I Want My Money Back

I’m not one for using lyrics to express myself but in this case it’s just to hard to pass up. In the words of Ben Folds, give me my money back, give me my money back.....you bitch.

I Want My Money Back.

It’s been a little over a month since my classes started, and having taken a few tests and read a few books I think I can give me overall first impression of my classes. This is also my final full semester at NU (I have two summer sessions left) so naturally there is going to be some NU grumbling (A certified grumble has been spotted!) is to be had. Onward comrades!

Global Climate Change

It was this class, Dinosaurs or Natural Disasters in the running to fill my Natural World requirement. Natural Disasters was a class of 250, and Dinosaurs I have heard is not what it is advertised as, so I went with Climate Change.

So far I’m happy with my choice, knowledge has been learned and the reading easy. All in all I have received the education I expected; a bunch of facts I could have learned via a few hours of internet research. Go NU!

Spanish

I took Spanish instead of testing out of Italian (for my language requirement) because I thought it would be better to walk away with an understanding of Spanish rather than bullshitting my way into two years of Italian on my transcript. I knew it would be hard but I figured it would end up being a fruitful choice, and so far it has been, very good choice on my part.

That being said, is it the best use of my money towards learning a language? Probably not. For the amount of money I spend on tuition I could probably spend a month or two in a Latin American country and I would walk away from it with a much better understanding of Spanish. Or I could go to a more cost beneficial program (compared to the cost of tuition) at a Language Institute.

If it wasn’t for the language requirement for a BA at NU I would not be taking Spanish, but this was the best use of the 4 credits I could find.

Contemporary Black Politics

I went into this class thinking we would start off by talking about local black politics (Chuck Turner and the like) and the up and comers in national African American community (Jesse Jackson Jr, Cory Booker, Michael Steele) and the effect of Barack Obama on the political process, especially for African Americans. Sounds like an interesting class right? That’s what I thought and that’s why I took it.

Well instead it has turned out to be a history class, centering on slavery and the struggle of African Americans from Reconstruction to Civil Rights. All well and good but the class is call CONTEMPORARY Black Politics. For those of you who may be confused about it’s definition, I present it to you now.

Contemporary
adj.
1. Belonging to the same period of time: a fact documented by two contemporary sources.
2. Of about the same age.
3. Current; modern: contemporary trends in design.

No where in the definition does it say history.

Now I understand that one needs to put the current political climate into a historical context but do you really need to do so for a 2 months (effectively half the scheduled class time)? If I wanted to learn about slavery and the struggle for equality I would have taken a History of Black Politics class. Instead I took this class because I all ready know about slavery, W.E.B. Du Bois, Frederick Douglass, Malcom X and Martin Luther King. What I wanted to better understand is the current state of African American politics the post-Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton era. I want to talk about my local African American community, something I encountered on my last Co-Op (btw I will post something soon about the BRA) and the future of African American political thought process.

But know I am learning about slavery for the 5th time in my life.

Senior Capstone

Going into this class (a graduation requirement mind you) all I wanted to do was write a 25 page paper on a Political Science topic of my choice. I wanted to research something that interested me and end up with a sizable piece of writing in a field I could head into in the future.

Yes I was asking for a large paper and mundane lectures, you would think I would get what I wanted.

What I got was group led class discussions, a bunch of mediocre to terrible books to read, and a pair of book reviews. No 25 page paper.

Quick rant: What is the benefit of group projects. I get that in real world working on a team is common but that doesn’t translate well to group projects. In the real world there is a designated leader who gets paid more and has the qualifications to delegate tasks. In a classroom setting there is no incentives for one to be the leader, and those who do step up are hardly ever qualified. There I said it.

Back to our regularly scheduled program.

In a normal class room setting this isn’t a bad thing, but when the discussions come from all corners of the Political Science spectrum and your teacher is versed in only one of them it can end up being vague and misrepresented. Couple that with the fact that there are 65 Political Science majors in one room open to discussion there is going to be some problems.

