As much as Mars needs women. In other words, stat!
In a story about cops in BC leashing a girl to a door, the journalist wrote the following:
CBC News spoke to several police officers in the Metro Vancouver area who said it was developed in response to public concerns over Taser stun-gun use, and is commonly used to restrain a variety of prisoners, from mental health officers to drunks.
You know, I always was a bit skeptical about shrinksand not in a Scientology kinda waybut I wouldn’t go so far as to tie them up.
Update: Looks like they corrected the error. But, hey, it was funny while it lasted. However, can you imagine, cops in BC all suddenly and collectively jumping the couch, brandishing lassos and chasing down psychiatrists? Good times, right?
Oh yeah? Well, at least I don’t consider white sports socks to be a fashion statement.
I was seriously jonesing for some cherry licorice the other day (why? I don’t know? Get off my case, okay?), so walked down to Ste-Catherine in search of the nearest pharmacy, where I am always sure to find the best selection of candy. Yup, drugstores sell you the shit that makes you sick, so that you’ll come back and buy the stuff to make you well again.
Anyhow, so walking back to work, some gem in the reptilian section of my mind woke up to remind me that, hey, there’s supposed to be a yoga studio around here. And sure enough, it’s right next door to the pharmacy, and? they offer classes at lunch. So, um, yay me. Kripalu for an hour, followed by a half-pound bag of licoricey goodness right after.
Can life get any better than this? I submit that it can not! (Okay, perhaps my opinion is swayed by being the only guy in a room of hot, sweaty women, but I’d like to think that I’m above that. I feel like Harold Perrineau in that one episode of Dead Like Me.)
Coming up to this week, I still didn’t know whether my contract was being extended and, after 18 months, I still hadn’t been offered permanent employee status. Fed up with the constant uncertainty, I decided that, screw it, I had had enough. Fuck ’em, I wasn’t going to continue in this vein.
So, Tuesday, during a meeting, where we were discussing what to do for the next several weeks, I interrupted the proceedings to tell them that Friday (today) was going to be my last day. No jobs in the pipeline or anything, I had just had enough. Well, needless to say, the fecal matter hit the ventilation system. How can you do this?, it’s not professional, yada yada. Whatever, is my reaction, I gave you four more days’ notice than I’ve ever been given.
There’s back and forth between the company where I work and the placement office, discussions with the person in charge here, some arm-twisting and bridge rebuilding, and finally (because I’m such milquetoast) I agree to stay on. I’m told that, for some weird reason that can’t be explained to me, I can’t be offered permanent status, for the time being. I accept because, hey, it’s better to have a job than not have one.
Come in yesterday, only to find that the company has been sold to some other company, with much deeper pockets.
So, to recap, I resign Tuesday, am convinced to stay on Wednesday, and having a celebratory meal downtown with the rest of the company on Thursday.
One of the managers here brought in a few dozen Krispy Kreme donuts to work. Bastards. The smell of deep-fried sugar calls to me, yet I resist. So I sit here, drinking my water.
The bathrooms here have urinals of the “automatic flush” kind. Which? If you’re obsessive-compulsive you’ll only wash your hands 49 times instead of 50 after taking a tinkle, since you wouldn’t have touched that icky flush handle. The thing is, while at work I suck back a few litres of water, and it passes through me like, well, water, so I’m getting up close and personal with aforementioned urinals several times a day.
Now, the urinal is a 3.8-liter (1 gallon) flush, which means that I’m using up about 4 gallons daily on what amounts to almost pure water. Being of the “if it’s yellow, let it mellow” school, I’m always walking away feeling guilty, but figured there wasn’t much I can, since the damned thing will flush.
But, ah, I discovered that I can sneak up on the thing, stand off to the side, and let loose, and not have that infernal thing sense my presence. Hee, saving water and getting to re-enact my childhood spy games. Good times.
So, the office moved over the weekend, and we now find ourselves even further along the west island. At the Nortel campus. (I had written down the directions to get here but, being me, had packed those directions along with the rest of my stuff, so ended up driving about an hour this morning, looking for the building.) When assigning seating arrangements, being the tech-writer I was naturally given the holiest-hole-that-was-ever-a-hole cubie, the farthest away from any natural light. Oh, but imagine my delight, my droogies when, what with the setting sun, almost everyone else in the office can no longer see their computer screens, what with the white spots bouncing off the walls of their corneas.
*Taking pleasure in others getting screwed.
Strangely enough, regardless of where I happen to be working, there always comes a time when a co-worker comes up to me and asks, well, strange question I know, but if I happen to have a corkscrew. It happened again yesterday at the office potluck. “Um, um, wait! Yes I do!” Granted, it’s an attachment to a Swiss army knife, but it sure does the trick. (Add some gum, a rubber band and Fruit Loops and you’ve got yourself a functional gun. Don’t ask me how I know.)
So, for about 15 minutes, I’m the office hero. Afterward, unfortunately, I have to explain why I carry a corkscrew with me.
Leading up to last Friday, here I was, doing my job, unclear on whether I was supposed to return on Monday (yesterday). The contract extension was up on Friday, no one had told me whatfor and, being the milquetoast that I am, I didn’t ask. Because? I’ve found that ignoring a dilemma often makes it go away. Try it, it works.
So, I begged off participating in the gift exchange, but did put my name down for making cinnamon buns for the office potluck. Heck, if I wasn’t going to be here, no harm no foul. I was being given work to do, told what I had to do in the coming weeks, but figured that the people giving me work didn’t know about my contract ending.
Friday comes and goes, I go home and figure, “heck, if they let me know on Monday that I’m not supposed to be there, I’ll simply pack my stuff.” Come to work yesterday, walk into the manager’s office, and ask, “am I supposed to be here?” “Why not?” he asked. “Um, contract? Over on Friday? Remember?” “What? Weren’t you told? We extended your contract again.”
I’ve often wondered whether I should be more assertive when it comes to my career.
Could someone please offer me some reassurance? I’ve been indexing a book for the past week and, well, gosh darn it, I love the tedium. To think that I could make good money doing this. Granted, I would probably have no friends, but that would be different how?