October 13th, 2001

running, bomb tech

Ask the Witch

Friday I got asked by someone whether I was with Wicca or not. "I'm a witch, yeah," I responded.

"Are you a white witch or a black witch?" she asked.

That's a bit of a tough one, as the path of a witch is a very delicate balancing thing... "I seek to do no harm," was the best answer I could give.

Now Darkside was listening to all this with this look on his face. This lady's in his class group, she's in his work group for database -- and she has not the foggiest clue that perhaps he might be witchier than he looks. The other component of the look was that he knows, with great precision, almost the exact extent of my occult knowledge and experience.

The lady started asking me about love spells -- surely I was good with those.

Actually, no. The only times I've done them, they've been for myself, and those times they've always come out with deep disaster, and furthermore, the last time I did one was in '98. My love life isn't anything to be proud of in any case. Just look at it.

"But you got Darkside," she said.

Darkside and I are always together. You see him outside of class, you see me. You see me outside of class, you see him. People haven't started giving me messages for him yet, nor him for me, but it's coming.

"No, I don't 'got Darkside'," I said.

She got this what the hell? look on her face.

"Hey, Darkside," I called over to him. "Are we dating?"

"No," he said, in a "well duh" tone of voice.

"See?" I said.

Still, she and I will get together, and I will assist her in a helpful little love spell of the sort designed to attract the right kind of person into her general area, and to open her eyes to said right sort of people. After they meet, it's up to them, but it's certainly ethical to arrange for people to meet each other, especially people who would get along well together.

So Darkside's class group thinks we're seeing each other, just because we're always together and beat the hell out of each other between classes.

How amusing.
running, bomb tech

Stress Test

Finally got the stress test at work today.

Saturdays we work from 8:30 am to 4:30 pm, a nice proper 8 hour workday. At 2:30, they passed out a memo saying that at 2:45, we were to hang up our phones and log off. At 2:40, they told us to log off right then.

We all filed into the break room. I called Sis, and I called Peace. I'd been hyper since 1 in the afternoon.

I didn't get called back in to the working area until 4:07. Lots of sit and wait. I like sit and wait, especially when poking fun at Nick from school. (Nick from school is loonier than I am, and a friend.)

We all now have new headsets in our booths, and all the phones are hung up and have no visible means of talking or listening, because there are no cords from receiver to phone, no little box and headset attached to phone. The new headsets are nifty looking and plug into the computer somewhere in the back.

"Don't touch a damn thing," the supervisors tell us, and we all sit down and start fiddling with the headsets. The mute switch is nifty. I can see about ten different ways to break them without even trying.

They log us in one by one, and we go through the Training Survey with what appears to be the list of "We're sorry, the call cannot be completed as dialed" numbers. The supervisor gets to me at 4:17.

I finish my survey at 4:40 and look at the screen in dismay. I ought to know how to log out of this bullshit, and I probably could do it with no problem if I played around with things and saw how they worked, but ... this is Research International.

I go flag down a supervisor. "Don, help me log out," I demand.

"You're computer-savvy," he teases me. "You ought to know how to do this sort of shit."

"If this were my own computer, or DeVry, yeah sure," I said. "I'd play around with it until I was all nice and logged out. But this is Research International, and," I gesture grandly to the memo taped up in every booth screaming about unauthorized changes to computers or programs, or even unauthorized poke-nose-in, getting you fired without warning, "that doesn't happen around here."

"Point," Don said, and talked me through logging out.

What boring bullshit. Work sucks. A definite anticlimax. Where's the fun part, where you get to break it?