First you have to understand that Political Science majors go on to be, among other things, lawyers, policy wonks, politicians and professors; all people who carry large opinions and enjoy discussing them (or in most cases, shouting them). So yes this class has been a bunch of know-it-all students shouting unfounded statements at each other while the professor tries to manage a volume of students that is too large for each subject.

For once in my life I am not one of the top 5 talkers in the room.

*****

Overall I’m disappointed, I expected more from this semester. So far all I have come away with is a bunch of facts I could have found from looking in a geology book and an understanding of the Spanish language I could have gotten (and then some) for cheaper by living in a Latin American country for a few months. I’m starting to think Will Hunting was right when he told that asshole from Harvard that he could get the same education with a library card and late fees.

That being said I should have seen this coming. I can count on one hand how many classes that I consider to have gotten my money’s worth out of. Not to mention I consider College to be a game in the way that High School was a game, just that this time I have to pay $40,000 a year for it.

Twitter me this.

So my check bounced today. Not just any old check, but a check from the City of Boston. A payroll check for close to $200. I was kind of counting on that money, money that I was given counter credit for. So what I'm really saying is is that this is not cool. Because I no longer work at the BRA this is going to cause me to call my boss on Monday and ask her to help me deal with this instead of me emailing HR from my office email which would have been much easier. Also I was expecting another $200 check to come in tomorrow which now I will be worried it will bounce.

I mean how does the City of Boston using Paychex bounce a fucking check? How is that possible? I mean I know I was the lowest of the low in my department and if anyone is going to miss out on money it's going to be the kid who USED to work there, but come on.

Sorry I just couldn't adequately describe my frustration in a Tweet.

The thing about Co-Op is.....

They don't prepare you for the transition from the working world back to classes. They do everything in their power to push you out into the real world with a Co-Op but when you return you are expected to assimilate back into campus like you never left. Don't get me wrong, I love the Co-Op program and it is the reason why I decided on Northeastern over a much more affordable state school but there is nothing quite like the transition that takes place between the two spheres. For myself it has been over a year since a attended a class at Northeastern, what with my Co-Op and before that my study abroad program in Belgium I haven't set foot in a Northeastern classroom since last December.

A week ago I was waking up 5 days a week taking the T to my office and getting paid for 8 hours a day. Now I have class from 9 - 3 (which I pay for, instead of getting paid) in which I do more work than I would have on Co-Op. On top of that I will have homework which will fill up more of my time as well as a need to fill the void of my meager, yet weekly, BRA paycheck with hours of harder work at Borders and about equal difficulty (not saying much) work as an IM official. I never thought I would say this but being in the real world is significantly less stressful and much less physically demanding than being a student.

Many of you (many is not a word to describe the amount of readers I have but it's in the past now and we all know there is no going back) may scoff at such a notion but consider this. Every day I am incurring more debt through payments via loans to Northeastern and accruing interest on past loans while at the same time I am trying to pass the classes I am paying for the privilege to attend. On top of which I am working two jobs trying to keep from having to take out loans to afford to live on my own and feed myself.

As opposed to life working 40 hours a week. You go to work at 9, work, punch out at 5 and come home. No homework, no second job, just life. Granted it's not as easy as I just made it sound, but there is no University expense on top of that.

To put it bluntly, my lifestyle just changed overnight from a member of the global economy to a student with not enough time in the day to get by and my University, and life for that matter, expects me to just roll with it.

Old and In the Way

Today was just a day about feeling old. From seeing Freshman who look like little kids, to being the oldest person in my group of five in my Contemporary Black Politics class, to the first meeting of my Senior Capstone, to having graduation discussions it just made me wonder where the last 4 years of my life went. My last Co-Op felt like it lasted a week. Is this what life is all about? Time speeding up as your life goes on? Where does it all go?

An Everlasting Peace.

The Underling is officially no longer an employee of the City of Boston.

It should be noted that in his final hours in office he was able to successfully engineer a long and everlasting peace between himself and the Coke Machine on the condition that he never attempt to purchase a Coke from the Machine again.

