Out, Demons of Stupidity!

I saw that line in a Dilbert cartoon and it went straight to my heart.

Last night while driving I noticed we were pretty close to a full moon.  I think it hit today at work.

Do you know the phrase dumb blonde? We have the original prototype at work.

I need a new computer.

Ok.

[brings computer]

What’s that for?

It’s your new computer.

What advantage would that be?

None, I’ll take it right back.

———-

Earlier today, as described in a previous post, Blondie came into the office, complaining that we must’ve worked on her computer.

Administrator is on it.

Administrator is on it?

Administrator is on it.  I rebooted and rebooted and rebooted but administrator is still there.

Do you mean where you put your name?

Yes.

So put your name there.

Really?

Yes.

———-

This has got to be one of the higher-paid geniuses in the company.  She’s been there forever.  We suspect she has pictures of everybody with small animals or something.  There can’t be any other reason she’s still employed.

To say she is as dumb as cardboard is to insult cardboard.  There are two-by-fours holding up the building with higher IQ’s than this person.

As if by magic, our second favorite Mensa candidate sent an email to the effect of `Them saying we should change the address.’  As we had no frame of reference for Them, we asked who Them was and what address.

She didn’t know, but she was damn sure she wanted it changed.  She proceeded to become very agitated with us because she didn’t know what she was talking about.

This is not the first time.  One day she came into the office, her normal sweet-as-pie self.  By the time she got to the end of her sentence, she was yelling at us AT THE TOP OF HER LUNGS and storming out.

You’d have to figure we do social services, if only because so many of us are so screwed up.

———-

My boss, who never met a salesman she didn’t like, got us all set up for a web demo of Something Or Other today.

This would not be out of the norm except for the fact that we already have a $75,000 Something Or Other and we’re not completely finished setting it up yet.  But here she is, in our third Something or Other demo in two weeks.

This one is naturally a Webex.  I say naturally because I hate Webex.  There’s no linux client.  In fact, it doesn’t appear to work in Firefox either.  You have to install all sorts of crap to make it work, plus you still have to call a number on the phone for the audio portion.  Bah humbug.

We were treated to a Product Specialist on this particular Something Or Other.  It’s rare to get a demo where the presenter actually has a clue and isn’t trying to use all sorts of sales tactics to get you to purchase the product.  Of course there were salespeople present in the conference.  The only problem is that the guy knew too much about the product and was anxious to share it with us.

The only other problem was that we had literally never seen this particular Something Or Other before and this Product Specialist was taking us through every little capability and configuration screen in the entire device.

My compatriot and I were aghast at having to sit and listen to this.  The boss was on the conference so we couldn’t be tremendously rude (just mildly rude).  But I had no idea how to bring up the fact that we didn’t have the slightest idea what he was talking about.  My boss, not an entirely technical type, covered her ignorance beautifully via her own special technique: asking stupid, irrelevant questions.

We had developed headaches and it took a few moments to figure out why.  They were caused by our eyeballs trying to stare at each other for prolonged periods, then doing that thing where they look like slot machines, rolling and rolling and rolling….

It’s a damn good thing my coworker alerted me to the MUTE button on the phone because there was an entire circus happening in the office while the two of us were attempting to `attend’ this web conference (and the boss was asking stupid, irrelevant questions).  We made certain to UNMUTE every ten minutes to grunt or ask our own irrelevant questions.

We finally figured out what was up: this was a technical briefing for someone who had already purchased the Something Or Other and needed to know how to use it.  Big help that was.  Even after discovering that none of us had seen it before, our Specialist continued, adding that we should interrupt him if we had questions because he could talk our ears off.  We must have hurt our necks nodding in agreement.

Meanwhile we took the time to work on our synchronized dance moves, tell horribly off-color jokes to the rest of the office, and lamented the fact that the person who is always getting caught with a person of the opposite sex has decided to keep it zipped up.

Coworker, who talks bravely but is a wuss, actually stayed long past his normal end of day while this conference dragged on.  It was up to me to figure a way out/off.

I led with an `excuse me’ then continued with `an appointment.’  I finished with a `very informative’ and rushed to hang up and clear the crap from my computer.  Coworker, sensing a way out, jumped off right after me.

As far as I know, my boss is still at work, on the phone with the Product Specialist.

——————

I just found out our bonuses are going to be half play money, that they somehow managed to tax us on at the same time.  Don’t ask.

——————

I have many favorite Frank Zappa tunes but one of my favorite titles is “The Torture Never Stops.”  It just seems so appropriate.

Especially today because it was Band Practice.  The drummer emailed to say he just got my email, so he didn’t learn the three songs I sent him.  I considered canceling right then but gave them the benefit of the doubt.

I went to the singer’s house.  He apologized because he didn’t get time to learn the new songs.

$*#&#@)@&!@$^

Both of them told me they were going to talk to the bassist about playing more often and getting more serious.  They asked what I thought.  I mentioned my Single Musical Peccadillo: I want everybody to show up knowing their songs.

We laughed, only slightly sarcastically.

They decided to make it unanimous: we found when we got there that the bassist didn’t know the songs either.  The small amount of life left started to seep out of my body.  Some would say that it ran screaming down the burned out street, looking for a better neighborhood, but we won’t argue that now, ok?

The first forty-five minutes was spent tuning.  Don’t ask.  Suffice it to say the other guitarist was blaming everything from the humidity to the angle of the floor for the fact he couldn’t tune his guitar.  It made my head hurt.

While we were playing some other songs, I heard an unearthly BANGING.  Someone was apparently at the door.  Oh, it was Bob.

Bob?

Bob, the sub shop owner’s son, who plays the drums.

Of course it is.

So we start playing another song and Bob starts playing congas.  At this point, I’m wondering exactly what else can possibly happen that would be any stranger than this (alleged) practice.  Perhaps Bob has a small pet elephant that liked to watch him play.  Perhaps Bob prefers playing only in his underwear.  Perhaps the Rockettes will pop in.  Maybe Lawrence Welk will return from the grave… better yet, Michael Jackson; stating his new preference for classic rock and wondering if he can sit in too.  Any xylophone players?  Celery?

The drummer, who just got done telling us he has recommitted to being a better drummer, is a bit drunk.  That’s ok because he’s only driving us home.  The singer is worse off, as he had no dinner before beer.  Bassist was smoking his peace pipe again.

And all of me, down to the cellular level, was screaming GET…  OUT!!

I rushed home so I could write this all down for your edification and, hopefully, entertainment.