Well, it happened again. I don’t know what it is, but sometimes it seems like the world is out to get you. You are walking along, minding your own business, whistling the theme to ‘I Dream of Genie‘ and there it is. Was there anything I could do? No. Was there anyway around this? Yes, but it would require a level five magic wand and some gemeralds to open the Gates of Karesh. Needless to say, I had neither. I used to have both those things, but a friend of mine in Vegas used them up when I was working on the Equity Transfers Database.
Funny story, that database. It all started right after I arrived at Windom/Losedom. I was tasked by THE QUEEN (bow and scrape) to do a job. It was supposed to be easy, but if you know THE QUEEN (bow and scrape), you know that nothing is ever easy. (Well, that is not true. Most of what she wanted was pretty straight forward, but then I wouldn’t have as interesting of a story.) She asked me to put update a database that for tracking the process when people would ‘upgrade’ their shares of time in a building. I took one look at the process, my heart shrank and I went to work. The first thing I had to do was talk to the lady who actually built the first draft. My peep, the Golden Bolden, told me that this lady had built it and was a little defensive about people making changes. When I talked to this gal about the database she did not volunteer the fact she had built it, she just asked about all the problems in a way that told me that she though I didn’t know that she had build it and was picking a fight. Ah, memories.
I made it through that one just fine. Then I got an e-mail from Golden that read something like this:
In the database the record that I cant pull up is there and i dont know how to not pull it up so it wont show.
can you come by when you have a chance
I wish I was kidding. I really really do, but that was the e-mail. It took several years of working with Golden to finally get a handle on what she wanted at any given point. Several months and many gallons of booze later, I finally had a working copy up and running. Then she said in an off hand manner, ‘Can you add a spinning cow to let us know that all the information is complete?’ Again, I really wish I was kidding. But she wasn’t. Here is the cow:
I really felt pretty deflated at putting that in, but what was I supposed to do? Say no? No, that is just not in my nature.
Here is where it gets interesting (as if it wasn’t already).
About a month after the cow was in place, I got a call from THE QUEEN (bow and scrape). It seems that the head of our little outfit, Big J was in the ladies room and over heard some folks talking about the cow.
Before I go on, I should point out that Big J claims that he was never in the ladies room. He just lent his badge to a visiting VP from Orlando and she left in the ladies room. All I know is that it was found in the ladies room and he knew about the cow. That’s all I am saying.
Anywho, spinning cows are against Windom/Losedom policy. I mean come on! Who could be so anal as to put in a policy about spinning cows?!! To this day I wished I had never asked the question. It was Conrath the Barbarian. Apparently he was teased in college for one of his extra-circular activities and the defense manifested itself as a ‘No Spinning Cow’ policy. Whatever.
I head into Her Majesty’s office and have a sit. The door closes. She looks at me and it is very clearly about to tear into me about the cow. But then the phone rings and she has to take it. I spend about twenty minutes twiddling my thumbs, reading books on how not loose employees and the like. Finally she gets off the phone and realizes she is late for another meetings and tells me to come back later. I walk out of her office, make a left, make another left, go up the stairs, open the door, make a right, round a sorta corner, make a left, another left and sit down in my big fat leather chair. Safe. Or so I thought. Not two minutes later, The-girl-who-will-not-eat-anything-health stopped by to show me the new gluten free Cheetos. I just don’t get it.
Right about then, there is a tap on my shoulder, and who should it be but LJ. LJ is about seven feet tall, wears overalls and carries an axe around with her. Not someone you want to mess with. Lucky for me, I was on her good side. My good looks you understand. She wanted to let me know our mutual boss, Harry, had a job for me. He wanted to unseasonalize some data. I asked what it was. She said that he wanted to know both the raw and unseasonalized rates at which he refilled his pen. Groan. Another of one those projects. My partner, a former 50’s heartthrob gave me hand, as he was always so good at doing.
Just then Cat-woman stopped by to tell us that she had managed to eat negative calories that day. Oi.
Where was I? Oh yes, the cow. At any rate 100 gave me a ring on the phone and I explained the situation to her. She seemed to get and gave me this advice, ‘Don’t drink bad beer.’
And that’s the story of why I don’t drink bad beer.
And so it goes.
p.s. Don’t feel left out. There will be another one of these.