Top Five: The Day of Days

The Underling does not enjoy last days at all. They make him paranoid, antsy, and above they bring about his Catholic Guilt. So in honor of his last day working for the BRA we are proud to bring you the Underlings top five most awkward/memorable last days. Today we will actually go in reverse to build up some excitement and intrigue!


5. Tie between working for my father and Northeastn Intramurals. I am still off an on with both so this doesn't really count but I needed a #5.

European Parliament: Stagiere to Pawel Piskorski:
There was really nothing awkward about this day other than the hug and good bye with Weronika and the obvious absence of my boss. What really hit me about this day was that I was leaving Belgium shortly there after, a place I could have spent the rest of my life and been happy about it. A very emotional day, the most emotional last day I have had, to say the least.

Enos Marine:
My first job ever and coincidentally it was my first last day ever! This last day was awkward because my boss thought that I should work for 2 more weeks and then go to college. I on the other hand thought that I needed two weeks to get my shit together and fully deal with the fact that I was moving on. She thought it was irresponsible, I thought it was normal. Regardless to this day it is difficult to talk to my old boss when I take my father's boat out.


Secretary of the Commonwealth Corporations Division:
I consider this awkward because I avoided saying good bye to every member of the Corporations division (40 people) on my way out. How I did that I have no clue, but it was glorious.

Woodman's of Essex:
This job takes the cake when it comes to awkward memorable last days. All in all it was a few last days wrapped into one because of all the titles I held here. What makes it so memorable is that at Woodman's it is tradition to be thrown into the lobster tank out front on your last day. I was no exception. The entire day I was a nervous wreck waiting to be thrown into the tank (which is something like 40 degrees Fahrenheit) while my co-workers kept snickering at me and making gestures that implied that I would be getting really wet later that evening.

Now I'm a good guy and if I don't say so myself a rather cute one, something that worked in my favor at Woodman's because at least half of the workers are High School girls. And on my last day that worked in my favor. With a few minutes before close a couple of the girls told me to leave and that they would punch me out so I could avoid getting dunked in the tank. I took them up on their offer and was out the door only to realize I forgot my regular shoes, which I had to go back for. That of course was my undoing. I was immediately grabbed and dragged out to the tank, at this point I decided I would not go down without a fight. I kicked my legs and swung my arms breaking someones glasses and knocking someone else to the ground, but to no avail, I went in the tank. I then drove home without any pants on.

My plan of leaving early would not have worked btw because earlier that day the other guys in the kitchen went out and blocked me in with their cars. That would have brought upon a situation where I would have waited out my co-workers until the wee hours of the morning then would have snuck off and called someone to come pick me up. Oh if only that had happened.

Office Appliances

I'm about ready to go Michael Bolton on about 10 different pieces of Office Equipment right now.

Why is it that all Office Equipment (at least all Office Equipment I have ever worked with) either is incredibly outdated (my computer), makes a high pitched screech (the copier) or simply refuses to work the way it is supposed to (no specific example because everything here malfunctions). I mean really I should have two screens, a faster processor and 1 GB of ram on this thing and my job would be far easier, cheaper and propably eliminate another employee. It's infuraiating.

The real source of my anger is the copier which occasionally makes this really high pitched sound that would drive a dog insane. The first time it took me 20 minutes to locate it and then shut down the machine. Now I only have to get up and shut the machine off everytime it happens because I know who the culprit is. But still I want to bring a baseball bat in to work.

I was debating putting this on Twitter but then my Twitter went down.

I successfully got around having the "You did a fine job, and we will miss you" conversation with my boss's boss (Trish's boss Christine) today by leaving the meeting immediately and hiding in the men's room for about 10 minutes.

I'm dreading my final day and I am dreading having to fill out my evaluation with Trish and any other surprises that come my way. I should just call in sick on my last day. Then again that would be an awkward phone call.

More on this later.

You Know I don't Speak Spanish

But I wish I did. Knowing it would have been pretty handy in knowing how to say "What city are you from?" "What is your ethnicity?" "Are you a U.S. citizen?" and "Is this your name?" today. Why was I asking such personal questions today? Well dear reader, The Underling was required to move amongst the working people today at Parcel 18 (the new NU dorm project).

