Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry

A bad day turns better...

I made out copies of the seating chart pre-emptively and handed them out to the supervisors before the 3 pm shift came in, and it was a good job that I did, because getting the actual seating chart up and out took two hours. Two. Whole. Hours.

Part of that, of course, was spying a name on the screengrab of the logins that Just. Did. Not. Belong, sitting in Someone Else's Booth, accosting him, and marching him into the office to talk with the office ladies, meanwhile putting the Fear of Me into him both fore and aft the office conversation. (I hope. I devoutly hope.) He wasn't scheduled in. He was in the wrong booth. He hadn't been given a booth assignment. I don't even know if he was briefed on the job he was working on, to tell the gods' honest truth. (He'd better have been, because he was doing it all day.)

It was a day of ducks, but abruptly, things took a turn for the distinctly better. The Clean-Cut Geek was around and about, setting permissions related to the company shakeupanddown and the related need to use different websites for stuff -- an addition of a domain to the Trusted list, and a registry change to back that up. I snagged the opportunity and mentioned the sadly spyware-addled state of the machine I was on. He said he would take a look at it when he had the time to, which was evidently maybe a year in the future, though he doubted anything would do but a complete reinstall of everything. I begged permission to use my favorite tools to attempt to clean it up. He consented quite happily. I did a dance of glee, then set in with a will.

It's a nice change to spend a happy hour dredging spyware out of the crevices of a computer and be paid for it, for a change.

I went to break late, very smug in my removal of the greater part of 50 pieces of malware from the poor box.

When I came back, Cute Geek Super was trying to snip off some of Stressy College Chick's hair for a voodoo spell of some sort.

"No one's cursing anyone on my watch," I said, and the conversation diverted, as was mostly intentional, from Cute Geek Super's ambition toward Stressy College Chick's hair to my unofficial status as Resident Witch, and how I never cast any spells. Cute Geek Super tried taunting me (mildly) to get me to cast some; I chuckled.

Stressy College Chick proposed that I should cast a love spell on Cute Geek Super. I explained the general theory of how love spells fuck up: the last time I tried one, I got exactly what I asked for. Stressy College Chick is subtle enough to get how that could be a very bad thing. I explained how the only love spell I would cast on him would be the encouragement to find a partner of mutual happiness, and even that could fuck up so easily -- supposing I cast it on someone in an existing relationship that was going badly, but a relationship that there was an interest in keeping. (Say, an uncomfortable marriage where both parties are civil if unloving, and are keeping it together for the kids -- it could turn actively worse if someone found a better heart's mate, but the marriage was still happening and dissolution of the marriage was not desired by all parties.) Even a well-intentioned spell can turn sour if the background is not researched well.

In that general vein, I wound up giving some advice to my twenty-years-older clone. Her daughter is showing an interest in witchcraft and the occult, and has most recently declared her intention to paint her entire room black and put stars on the ceiling. I proposed inexpensive fabric drapery to blacken the room temporarily, to remain in place for a few months until they can see if it's livable and if she still wants it, and then her paying for the paint with her own money, with the agreement that she pay for the re-painting as well, once she tires of it (assuming she does). My clone thought this a capital plan.

I should probably erect shields in the workplace, reinforcing what's already there and making the center of the room a more sheltering and grounding place. The majority of the local mages are phone goons, so they don't have as much access to the administrative areas, nor as much reason to make them a safe haven and a source of sanity.
Gone away, gone ahead,
Echoes roll unanswered.
Empty, open, dusty, dead.
Why have all the Weyrfolk fled?

Where have dragons gone together
Leaving weyrs to wind and weather,
Setting herdbeasts free of tether;
Gone, our safeguards, gone, but whither?

Have they flown to some new weyr
Where cruel Threads some others fear?
Are they worlds away from here?
Why, oh why the empty weyr?

-- "The Question Song", Anne McCaffrey
Powered by LiveJournal.com
Designed by yoksel