Professionally Late to the Party -or- Forced Vacation Days #Last

 Remember VCRs? Anything with a digital clock will do. After anything happened with the power, the clock would blink. Sometimes it would blink out of the box because you couldn't set the time. I mention this because my first sight the other morning was the oven's clock not blinking. Good, you say... it was set. Was being the operative word. In fact, it was off. In fact, the entire oven was unplugged. I don't see this often. I would have figured I was the singular human in the house who would unplug the oven. It's not that anyone's afraid of electricity, but they won't walk near an outlet in a thunderstorm. 

Also present was a piece of paper. And when I say a piece of paper, I mean half a piece of paper, with the other half ashes. Although it matched the oven, it wasn't a good sight. Not a surprising sight either - we can turn hard plastic to liquid and burn inflammable objects. But the pulled power cord frightened me. I did the only thing available to me, which works most of the time; I ignored it. I figured if anyone wanted me to know anything about the oven, they would tell me. The funniest and most ironic part was that I told myself it wasn't so horrible... we still had a microwave. And as I started to think on what I wanted for dinner, everything involved either the oven or the stove.  

Don't think about using the oven.

Ok. PIZZA!

But it all worked out fine. The next morning, it was plugged in and the clock was blinking again. Nobody actually told me about this- they just plugged it in.  We still got our holiday card from the fire station, so I guess all is well. And the reason nobody told me, is that we're using the one method guaranteed to prolong any marriage: one of us sleeps while the other is awake. There is no fighting, no noticing bad habits, and no complaining about snoring.Try it.

Conversations with my Dog 

So we're sitting in our normal positions: me in the chair with my laptop, Penny seatbelting me in, between me and the laptop. Her snoring is weird... it's more like a whine. Eventually she needed to reposition herself and I thought it was a good time to chat.

Me: How are you today - get enough rest?

Dog:  I could always use more.

Me: Say, about your toys....

Dog: Ooh, ooh, are you getting me more?

Me: No,  sorry. You already have more toys than some rich kids. You see, they're always in the way and tend to encroach on areas we sit. It makes it difficult to stand. Why can't you pick them up?

Dog: Because I have you for that.  [snore]

So how's that vacation coming, you're dying to ask....

Well, I'm both glad and sad you asked.

Mrs. lefty's having a bad time of it and she's not around a lot. And when she's not around, neither is Penny. I try not to take it personally that my dog would rather stay with my sleeping wife all day than hang out with me.

So that largely leaves me to my own devices, which is never a good idea, especially if I have certain devices. The entire idea of forced vacation is that I have something to do, some structure. Otherwise I get up to stuff or become a zen-like one with the sofa, mostly the latter. This came to the attention of my friends (both of them), who urged me to 'get out.' Or 'do something.' These well-meaning suggestions are both vague and annoying. If I wanted to go out or do something, I'd already be there doing it. Or something. 

Today I did battle with the washer. I don't hate it as much as mowing, but I definitely don't like it. The other day I vacuumed. I cooked. These are all things one can do with one's time, but they're not exactly vacation-type activities. I can't go on rollercoasters without Wife, and because I'm terrified of them. I was advised to give up knife-throwing after The Incident. The Feds revoked my Blasting for Fun and Profit license, and it's not much fun as a hobby. I have SWAT trained that just because something explodes, they should wait for the 911 call before automatically driving to my house. I promised the judge not to do Funny Tricks with Gasoline for another few months. The doctors said to try something out of my comfort zone. Screw them - comfort zone didn't exist as a concept until recently, and now everybody uses it (like 'game changer'). They said things like going a few counties south and looking at the flowers at the orchard.

WHAT?

I'm sorry, I thought I heard you say to drive an hour and look at flowers.

You DID? I can look out my window and see the neighbors' flowers or go to a flower shop. The thrust of my argument is that I don't like flowers. Or plants. Or most things put into the ground, like dead bodies. If you think about it, flowers and dead bodies go together. What kind of an idiotic suggestion is this? It's not only out of my comfort zone, it's out of my Reality Zone. 

You like to play guitar. Why don't you teach?