We interrupt this post for an important side note!

Because I was moving floor to floor today I got to take a look at the new digs for the incoming Freshman, which were; a decent size single room with a private bath, a sizable closet and sink outside the shower/toilet area. I thought Freshman were supposed to be tortured their first year to then appreciate the quality of life from there on out, I know I was. Then again $5,000 a semester for those rooms might just be worse than torture.

Back our regularly scheduled program!

I was also forced to take the talking elevator (announces each floor) which was operated by an elevator operator who had decorated his tiny workspace with christmas lights and decorations.

I just spilled hot apple cider all over myself and the couch (the couch's first spill mind you) which means I will be finishing this post without any pants on. Just thought you should be aware that the first half of this post was written by a fully clothed Underling, the second half a pantless one. You decide which Underling you like better.

After this festive elevator ride came the point where I wish I knew Spanish. I was to determine where a group of floorers were from, and with the names "Mendozza, Romero, and Santos" I was convinced they were probably Latino and not Caucasian like their payroll department keeps telling me they are. I, of course was right, they were not white. Of course I could not verbally confirm this because none of them spoke English. That and their foreman was a Polish man who did not speak Spanish and only a heavily accented version of English (how they got work done is beyond me).

How would have me knowing Spanish helped me you ask? It wouldn't have, it would have been cool though. All I really needed to know was that these guys were Latino and that is fairly easy to determine when they all are a different shade than white and only speak Spanish (go instincts!).

Regardless of the usefulness of Spanish in todays situation I wish I had known it just to make sure they were not saying rude things about me. I mean I work for the government, so they probably don't like me much especially when I don't know Spanish, pull them off their work site, and bring into question their legal status. I know I would hate me.

Inside Voices

I now know why the Northeastern Co-Op gets this specific cubicle, the Engineers love to hold loud impromptu meetings right next to it. It would be one thing if the person I am talking to on the phone shouted their half of the conversation, but since her employees follow the "Inside Voices Directive" handed down by their respective Kindergarten teachers she does not see a reason to violate the rule herself.

Sugar Plum Fairy, Sugar Plum Fairy

Picture by Katy Kobzeff

Out the door
Grab the paper
Down the steps
Pause
Turn right up the street
Massachusetts Avenue
Turn right
Windy
Remove newspaper from bag
Throw away bag
Avoid Berkee students
Cough
Pause at intersection
Watch Traffic
Jog across street
Cop with a machine gun
Enter station
"Do you have any change?"
Head down
Down flight of stairs.
Remove wallet
Scan
Through gate
Right
Down a flight
Left
Down two flights
Walk 10 paces
Pause
"Sally was a 15 year old girl from Nebraska!"
Open newspaper
Battle Unfolds in a Poor Land For the Riches Beneath the Soil
Lights
Board train
Walk to the back
Sit on steps
"Next Stop Copley"
Wet floor
Niger
"Entering Copley"
The Railroad Disability Board That Couldn't Say No
"Copley, the destination of this train is, Government Center"
Long Island Rail Road
Chicago
Check watch
9:37
"Entering Arlington"
President Dodges Shoes in Iraq
Chuckle
Blury passengers
"Boylston, the destination of this train is, Government Center"
Sneeze
Wrestle newspaper
A Buddy Ballot System
Nebraska
Maine
Doors open
Stand up
Disembark train
"Park Street, the destina.........."
Right
Walk up platform
Train arriving
Hustle down stairs
Disregard every other step
Jog to second car
Enter first door
Walk to back of car
Do Not Lean Against Door
Lean against door
Think better of it
Lean against other door
"Downtown Crossing, the destination of this train is, Braintree"
Sounds like Godfrey
Exit car
Move to third car
Cut a lady off
Embarrassed
Enter car
Find seat
"Officer gets me naturalized!"
The 17th Floor, Where Wealth Went to Vanish in a Manhattan Tower
$50 billion
New York Mets
Florida Retirees
"Entering South Station"
Stand up
Move to first door
Stop
Exit train
Right
Up escalator
Walk up left side
SL2 BMIP
Board bus
Singles seats full
Sit down
"Not A Crime!"
As the Economy Falters, Obama's Goodwill Grows
Don't hit the man in front of you with the paper
7 of 10 Americans support Obama
Knee is uncomfortable
"Courthouse Station"
Need to buy lunch today
Girl
Sunglasses
Subway
Stupid
"World Trade Center Station"
William Kristol
Light
Check watch
9:52 AM
Starbucks
"..my wedding was about to start!"
"Silver Line Way"
Wrestle newspaper
Fold
Girl has three bags
Bewilderment
"Please be considerate and yield seats to elderly and disabled"
Harpoon
I like UFO
"Stop requested"
Check belongings
Stand up
"Tide Street"
Walk to door
Pause
Exit
Check watch
9:59 AM
Walk across grass
Open door
Remove Wallet
Scan
Replace Wallet
Climb 2 flights of stairs
Retard
Every time
Remove Wallet
Scan
Replace Wallet
Enter office.



