finally cave in and mate with one of them. Work colleagues are starting to do the same thing, though without the same grim obsessiveness of my sister. To them, it's more of a hobby. "That's what I'm saying, that you should really get together with so-and-so," one of them will pipe up at a completely irrelevent moment. "Because you used to do this thing, and his sister's best friend's fiance's cousin did the other thing."

I feel old and tired, and I'm starting to wonder if adolescence is really worth it that I should want to hit puberty so much.

My desk is a mess. I should be ashamed.

One of my coworkers just wandered by, and here it goes again, the mockery. On Friday, I got to the shuttle stop early, and since I was in front of Safeway and remembered that I was out of cereal, I wandered in to get a box for office use. "Maybe some Cracklin' Oat Bran," I remember thinking. I like that stuff, and it's easy as finger food. The people in my office are always willing to graze on the cereal that I bring in; the last time, (the first time), it was Corn Bran, which they all claimed they had never eaten before and instantly fell in love with.

(One of the Indian women told me sadly that she wasn't able to find it at Costco. Why, I want to know, would you buy cereal at Costco? Toilet paper I understand. Maybe even toothpicks. But cereal?)

This time, as I meandered through the cereal aisle, I noticed a '2 for the price of 1' sale happening on certain designated cereal boxes. "I'll save some money," I decided, "and get one box for me, and one box for the office."

I picked up a box of Life, and a box of generic Safeway 'Golden Corn Nuggets.' Safeway generic brand is always a hit or miss in terms of quality, but there isn't much you can do to screw up cereal, and it was free, anyway. Why not?

Until I got to checkout, I thought I was doing a smart thing. Checkout, however, thought differently. She charged me for both. "Why don't you get two more?" she suggested. I stared at her, blankly.

"I thought it was two for the price of one."

"Yeah, but these are two different brands," she pointed out.

"It didn't say anything about brand names on the sign," I argued, feeling much aggrieved.

"You might as well go back and get two more."

"I don't want four boxes of cereal. Maybe I'll just return this one and--"

The woman spoke louder and faster. (Do they work on commission?) "Or I can page someone and have them get some more boxes for you. That's no trouble." She started reaching for the phone.

"No, really. I don't need four box--"

"You might as well, since you paid for them. Here. I'll page Luke."

"I don't want---"

"(ffffffssssssst.) Luke? Luke? Customer service, please."

I was imagining myself wandering around the Excite@Home campus carrying four boxes of cereal. I was imagining the mockery I'd get from my colleagues. I glanced at the clock, realized just how late it was, and started imagining the shuttle pulling away without me.

I panicked.

"Fine!" I yelped, and grabbed the bag. "Never mind. Don't page. I'll go get two more boxes. No, no, by myself, thanks. I appreciate it. Just ... could you give me another bag?"

She hung up the phone and gave me three more bags. Just In Case. I fled.

Other people in the office have books on Perl on their bookshelves. They have boxes of software. They have manuals and RFCs and guides to LDAP and SNMP. Me, I have an O'Reilly, a plant, two boxes of Life cereal, Safeway Golden Corn Nuggets, and Cocoa Comets. How did I think I would ever grow up to be a professional?