Excuse me.... exactly what course of logic gets you from liking to play all the way to teaching would be fun? Trust me... one does not equal the other. I don't like people, remember? Introvert here. Misanthrope Central. I tried this in high school. There was a guitar class, with these hideous guitar-like things, which a piano teacher would teach. I tried to help. It was like trying to use someone else's fingers to tie knots. I am not blessed with the patience to tie a knot with my own fingers, no less somebody else's. So she left me alone and I took 3 years of guitar class. I sat outside the room. They named the hallway after me. So if you ever go to school and see the ThermionicEmissions Honorary Hallway, that's mine. 

I think my last few days will be different. How so, I haven't figured out yet. Since I've largely been indoors, I've been building up a bit of steam. Now would be a good time to attack state congresscritters and find out how the state can go double jeopardy on me and charge me twice for car paperwork. Or how a state sales tax on everything ordered online came into being recently. I'm feelin' a little prickly.

The Great Laptop Debacle of 2022

I suspect (hope) we're in the final run for this, although it will technically bleed into 2023. Bleed is an accurate word. 

The manufacturer got right to work on diagnosing the problem. The long an short of it was that the display and every single piece of plastic on the outside would have to be replaced. Since it was out of warranty, I'd have to pay for it all (of course I would - these things don't happen under warranty). And not to worry, it would only cost half the purchase price of the laptop.

WHAT? 

We could always ship it back to you in a lump if you'd like.

THIS is how I'm going to spend the rest of my vacation, in Prickly Mode. When one considers the life of this particular laptop, one thinks of overprivileged children. Its entire universe consists of a 20' path between the office and the sofa. It has never even left the house. As for the hinges, the lid only moves an inch or two in either direction; I don't even shut the lid.  Replacement of the external plastic parts seems to indicate that someone was playing basketball with the thing. I don't even like basketball, and laptops don't bounce (don't ask). When I emailed the manufacturer, I told them this. Their response was something to the effect of "Thank you for your feedback. We will pass it along." This translates to FSCK YOU in English.

I know that people hang on my every word and make expensive purchases based upon my reviews, so here goes: Do not purchase a System76 laptop. I know, I know... you were dying to buy a laptop that has linux installed on it from the factory, but I'd suggest trying a different brand or getting a Thinkpad, which is very linux-friendly. 

So How's Vacation Weather Been? 

It hasn't.

More accurately, the clouds have gotten smarter. They laid back when I got out of bed, to make me think it was going to be a sunny day. The moment I happily turned my back, the clouds rushed in to successfully cover the sun yet another day. 

Oh, wow.. I nearly had a thought..... the government is seeding the clouds, which is what creates the chemtrails. Why? They want a thick cloud cover, so global won't warm. Brilliant idea, guys. You should probably stick to dosing unsuspecting people then pushing them out of buildings (suicide!).

The last three days of forced vacation were the worst, making for great blog entries.

The 3rd day I sadly realized we'd have to go to CostCo, or it would be 20 times more crowded the next day. I don't like CostCo, in roughly the same way I don't like mowing (or cutting off personal limbs). CostCo is a great concept, which would work perfectly in practice, so long as people who were raised by wolves weren't allowed to shop there. The first obstacle is the parking lot. You won't find a convenient parking spot, but worse is the people trying to park. When I see them mowing down pedestrians, I get the sense it isn't an accident. While there are handicapped spots, they're all taken, except the ones a mile away. If you're lucky enough to find a spot, you must wear bright yellow, reflective clothing. This way the erratic drivers will know where to aim their cars. Oh, wait, so you can have your legal right of way.

Once you get inside, the real fun starts. The main job of a CostCo employee is moving stuff around, so none of the customers will ever know where to find things. In the last month, the Coke has been in 3 different places. You have to walk the entire mile of the store to find it. Fortunately CostCo started putting defibrillators in each aisle, so someone can use them when customers get a look at how much Coke costs. I've paid less to fill my car's tank. If that doesn't get to you, the other customers will. Wife paid careful attention and said it was largely Russian in origin. She was correct. People would leave the carts in the middle of the aisle and take up as much space as they could, looking at products. If you, heaven forbid, had to get past them, you were not even a bump on their consciousness. It's not like they would move or say excuse me.... you simply were beneath their notice. I took to saying "Excuse you." Invariably they'd speak to their Significant Other, in Russian. Don't bitch at me - I only report what I see.