That's my commute.

"You look like you need some practice. Here do my work."

When I first started here at the BRA my co-workers took me under their wing and helped me by showing me how to enter data correctly and if anything went wrong they would help. They started giving me their payrolls to enter so I could really get a handle on what I was doing. August rolled around and I was still getting stuff from them, the came September, October, November and now it's December, my finally month here, and they are still giving me their work to do but now they have dropped the whole "practice line" and toss it on my desk like I was supposed to do it all along or something. I'm starting to think I have been tricked....

I get it, I'm an intern, the lowest common denominator. But that doesn't mean people have to act like they are doing me a favor when in actuallity I am doing them a favor. I'm no moron (debateable), if you want me to do your work just tell me as much, it's my job to do it.

Dolly v Maganaro

I wrote this months ago and saved it. Now I post it for you.


Part of my job (internship, co-op whatever) is to go out to construction sites around Boston and retrieve the number of minorities, residents and females who work on any given job site (possibly a more detailed post on that later). One of my sites is the new Northeastern dorm building going up over on Columbus (Parcel 18) with the General Contractor being Walsh Brothers. Parcel 18 is a huge project with hundreds of workers on site many of whom are not residents, minorities or females, being a big project and being located in Roxburry, this poses quite the political firestorm but more on that some other time.

Now my contact down at the site is Dolly Battle (an appropriate last name), she is this old black lady from the neighborhood (and don't you forget it!) who does not take shit from anyone. I usually meet her at the Walsh trailer behind Northeastern and we walk over to the site where dome time she hands me off to Dan and then I do the rounds and get the numbers. On this particular day Dolly's knee was acting up so she handed me off to Dan and decided to hang back. Like usual we went around and got all the numbers with the exception of a few which we would get over two way (Nextel is the dominant provider of all construction workers). When was all said and done I had every sub contractor on the site accounted for except Mass Construction and Maganaro but they were in the middle of work and couldn't get to their numbers so I figured I would just get them from Dan the following week. Dan had some stuff to do so he asked me to give the Walsh brothers official count to Dolly on my way out which I did.

And I am glad that I did, because when I told in an offhand manner that I was unable to get numbers from Mass Con or Maganaro but would she kindly send me an email or phone me with the numbers when she got them she practically exploded. Apparently this was three weeks in a row that Maganaro has not reported their numbers, and Dolly was not about to stand for that. She yelled at the only other guy in the trailer to walkie Dan and have him get his ass over here, which he did rather hurriedly because he thought that he was going to get a "talken to". Dolly had a better plan she was going to yell at the foreman for Maganaro.

Now Dan and I already knew that the foreman had his hands full with work up on the top of the tower (about 19 stories up) and was not in favor of having to huff it down or wait for the elevator (doesn't work like a regular one, much longer) just to give us some numbers that were not going to change. However Dolly did not see it that way, to her the numbers were a measure of respect to her if they shirk the numbers then they are showing her job no respect (which now I think I agree with her on why she did what she did). Anyway she had Dan call Maganaro on the two way and the convo went something like this.


