Woke up somewhat after eight before the alarm clock. Looked at the alarm clock, felt the body, noticed the allergy attack. Said, "Fuck this shit," reset the alarm clock for noon, hopped on the computer for a bit, then went back to sleep.
Woke up, realized that I was getting low on clothes (just because it all matches doesn't mean that I don't have to wash laundry from time to time) and calculated that I had just enough time to do it if I scurried. I scurried.
Went to work. Got rounded up, ushered into the briefing room, and trained on a new survey I'd never done before. There was a lot of sit-and-wait. We went off and finally started on it an hour after work started, and no sooner were we on the phones than the supervisor came around again, and rounded us all back up again to make corrections to the briefing. This is a completely new job, it seems.
I wound up getting two surveys, one of which seemed to be cRon's archetypical Old Lady. (My former C++ professor cRon [he's a character, you see...] had a little game to help keep good programming standards: our class was a software company, and we were designing a program for this 80 year old lady. Bright, but not used to computers, and frail -- if she were startled, she could have a heart attack. It was our job to write software that would not kill the old lady.) She was 80, at any rate, and had just gotten a new computer and had not yet gotten it all hooked up.
There are too few tables in the lunchroom. I discovered this when dustraven
and I all tried to sit down together. It was like magic -- all the good spots go POOF! and disappear, and then there are only a few chairs left at tables with loud people who don't want to talk to you as much as you don't want to talk to them. trystan_laryssa
are, naturally, gamers. This makes perfect sense. I'm always friends with gamers, even though I'm actually not a gamer. Maybe they will actually get along with the elusive Darkside!
Discovered in the bathroom mirror at work that I seem to have gotten hotter since my last incarnation at this workplace. (The bathroom is still small, crowded, poorly designed, with leaky sinks. It now features sinks that don't leave the water running long enough to wash hands, and toilets that don't flush long enough to dispose of what they're supposed to dispose of. Gee. It's just like I left for two years and things went downhill in my absence.) I always look better with longer hair, and today I left it down instead of scraping it back in the ponytail that is more convenient and leaves it neater. Much to my quasi-surprise, it pretends to be somewhat neat by clumping into long wave/curl things instead of evil snarls. I also put on lipstick. I am t3h h0t! This was established when the ex-con who used to work there back in the day before he got in trouble started chatting me up. This despite the all-black and the (rather obvious) silver star necklace. (Earlier I'd overheard said fellow inquiring as to whether the girl in the booth next to mine was of the fandom of the book that TPotC was based on, and many people who wish to pimp out that fandom to others don't take well to those of us who wear the five-pointed star.)
We were all rounded up again at eight and ushered back into the briefing room, were we got told that we had done a good job, had even gotten over quota for the day on the surveys, had we any questions or suggestions, and whooee, we can go now. The supervisor was happy. I pointed out a typo or two. I think if I'm on that job again I'll hunt down the rest of them and flag them in the faces of The Powers that Be.
Got home and waffled for a bit about going out and getting myself some orange chicken, but decided against it, with the help of the clock. Instead, I massacred half an onion with mushrooms and other stuff for a turkey burger. Sadly, we were out of bread, so I made some. Well, am making some. It's still baking. But mushrooms and onions are some of the best things in the world. Yay! In the un-yay department, there are still clean dishes waiting to be put away. I suppose I shall have to treat certain parties as if they are six years old until dishes start to be put away on a regular basis.