When it's time to check out, you observe the new, wonderful section of remarkably fantastic self-service checkout lanes. So where there used to be 10 cashiers working, there are 6 self-service lanes and 2 cashiers. And a half-mile line to wait for the cashiers, because most of us aren't stupid patient enough to use self-serve. It only takes the first swipe to throw these infernal devices off, requiring more untrained, helpless employee help. Help that could be manning cash registers.

Once past the checkout is their little cafe-thing. You won't believe this, but they have excellent strawberry slushies/smoothies. Wife went to procure a pair and was immediately turned down because she didn't have her membership documents, which were with me in the checkout lane. Let's play along with CostCo a minute: they must get proper documentation to prove that someone snuck past the person who checks your card as you walk in, so that you don't walk up and pay listed price for a slushie? These must be the same people who move the Coke weekly. By the time I got home, Wife had to tranquilize me to make sure I didn't take my revenge on any random person I came across. 

The 2nd day we decided to visit a traditional restaurant (ok,Waffle House) and a sociology experiment called a mart, which was the last place in the state you could smoke indoors. A place where even scruffy old lefty looked like a straight up button down suit, in comparison with everyone else. As it was New Year's Eve, we checked the website to be certain it would be open regular hours, which was verified. As we hit the 4th store, we heard the manager saying he was closing in 5 minutes. WHAT? The whole mart? Yes.  But...but..but... the website... we drove 90 minutes to walk past 4 stores? The webmaster should be ritually disembowled, beheaded, dragged behind a truck, beaten by real mobsters, and shot. 90 minutes later, we were home. Wife had to roofie me so I didn't hurt anybody, including myself.  Her mistake was that she didn't roofie me before we went to the mart, so I wouldn't remember any of it.

On the last day, we visited one of those mills 'discount' malls. Once again, we verified hours of operation. Because last year we also verified hours of operation, drove there, and shopped for 20 minutes before the entire place closed down early. I emailed Mall Manglement, detailing our experience. They said they were sorry. All was well in the kingdom. Somebody's kingdom - certainly not mine.

The final store was some kind of incestuous combination of a Marshalls and a Home Office Depot Goods. The left half of the store was Marhsalls; the right half Home Depot Goods and Stuff. I was mentally out of this store long before we hit the checkout lane, as well as tired and sore. The line turned out to have 25 people in it already. I was not happy. When I say I was not happy, I mean the high-volume sarcasm started, which seemed to either amuse or freak out the 25 people in front of us. Being a systems guy, I immediately searched for the weak link that caused this backup. I checked out the cashiers, but I could only see #12. The trick here was that numbers 1 to 11 didn't exist; they had exactly one cashier. Having only one cashier perfectly explained the 25 people in front of us. You know what happened next, right? The lone cashier had to call for a price check, causing the already near motionless procession to stop completely. We waited and watched. Watched and waited. Sometime within the next 30 minutes, a lady showed up, uttered a few syllables to the cashier, pushed exactly 2 buttons on the register, and walked off. When it was our turn (the next day), I asked the cashier if the lady who pushed the 2 buttons was a manager. She wanted to know how I knew. Because she showed up, performed very little useful work, saw a line of 25 people, and walked away without helping. That screams manager. We complimented the poor cashier on her excellent performance and really positive attitude. Then I asked if all the other cashiers got lost on the way to work. No, they all called out sick for New Year's Day. There were literally two cashiers for the entire store(s). Very large stores - much square footage. I didn't get to speak to the incredibly busy mangler lady, but it is a fact that if you pay a decent wage and hire adults instead of children, they show up for work and do their jobs without requiring adult supervision. I'm not talking about age - just mindset. When we got home, Wife got me really drunk, so I didn't go back to the store and teach the mangler how to properly mangle. Wife is kept really busy being married to me. It's a tough job, but some poor person has to do it. It's probably less strenuous than visiting me in prison.