Dan:"Dolly wants your numbers now"

Maganaro Foreman: "Well I am still up here can I give it to you later?"

Dolly:"Tell him this is three weeks in a row, I want them now."

Dan:"She needs them now"

Maganaro Foreman: "Well can someone in my office give them to you?"

Dolly: "No I want to see him in his office in five minutes"

Dan: "She wants them from you at your office in five minutes"

At this point all I can picture is this foreman up on the top of the building cursing repeatedly about how much he thinks this whole compliance system is a crock of shit and it just makes his life harder. I sympathize, really I do but its the law and part of his contract with Walsh Brothers and the City of Boston so he knows he has to, and I have no sympathy for people who do not fulfill their duties. So down he went and up we went.

This was exciting because I had yet to go into the building itself as of yet, just around the outside, through the mud and into the trailers but now I was going to get to go onto the second floor! Construction sites are fucking loud (yeah I know "No shit!") and it all looks so unorganized but yet a complex and integral building arises from all these small unorganized looking tasks, it amazes me. Not as amazed though as when I saw what is planned for the middle of the dorm, a small above ground park! that's right people (all freshmen) with inward facing dorm rooms will be looking over and enclosed park! And to think I just got to share my dorm accommodations with borderline homeless people (I lived at the YMCA my freshman year, yes like the song).

As I mulled over the though of my school spending my tuition on housing arrangements for future students instead of me we made it to the Maganaro office. Dolly strode right in with a big grin on her face as the Maganaro foreman sat there redface and scowling looking up at the woman who made her stop working and trek back down to his office. He gave her the numbers, with disdain I might add and she walked out of there with her respect.

Coca Cola and the Underling Reach an Accord

Earlier today, at aproximately 2:13 PM EST the Coca Cola machine on the third floor reached a peace agreement with a Mr. Underling. While the tennants of the deal are still to be learned it is believed that the Coca Cola machine has agreed to continue selling cans of coke at 75 cents per can to Mr. Underling for the forseeable future.

Representatives for the Coca Cola machine refused to comment until the deal is formally announced.

Mr. Underling could not be reached for comment but has been seen guzzling coke and feeding large sums of money into the machine.

Story by The AP

Our Long National Nightmare is Over

The Coke Machine has been refilled.

This is a Breaking News Story please be sure to check back later for more details.

I'm Old Therefore I Don't Have To Try To Understand It

Having parents and working with adults has led me to a realm that I find slightly entertaining, kind of annoying, almost always baffling, and at the same time utterly depressing. This realm consists of old people (if you are 15 years older than mean you are considered an old person, sorry you 37 year olds, you are old) and technology.

Everyday I deal with payroll clerks from construction companies who don't understand how to attach files to emails or can't understand Excel and things like that. Yes it's frustrating but also it's understandable because unlike me (and all 12 of you readers out there! Yes I know there are 12 because Google is creepy and can track where you all are, yes Brian I know you read my blog, it says one person reads from Bridgewater and unless Thomas is taking time away from his crops then it must be you) they didn't grow up with computers, side by side. But what I cannot take is people who refuse to notice the good in computers and those who refuse to accept any type of failure from them.

For an example of this I was thinking of using my parents, but I love them, so I thought it would be cruel, a bit unfair and if anything just down right ungrateful (see Dad I do care!). Besides it isn't my moms fault she can't turn on a computer it's society's fault. But in lieu of my parents there is this old guy who sits next to me is really a ball buster, probably one of the biggest ones I have met, but more on him personally some other time. Anyway in the context of this post he is a perfect example. He is your average cranky, life was better back in the day, type of guy. Perfect.

Well a couple days ago this guy (lets call him Bill) had an issue with his computer, it wouldn't print any attachments from Outlook. A frustrating problem because he needs to print this attachment to talk about them, because he will not read them on the screen, jot some notes down, and then talk about the document. Not possible.

Well OK, things should work like they are advertised, I can agree with that. But really does this piece of brilliance that has made the lives of many not to mention the engineers like Bill who use auto-CAD and email everyday really deserve quotes like this?

