Today's Keyboard Smash

Work was just--just a stunning disaster. I mean, not really, in that I'm personally not in any trouble, which is all I actually care about ultimately. It's just that the machine despises all of us, and it would really like to go sulk in a corner if only we would stop trying to make things on it.

I'm once again watching the delightful interplay of a tiny Mexican lady with 20+ years practical experience tell the white dude engineer exactly what is wrong with the machine, who all in the tool room already knows about it, who fucked up, and that he can stop talking now. There's, uh, a bit of a rift between the operations and engineering departments. I'm new enough that I can just sit back and watch the fireworks and laugh about it later.

I'm sad the machine wasn't running well, but I'm not actually upset. I'm getting a longer leash at work, in terms of what I'm allowed to do to troubleshoot on my own. And hey, I get paid regardless.

Lake Lewisia #546

“The strangest thing,” the driver said while he unscrewed caps to peer into filters and radiators, “I would have sworn I recognized y'all from somewhere before I even pulled up.” The dancer Minnie, who could spot long-haul truckers at a hundred paces or, in this case, several decades of retirement, asked, “What route did you drive?” Sounding surprised, he rattled off a succession of highways and ports and products, to which Minnie said, “Oh, sure, anyone with sense stays just south of Omaha, that’s what Mama always said, so you definitely drove along her plenty.”

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LL#546