I don't know about you, but I'm looking forward to going back to work. I just can't take all this vacationing. See you late this year, after I forget to use up my vacation days again.

The House of Waffles

Stop laughing.

We found ourselves at one of the above-mentioned restaurants, having breakfast at 8pm (because breakfast tastes better after dinner). The first thing we noticed was that the place was empty. Very empty.. like the Food Police just left.

In spite of this, we got seated quickly.

The next thing we noticed was the large volume of cold air hitting us, as if someone figured out how to make an eight foot solid window open. The waitress asked if we wanted to move to a different spot which wasn't as cold. Nice lady.  I went from shivering with my coat on to not shivering with my coat on.  It turns out the air conditioning was on and the controls locked. This is Great Business Practice. Mid-February, near the mountains; crank up the a/c.

Oddly enough, I don't complain much in restaurants. You really have to go out of your way to make my food miserable, or make me wait an hour for it, before I'll say anything. But here's a restaurant (stay with me and stop laughing) where people are sitting there, eating with heavy coats on. And no one can turn off the a/c. Perhaps the owner is menopausal.

The food arrived. When I say the food arrived, I mean everything but mine.
She eventually brought mine over and asked if it was too dark. Ummmm... I have to admit I've never heard that question before. Well, chocolate tends to be dark, so no problem.

Problem.

There's no chocolate.
I ordered a chocolate chip waffle. This being Waffle House, I didn't expect an issue. You know... ordering a waffle at Waffle House. The overcooked waffle, missing its chocolate chips. If I think about this any further, my head will hurt even more than it does (and the voices will get louder and angrier).

While we're on the topic, there's no coffee either. I've never been in food service, but I've ordered an awful lot of it. The coffee comes first. Honestly.   As it turned out, the extreme lack of coffee was actually a gift, which we figured out when it arrived. It would be rude to compare the taste to an ashtray, so I'll just say it tasted a lot less like a caramel-colored ashtray when two or six creamers were installed. Unfortunately this pushed the level of the coffee way up, causing a small physics issue, wherein the coffee sought a new place for itself and found it,  on the table, my plate, and the greater part of my pants. So technically, I wet my pants.

The waffle was, as you'd imagine, dark and a bit more stiff than I like. Unfortunately, so were the hash browns. They had the effect of being one solid, crunchy piece of potato. I am obviously not a purist, but I have never had bad Waffle House food or service.  Just so no one complains that I never say anything positive, the orange juice was exactly as described and in no way messed up, served at the proper temperature, and nicely aerated.  I am not complaining about the waitress.

Hours later, our stomachs and intestines remain unpunctured. We will give the place another chance, although I worry that if we go in the summer, the heat will be locked on.

What the Hell Just Happened?

It's a recent Saturday, on which I've scheduled my exam for the Security+ certificate. For those of you who don't know, Security+ is a certification that one knows Important Stuff<tm> in the IT security realm. It mostly certifies that you test well.  Employers like certifications but I have something better; years of IT experience, which counts for something.  In addition to certifications, I don't have a college degree (because I couldn't pass the drinking exams to get into college).

If you've never tried to get a certification before, it's a very interesting (read: tedious) process. First you have to figure out who gives the test. Then at what location. Then if you have the proper identification (drivers license, something else with your signature and the proper arrangement of blood vessels in your retina).  All of this pales in comparison with Paying for It.  Yes, folks, this cert was going to cost me three hundred dollars, pass or fail.  And this is the cheap cert.

In addition to the rigamarole surrounding signing up, you have an actual Code of Conduct, which largely states that you'll show up, not blow raspberries at other test-takers or make fart noises with your underarm.  Oh yeah, you have to show up at least fifteen minutes early for the test.

For locations, I had the choice of a Korean church and an airport.  Hmmm.... this was going to be tough.  Let's see, a church (I don't go into churches because I always set off the Anti-Christ Detector) or an airport (the classic scenario of the guy with A.D.D. trying to take a test at an airport with planes taking off and landing).  Perhaps because I like a challenge, I chose the airport.  Have I mentioned that I haven't taken a test since.... well... let's call it the eighties.