Quotes from Bill

"This machine is a piece of shit!"

"I told him he can throw this piece of shit out the window!"

"...in the ocean"

"...in the dumpster"

Now he was telling (more like yelling) this to anyone who would listen to him. Really pissing me off because I sit right next to him in the office and he has a habit of shouting when he gets all worked up and the profanity starts to bother me (I know, weird, because I swear just as well as anyone). He finally called up the IT guy and bitched to him for 10 minutes about how his computer sucks and how he wants a new one that will print attachments. Good I hope he gets a faster machine for his emailing, because no one in my department could use a fast machine with two screens each to process spread sheets and transcribe pdf's into excel to make our work go faster, no no no Bill needs a fast machine for his email. God knows he deserves it.

At this point I had decided I was going to throw him in the ocean if he didn't shut his mouth soon. Because I knew what was probably wrong with his computer, for the past week our Internet and network had been lagging real bad, Gtalk kept timing out on me and simple pages just wouldn't load. So that probably meant that his documents, if they were large enough were probably lagging getting to the printer, or lagging downloading, or lagging somewhere else. Everything has been slow so it make sense that when in the same time frame he has the first computer error he has ever had (he says he has never had a problem in ten years) comes on the same day our network is crawling then there is probably a correlation. Well you know what, I was right.

Finally one of the other engineers takes pity on poor Bill (real pity too, you can hear it in her voice) and comes over to help. After some deliberation and more profanities from Bill they realize what the problem is, Bill isn't waiting for the attachment to load before he hits print, resulting in errors and extra copies when it finally does print. He looks stupid as a result, and he knows it.

He didn't take the time to understand the problem, he wants instant satisfaction, it should always work! But nothing is like that, not cars, not people, not institutions, not computers they all have issues because there are far too many factors involved for every to be perfect. And most of the time the problem is the human factor involved, in this case it was a Grumpy Old Man.

Oh and I have started making it a habit of shutting his computer off when he is not looking.




Oh and that creepy google thing? http://www.google.com/analytics/

Stinky Weed

I was riding around the city checking my sites today when I was riding through the Backbay/Southend/Roxburry/Dorchester corner of the city (very interesting area). Anyway, I am riding down the street and suddenly "BAM!" (A little old Batman graphic for you there) I smell weed and I am in the middle of the street and there is no idling hot box of a car around and I know I wasn't smoking weed. So I come to a abrupt stop and look around because come on, it's 11:00 in the morning, it's broad daylight, cops are in this area all the time and last time I checked it still is illegal to smoke weed (that is till Mr. Patrick and the rest of the MA government apply some signatures to a said piece of legislation). I'm looking around and I spotted the perpetrators (brave souls, common protestors, apathetic citizens, or morons) A big black guy and a hefty white woman and they are just staring at me holding a joint between the two of them, I stare back in disbelief, and they continue staring blankly at me (either high, confused, or both). It took me a moment to shake myself out of it and keep going.

I guess this isn't weird I mean I smell weed all the time, from dorm rooms, my neighbors upstairs, while I walk on the sidewalk. But for each of those they are at least trying to be discreet about it, even the random guy walking down the street smoking is at least a moving target, not a sitting duck on the sidewalk in broad view of an intersection. It was just something I have never seen.

You can now go back to your daily lives.

The Voice of Voices

There is a woman who works here who has one of those voices that goes right through you. When she talks you stop to listen because paying attention to what she is saying is slightly less excrutiating than not listening to her. It's like fingernails on a black board, or utensils scratching a dinner plate, it is just something I cannot stand and because of it I am glad she works at the complete other end of the floor and hardly ever makes it past my cubicle.

Tall kid + heights = scared

I'm too lazy to back date this, partially because I do not know the exact date which will probably be the case with most. As a preface though you should know that it was hot out on this day.

