LMNOP

Retirement Planning

It came to my attention today that my projected early retirement date is May 18, 2043, a.k.a. INFINITY YEARS AWAY.  (Thank you, company HR system, for providing this mind-boggling information.)  Time to start planning!

Things I Can Maybe Do When I Stop Working in 2043

1. Retire to jetpack community in Florida
2. Spend more time with grand-bots
3. Take up knitting . . . WITH MY MIND
4. See parts of the country that have not fallen into the ocean
5. Learn to play shuffleborg
6. Quietly bide my time (approx. 15 minutes) till the Apocalypse

 

Did I forget anything?  Let me know, because clearly I need to figure this out ASAP.

T-Rex Splatter Is the Worst

Back when I was commuting to Tysons Corner every day, I subscribed to an alert system that would send me a personalized e-mail whenever there was particularly bad traffic on my travel route.  Now, the trip to Tysons Corner is horrible on a good day, so you can only imagine what "particularly bad" signifies; it basically means a dead Tyrannosaurus Rex is covering all lanes of the Beltway in both directions, and scientists have decided that the best way to move it involves toothpicks and fishing wire.  (This happens more than you would think.)

So anyway, even though I quit that job over a year ago for one with a much shorter commute, I have yet to unsubscribe to my e-mail alerts for Tysons Corner traffic.  It is very easy to unsubscribe--you just have to click a link--but I have avoided doing so because I actually like getting those e-mail alerts every now and then as a reminder of the traffic I don't have to deal with.  This either means that I am a total crazy, or that Beltway traffic is so horrible it makes otherwise normal people do crazy things, like continue subscribing to a service that is no longer useful in order to continue receiving, once every two or three weeks, the slight feeling of triumph that comes from knowing you are taking an extra couple of minutes on your hair while all those other suckers sit on 495, hating life and wondering how they will get the T-rex splatter off the hoods of their cars.

Free Creepy Aryan Family When You Upgrade to a King

I booked a hotel room for my upcoming business trip today, and this was the picture in the confirmation e-mail I received:

If they are waiting in my room when I get there, KARATE PUNCHES WILL BE THROWN.

Materials: Ink on Copy Paper; Free Time

A few weeks ago, after seeing the new Batman movie, I started to think about what superpowers I would want to have if I were a superhero too.  Unfortunately, I came to the conclusion that the only superpowers I could get real use out of would be ones I could use at work, because that's where I am most of the time.  Here's an illustrated list of the lame superpowers I could actually use.

Did I forget anything?

Yes, I Have a Reservation for One Grown-Up Please, Thank You

Tonight I leave town on a business trip, and if you're laughing right now at the image of me having Business then, well, I can't say I blame you.  Still, I will probably not be posting tomorrow--that is, of course, unless the accommodations at my Sheraton allow it.  Dahhhling.

I Guess I Am Highlighting Work Topics This Week

I read a washingtonpost.com online discussion about workplace behavior today, and I have to say, this is definitely the grossest work-related question I have ever seen in my life:

I work in an enclosed office with several others. A new person was recently hired who has what can be described as a festering wound on her foot. She is a very nice person but the problem is she cleans it in the office and it often causes a nauseating smell to permeate the room that bothers all of us. We have no HR people on site.

We are at a loss as how to politely ask this individual to clean the wound in the restroom, not in the office. But we of course don't want to offend or embarrass her. She clearly has an infected would that she is trying to get to heal, but cleaning it out in an enclosed office space while the smell from the infection permeates the room is proving to be hard for us to tolerate much longer. This has been going on for about a month and is not improving. Thanks.

WHAT THE HELL.

New Word Needed

OK, I realize that this the only reason this anecdote could be considered interesting is that it's so uninteresting that its uninteresting-ness is interesting in itself, but it's been freaking me out all day: I have found my ringtone doppleganger.  Someone down the hall from me has the exact same ringtone, text-messaging alert, and voicemail alert on his/her phone as I have on mine!

I wish there was a word for the bizarre sense of deja-vu/Pavlovian false alarm that results from overhearing such familiar sounds all day, but slightly more distant and not directed to me.  Suggestions?

Why Quitting Your Job Is A Lot Like That Hillary Swank Movie You Never Saw

You know that movie from a few months back where that guy knows he's dying, so he writes his wife all these letters and instructions and she's not allowed to look at them until he's gone, and then he dies and she reads the letters and does all these little activities that he designed to get her to heal herself and become a better person?  Preparing to leave a job is like that, except instead of lovingly writing instructions for a person you know and love, you are blindly trying to document the procedures of a job you already checked out of for a replacement you met a week ago.  And you get the feeling that instead of finding herself magically a better person at the end of it all, the person replacing you is going to feel screwed and lost.

That's not to say I'm not trying to be helpful; I've been going in early and staying late all week trying to make sure my files are transferred to the right people and my responsibilities are covered and primed for transition.  Still, it's really hard to anticipate what someone's going to need to know, and some of it you can't really explain anyway.  Otherwise, I would need to make the following instructional documents:

• Powerpoint presentation entitled, "How to play along with the client-site Office Supervisor's borderline-racist jokes without actually appearing racist yourself"
• A copy of the Weekly Status Meeting agenda, annotated to show which segments are ideal times for bathroom breaks and which topics must be paid attention to "for real for real"
• Org Chart identifying the various people whose authorization you will need for certain tasks, as well as the people along the way you have to pretend to ask first so you don't look like you're hassling someone important
• Treasure Map leading to the supply cabinet with the good folders (the ones in the bright colors)

I feel bad that the new person will have to figure these things out for herself, but only to an extent.  After all, aren't I going to be in the exact same position on Monday when I start my new job?  I highly doubt I will arrive my desk and find a neat stack of papers explaining who's cool, who's mean, and who's the office perv.  I will have to find that out for myself as the weeks go by, and maybe if I am lucky when it's over I'll be happy and fulfilled and living the kind of life where it never occurs to me to make analogies based on romantic comedies I never saw.

MAYBE.

If You Think Working Is Hard, Try Quitting

Seriously, I havent been this busy in I dont know how long.  (Also, the cat knocked water onto my keyboard and now the apostrophe doesnt work.)  There is so much to be done--people to inform, duties to transition, desks to clean out--and just one more week to finish it all.

People, please take care of the Internet while Im doing all this crap.

In Conclusion, I Give Myself an A++ At Life

What I'm about to say is probably the most shocking thing a blogger ever could, and no, it's not that I'm quitting, because please--that would not be a shocking thing for a blogger to say.  Bloggers quit all the time.  Actually, what I want to say is this:

I am sooooo sick of talking about myself today.

I know, I know: gasps all around, Earth screeches to a halt, etc.  But people, I have been writing my annual self-assessment for work all day today, and it has been no picnic.  It turns out that even I have my limits when it comes to writing endless paragraphs about myself.  Weird.

On top of all of that, I'm not so keen about the concept of the self-assessment in general.  Shouldn't it go without saying that I think I'm great at my job?  Aren't I pretty much the least objective person in the entire world when it comes to judging the performance of . . . me?  Why are my standards so important?  Maybe I consider it a productive day if I manage to do a near-professional hemming job on my pants with only a stapler and some Wite-Out tape. 

These are all things I thought today as I stared at my computer screen and attempted to brag about myself without sounding completely ridiculous.

So, what did I end up saying?  The usual: I'm awesome, people love me, I invented sunshine, and I currently have six major motion picture studios interested in producing a biopic about my life starring Hillary Swank as the desktop publisher with a heart of gold.

And a pant leg ful of staples.