Stay with me here.... it was my wife's birthday so I told her I'd be getting the certification as a small present.  Off we went, way too early, to the airport.  It was a small airport, which I suppose was a good thing and we watched a few planes land and take off.  It was kind of a nice morning, watching planes. One landed with the insignia of another country on it.  Turns out it belonged to a doctor, who had two.

So it was getting kind of late and the doors were locked.  Another poor slob showed up and we waited together for our test.  Our fifteen minute window came and went.  Then our test time came and went.  We stared quizzically at each other.

Unfortunately,  the test-giver apparently did not have to show up fifteen minutes early.  Or at all.  We didn't entirely know what to do so we did what came naturally; we sat there.  It quickly became an emergency, as my wife was out of coffee (do not pass Dunkin Donuts coffee, do not collect $200).

All of the sudden, we heard a thundering sound.  Looking toward the airfield, we saw nothing.  Then we turned to the parking lot and a humongous vehicle approached, with all the thunder of a 747, and squealed mightily into a parking spot.  If this was Test Guy, he sure knew how to make an entrance. He very slowly got out of the leviathan and it became obvious he had a small problem with one of his legs. I loved that on the back of the truck was a bumper sticker that said, "Don't you feel silly about your Obama sticker now?"

And he was Test Guy.

He let us in, apologized, then started explaining why he was late, what kind of trouble he was having with his leg, which vertebrae were out in his back, how long he has suffered, how he got that way and that one nostril was physically larger than the other.  Not to mention how much of a dick his boss was.

I know this was going to be an interesting test experience.

We all gave up our first-born and blood vessels and marched quietly into the test area.  The test area was replete with some magnificent wood paneling, reminiscent of the 1970's.  In fact, the entire shack looked like my parents' house in 1970.  But it had cable.

There were about six test stations.  The first thing I noticed, superior Security Dood that I am, was that the computers were all running Windows XP.  I decided the better of explaining why this was not a good idea and Test Guy finished logging in.  The other guy taking a test was taking a financial test, which prompted a question from Test Guy about what we should do when the economic system falls in on itself.  The answer, of course, was guns and precious metals (I knew that, securing myself a friend for life).  Unfortunately, finance test-taker just stood there, dumbfounded.

So the test started and informed me I had some ridiculously large amount of time to complete it.  I allowed myself a virtual sneer, as I blew through all of my practice tests in minutes.  In fact, I took practice tests until my eyeballs fell out and threatened to phone the Eyeball Abuse Agency.  There was no way I was not going to pass that test.

Off I went to the first question.  Oddly enough, it was a strange question, both in subject matter and in the fact that I had to 'wire' and complete a wireless system for maximum security.  Also oddly was the fact that neither of these appeared in my study materials.  It was all multiple-choice.

The second question surprised me by also being something that didn't appear in my studies.  It was about this time that I started getting nervous.  Perhaps, I thought, it was just these two questions and I could blast through the other ones quickly.

Nope.

Nervous was the order of the day.  As it turned out, very few, if any of the questions were in my study materials.  It appeared as if they had given me the wrong test (but I was hesitant to argue with Test Guy) and I figured I would see the test through and deal with the results later.

My many years in IT served me well, as there were things on the test of which I've never heard, as well as things I could answer.

I finished nervously but firm.  The test asked me if I wanted to review any of my answers.  Hell no - if I didn't have any idea the first time, what would be the point of proving that I didn't know it a second time?

I have to admit how difficult it was not to make fart noises with my underarms on the way out of the test area.  I may be an experienced IT guy but we're all still children when it comes to farts.

Test guy was very difficult to find.  I looked everywhere, including behind the paneling, yet he was not there.  Spotting an open door, I launched myself through it.  I wound up in a plane hangar and there was Test Guy.   In an accurate metaphor for the entire experience, he was smoking a cigarette under the NO SMOKING sign whilst examining a fire extinguisher for compliance.  I desperately wanted to take a picture but didn't think it was a good time.

I told him that the stuff on the test was not the stuff I studied.  He laughed and told me that nine out of ten test-takers said the same thing to him.

Alrighty then.

