Friday, March 03, 2006

I'm a Rage-oholic

I'm addicted to Rage-ohol! (Couldn't resist the Homer quote. That is to say, Homer Simpson, not the author of The Illiad and The Odyssey. Clearly the latter is not nearly so skilled a word-smith.)

For anyone intimidated by the two paragraphs following this, rest assured that most of what comes after that is rage prompted by much more mundane and accessible events.

I spent much of yesterday in a state of constant rage. People who know me well know that I instead usually stay at a constant simmer of intense hatred of humanity and all its works, punctuated by brief periods of intense rage when I boil over. It began the day before yesterday, at roughly 4PM. Up until that time, I'd actually been having a good day. I was shortly heading out to pick up supper at Harvey's for myself and my mother, I was only a little over a day away from two weeks off (the first week is a vacation week, and then I'm on course across the street at Polar Bear on the following week), and I was finally ready to roll out the test version of the application that I'd been working on for the last four months. The idea was that the testers would have at it while I was gone and I'd have a fresh bug set waiting for me when I return in a couple of weeks. So, I got all of the database creation scripts ready, sent them off to the data group, and then found out that they already had a set of scripts from a previous test from before I started working here, and that they wanted to make changes to those scripts rather then receive a fresh set.

Now, I understand the reasoning-- they're DBAs, so they can trust the scripts that they wrote before, whereas I'm essentially an untrusted source who's scripts would have to be gone over with a fine-tooth comb (although, for the record, I tested my scripts extensively on the development database and they worked perfectly). But that did nothing lessen the quiet rage that began boiling as I realized that I was probably not going to be able to get this test database up and running before I left at the end of the week. I had a perfectly viable test database with fresh test data sitting in front of me, but no official testing could be done unless I found a way to get it to test by Friday's end. I had the scripts to create everything from scratch ready to go, but what I didn't have was a comprehensive list of the changes that I'd made, so I'd have to cull what I needed by carefully looking over my creation scripts. And even then, the data group would need to review those changes and then integrate them into their scripts. To make matters even worse, my boss was out sick for the rest of the week, and everything was on schedule before he left, so he's expecting the new test environment to be waiting for him when he gets back on Monday. So, with all of this on my mind, I left work at 4:30 Thursday night in a unique cloud of both depression and rage.

And then I got to Harvey's. I'd taken the time back at the office to plan my route, since I hate driving in downtown Fredericton (home of the worst drivers in Canada) at the best of times, and especially in supper traffic. I planned the path of least resistance (predominantly right turns, with all left turns at intersections with left-turn lights), wrote down precisely what I wanted to order, and showed up at Harvey's ready to calm myself down with some food. I'm sure you can feel where this is going. When I went inside, I ran into Tyler Slipp, which was a pleasant surprise, as I've not seen him for a year or two. I spoke with he and his family briefly, let him know what I was up to these days, and pointed out my sweet new ride (and was pleased that he and his father immediately "got" my plates), then excused myself to go make my purchase. I went up to the register, reached for my wallet, and found myself patting my ass. Which is to say, my wallet wasn't there.

I immediately backed away and tried to calm down and think. A quick search of my pockets revealed nothing, so I decided to check my car next. However, socially awkward fool that I am, I was embarrassed to leave immediately and confuse Tyler et al, but thought it would be even more embarrassing/awkward to walk up and explain that I'd lost my wallet. Not to mention that doing so would almost certainly have sounded like I was asking for food money. So I hung around up by the cash register for what I hoped was a convincing amount of time for me to have obtained my food, then walked out the door with my right arm held stiffly at my side at all times, carefully of the Slipps' line of sight, in what I hoped was a convincing imitation of carried food.

I then carefully slipped into my car, still keeping my arm out of sight, and then frantically searched for my wallet as my rage built. Nothing. I sat and went over the events of the last couple of days in my head, and concluded that my wallet was left at the Irving, at the university, at work, or at home. Incredibly frustrated, and desperately hoping that the last of those possibilities was true, I headed for home empty-handed and angry, a full 1/2 hour later than usual and with nothing other than higher blood pressure and likely a developing ulcer to show for it. I got home to find my mother waiting with the table set, drinks poured, etc. *sigh* After explaining my predicament, I rushed to my room to see if my wallet was on my dresser-- it was not. I fell back onto my bed when inspiration struck. I ran to the laundry room and, sure enough, my wallet was in the back of the pair of jeans I'd worn yesterday, lying in the laundry basket.

My wallet recovered and my rage lessened but still very much present, I went back to town in yet another quest for food. I was looking forward to eating take-out that night, and I was going to damn well get it. This time, my mother called in an order at the Diplomat as I left, and was told it would be ready for 6PM. I got to the Diplomat at precisely 6 and, lo and behold, the food was not ready. Nor was it ready at 6:10PM. Finally, at 6:15PM, a full 15 minutes late, I saw someone bring it out from the kitchen. As I got up from the waiting room chair to receive it, the woman who had gone to fetch it was stopped by a contemptible hag who was intently perusing the desserts. She then proceeded to ask what was in every goddamn dessert in that display. I sat back down. Then, another woman, not distracted by the forces of Satan, grabbed the food-- I got back up. She then called another fellow over to get his take-out. I sat back down. However, as I sat there watching him pay, I became increasingly certain that the large clear black marker on the side of the bag said "Bramble". And I knew that if he left the building with that food, I'd have to wait another fucking 1/2 hour for them to make a fresh order. Just as he was about to walk out with it, the spawn of Lucifer released her hold on the other woman, who then grabbed the bags from the other fellow, called me over, and looked at me as if I was stupid to tell me that this was my food, and that I could take it. If stares could start fires, that entire place would have burned to the ground.

The rest of Thursday passed more or less uneventfully. This morning, I spoke with my boss's boss, as well as a couple of people from the data group, and calmed down significantly as a result, as they were without exception friendly and understanding. I worked very hard to come up with a comprehensive and descriptive list of the database changes, and was finished by noon, but was told by a member of the data group that she'd need a couple of days to get everything done. So that was that. The rage is more or less gone now, but has been replaced with depression and disappointment. I just hope I'll be able to forget about it and enjoy my vacation (although the fact that I encouraged everyone to contact me at home if there are problems makes that less likely). Such is my life. See everyone next rage! *waves*


P.S. *sniff* *sniff* There's something in the air... is it... change? (!)

3 Comments:

Anonymous vern said...

You know, that really did seem like that bad of a day. The number of times I lose or leave my purse/wallet behind I can't count, the number of times I turn around mid-step because I forgot to pick something up and I look really weird, the number of times I've gotten back on the same bus I've just gotten off of or promptly run to the return bus.
Shitty about your work though.

Sunday, March 05, 2006 2:18:00 AM  
Anonymous mike said...

I can't believe how self-conscious you were to be embarrased about leaving your wallet somewhere... so self-conscious that you would feign a food order to save grace in front of an acquaintance that you admittedly hadn't seen (and just as likely would not see again) for quite some time.

Friday, March 17, 2006 6:55:00 PM  
Blogger Jordan said...

I can't believe how self-conscious you were
*shrug* Not the first time I've heard those words, and probably not the last. I'm wacky, I guess.

Sunday, March 19, 2006 2:43:00 PM  

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