Today (Again months ago on a Thursday, probably August) I went to the construction site of the new Greater Boston Food Bank building for the first time. After some trouble locating the site (Apparently I can't absorb a map by simply staring at it for a minute) I finally made it, albeit late. I get there and everyone is waiting for me, their faces show it (its cool because you know like them I can afford a car). So I throw on my boots while weezing from running the last quarter mile, which just illustrates how badly I need to do some form of exercise, and then rush out the door with the site foreman.

The site foreman (might not actually be his proper title but it will have to do) treats me like I'm a paper pusher (which I am) and all I am doing is getting in the way of a bunch of guys trying to build something (guilty again). I resent that feeling and attitude, but more on that some other time.

So we are trudging along and I am halfheartedly being introduced to the foreman and I have the sneaking suspicion that I am supposed to remember each guy because unlike my other job sites this one is not going to be all that helpful with getting the count each week (this site should be the subject of many a blog post). The whole time we are going around the site my eyes keep wandering over to the rickety set of scaffolding stairs leading up to the second floor and then the roof.

For those of you who don't know me well I have a fear of heights, one where if I climb up more than 20 feet I start to get the shakes and begin to think about ways I could fall to my death. Just like my first plane flights and rollercoasters its my overthinking that is to blame for my disdain.

Anyway, I am eyeing the stairs hoping that I won't have to go up them yet knowing that its inevetable because I see men working up there which means I have to go talk to them, because that's my job. Yet again socializing gets in the way of my real life goal, to be left alone with a bunch of books safely at an altitude of about 6 feet 1 inches.

The football player of a foreman (he is huge, that Notre Dame shirt he is wearing must have came his way courtesy of the football department) starts lumbering towards the stairs and I start thinking of ways to get out of going up there. First thought is to fake an injury, but I quickly decide that that is out the question because it will only make me look like more of a sissy than I already appear to be. Next thought is to start a long conversation with a construction worker on the ground floor, then I realize I would have to introduce myself, which I suck at doing. The third thought which comes to me just as I grip the first railing is that I could just run away, but that would result in me being fired which would result in me not recieving credit for my co-op, which would result in me having to start paying my loans, which I can't do so I would default, and the snowball grows larger from there.....

So without any plausible reasons or excuses to get out of going up into the clouds I find myself climbing. In actuallity this act of going up 25 feet shouldn't be a problem, if I fell nothing would happen to me, but my brain doesn't work that way. My brain sees the rebar on the ground and imagines my body somehow impailing itself on it, or it sees the the backho suddenly veering for my fallen body and crushing me before I have time to get out of the way (I hate my brain). This is all amplified by the fact that the scaffolding is much more shaky than i thought it would be. I resigned to staring straight ahead and placing one foot in front of the other which usually seems to work. No doubt there was no color in my face but the beast of a man leading me wasn't about to turn around so it went un-noticed.

When we reached the first landing I wasn't as relieved as I thought I would be, I think it may have been because I was at an unfinished construction site. Regardless of the fact there was solid slab under my feet I still couldn't keep my mind focused as I was being introduced to foremen.

3+3=6 not 5 and You're a White Guy

Funny little story from getting the numbers at Parcel 18.

Dan and I are doing the rounds getting the numbers and everything is going well when we get to ML Paint and ask for the numbers.


Dan: How many you got on the job today.

Foreman: 5

Dan: How many Boston residents?

Foreman: 3

Dan: How many resident minorities?

Foreman: 3

Dan: How many females?

Foreman: 1

Dan: How many non-resident minorities?

Foreman: 3

At this point Dan and I share a quizzical look. Some quick math would bring us to the total number being at least 6 (3 minority residents and 3 non-resident minorities is at least six people and thats not including any white guys on the job this foreman being one of them)

Dan: You sure those are right?

Foreman: Yep

Dan: 5 total, 3 resident all minorities, 1 woman, 3 non-minority residents

Foreman: Yep

Dan after glancing over at me again: That's at least 6.

Foreman: Oh and there is me!

Let the record show that this man is as white as a white guy can be so this does not solve the number conundrum that he has presented. At this point the conversation became so confusing that it was best to just quit before he changed the woman to a white person and really fuck up the numbers.