Test Guy performed whatever magic necessary to print out forms, make some copies, then complain about the government.  I watched the ancient printer eat up some paper and my heart sank.  Finally he gave me my results.  I wished him the best of health and left.

Wife was sitting there, watching planes and smoking like a chimney.  I was amazed that the airport didn't ask her to stop smoking, as she was violating local pollution ordinances. I walked out with lowered head and slow gait.  She looked concerned.  She asked.  I didn't meet her gaze but handed her the results.

Passing was 750 out of 900.  I got an 810.  I can now refer to myself as leftystrat, Sec+. I couldn't believe it and was numb.  IT Dood still has it after all these years!  Wife screamed and admitted she thought I blew it when she saw me.

I am such a total bastard.


Speaking of people who aren't bastards, Test Guy went outside for a ciggie and started talking to my wife about pain.  Wife gave him her Complete Course on pain control and some valuable tips.  I felt great that she reached out to him and hopefully he took some of it home with him.  It was a good day all around.

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Since it was the wife's birthday, I had a short (and cheap) ride planned.  She knew not where; I just gave her directions.

Halfway there, I got a call from a coworker.  There was a serious problem with one of the systems and it needed to be shut down.  Many calls and emails later, I was no longer needed (thankfully).  I was not relishing having to work on my wife's birthday, although I would have.  We work 24/7/365 on our team. Gotta keep the railways moving.

As we got closer, I had to find ways to block signs advertising our destination.  This consisted of physicallly putting myself between her (she drove) and the signs, as well as distracting her with conversation.  Somehow I succeded.

As we pulled off at the exit and came around the corner, there was much screaming.  There on the left was a Waffle House.

Before you laugh hysterically at me and call me names (other than the normal ones), I beg your indulgence.  We tend to hit a hamfest (electronics flea market for radio) in Maryland a few times per year.  On the way down are three Waffle Houses.  In Philthydelphia, there are no Waffle Houses.  We discovered Waffle House on a trip to Arizona, so it has sentimental value.  It takes about three hours to make it to Waffle House in Maryland.

I went online and discovered a Waffle House about ninety minutes away, which is where I took her.  She was incredibly impressed at my efforts at personalizing her gift. The internal children were screaming WAFFLE HOUSE, WAFFLE HOUSE and everyone was excited.  They love to watch the hustle and bustle of Waffle House operations.

Waffle House has some famous hash browns that you can order with several toppings.  I order ham, onions and cheese but Waffle House has a different designation for this, along the lines of slashed, hashed and mashed (which, coincidentally, is how I like my women).

As things go in large chains, the food was absolutely predictable, whether or not you like it.

Our waitress was a really nice older lady.  The folks sitting next to us, however, were from New Yawk and just a little weird, in that old, retired person way.  Mrs. New Yawk had some meds to take, which started the couple and the waitress talking about people in their families who had died recently from heart attacks.

You're probably wondering how it is that I come upon this Neat Shit every time I leave the house. I can't even begin to explain it to you, largely as I don't understand it myself.  Let it just be my pain and your joy.

Mrs. Yawk was going on about how her relative died at fawty, bless him.  Waitress talked about her uncle, who died at sixty-six; way too young, bless him.  Husband complained that wife spent all of the money, as one would expect.

At this point I can't decide whether to show them my pre-digested breakfast or just laugh.  I decided on the latter, with special consideration as to how I was going to describe it on the blog.  These are the things I do for you, loyal readers.

Eventually the waitress got the Yawkers out of their seats and lavished us with her attention.  As it turned out, there wasn't a single word spoken about death, heart attacks or industrial food.  She was polite, gracious and one of the best waitresses we've ever had.  We tipped generously, as anyone should for this level of service.

People are different outside of Philthydelphia.  On the way out, after our gourmet meal, we noticed a lady starting at us.  Getting into the car, she ran after us and asked if the wife lost a ring.  She figured it was the wife, as the ring was Indian and the wife has rather a large collection of it on her person at all times (she's a lot of fun at airport checkpoints).  I was dumbfounded.

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So it was a beautiful Saturday.  And my timing has to be applauded: when I went to work on Monday, I got laid off.