Anyone who does something like this should be named king of the world for a day.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Glorified Monkey
So, there is a part of my job that involves printing letters to students.
A LOT of letters.
All at once.
On a tight deadline.
These letters are generated at another location and sent to my printer remotely. I have now participated in this process twice, and I can now say with complete authority that every time, something (or multiple somethings) goes wrong.
I will spare you with the details of the comedy of errors that occurred this time (over multiple days) and favor you with my favorite train wreck.
Once I finally got the letters printing, one group kept coming out on two sheets of paper, when it should have fit on one. With more than 1,000 letters shooting out of my printer, I didn't want to be accused of singlehandedly cutting down the entire rain forest, so I tried to cancel the print job and re-run it.
It sounds easy, right?
Unfortunately, because it is sent remotely, the only way to cancel it is to hit the little orange button on my printer. Usually, these particular jobs are sent over in batches. So, pushing the button once cancels an entire group of letters from printing.
But since this is me we're talking about, that didn't happen. The universe always likes to throw me curve-balls, just to see if I'm paying attention.
In this case, all of the letters came over as individual print jobs. That meant that to cancel the 1,000+ letters, I had to hit the cancel button 1,000+ times.
In between each button press, I also had to wait while the printer processed my command. As a result, I spent my afternoon doing the following:
"Press"
... pause ...
"Press"
... pause ...
"Press"
... pause ...
"Press"
I felt like one of those chimpanzees trying to get into the space program at NASA.
A LOT of letters.
All at once.
On a tight deadline.
These letters are generated at another location and sent to my printer remotely. I have now participated in this process twice, and I can now say with complete authority that every time, something (or multiple somethings) goes wrong.
I will spare you with the details of the comedy of errors that occurred this time (over multiple days) and favor you with my favorite train wreck.
Once I finally got the letters printing, one group kept coming out on two sheets of paper, when it should have fit on one. With more than 1,000 letters shooting out of my printer, I didn't want to be accused of singlehandedly cutting down the entire rain forest, so I tried to cancel the print job and re-run it.
It sounds easy, right?
Unfortunately, because it is sent remotely, the only way to cancel it is to hit the little orange button on my printer. Usually, these particular jobs are sent over in batches. So, pushing the button once cancels an entire group of letters from printing.
But since this is me we're talking about, that didn't happen. The universe always likes to throw me curve-balls, just to see if I'm paying attention.
In this case, all of the letters came over as individual print jobs. That meant that to cancel the 1,000+ letters, I had to hit the cancel button 1,000+ times.
In between each button press, I also had to wait while the printer processed my command. As a result, I spent my afternoon doing the following:
"Press"
... pause ...
"Press"
... pause ...
"Press"
... pause ...
"Press"
I felt like one of those chimpanzees trying to get into the space program at NASA.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Stunted Development
When I was 11 years old, my parents moved to Utah for 3 years, which really did a number on my friend quotient.
This is one example of what happens when a tween has too much time on his hands. For more stories, go here, here, here or here.
It was Valentine's Day. In elementary school, this was the day to find out just how popular you were. It laid bare the truth of what people thought of you, based on the quantity of Valentine cards and the quality of candy attached.
As a brand new Utahn, I felt a driving need to make a real splash my first year. I knew I was lost in the obscurity of the cliques and carefully arranged social hierarchy.
I also had pretty much every afternoon free from annoying distractions like friends or a social life.
The result?
I decided to make the biggest possible Valentine box. The inspiration came from one of the wardrobe boxes my parents used to move to Utah. Have you ever seen those things? For an 11-year-old kid, it looked like you could fit a whole car inside.
I decided to make one to look like the Tower of Big Ben. I used poster board to make the roof, and after drawing on the clock, I knew it needed a little something extra.
That's when inspiration struck. I decided to make a face and have the mouth be the slot for the cards. I also decided it would "Super Fun" if I used light bulbs for the eyes and nose. Then I could have them flash on and off whenever a card went through the slot. (I used one of those long skinny bulbs for the nose.)
Because I still hadn't brushed up on my electrician skills, the only way I could make the flashing face work is if I was hiding inside the box and flipping the switch each time.
So ...
I got permission from my teacher to come in early from recess to deliver my own Valentines and slip into the box unnoticed. Once all the kids started delivering their own, I had to flip that switch like crazy. It was thrilling to see how many times something came through the slot. I began to daydream about all the popularity I'd achieved with my Big Ben wardrobe box and how I'd be showered with praise once I finally revealed how it worked.
What I didn't know was how the kids kept testing the light bulbs. They were so amazed that they shoved anything they could into the slot: pencils, pens, paperclips, candy wrappers, garbage.
I had an amazing pile of stuff that year, but half of it belonged to the school or had to go right into the trash can.
And for the record, despite their interest in my box, I still wasn't carried around on their shoulders or invited to any after-school parties.
This is one example of what happens when a tween has too much time on his hands. For more stories, go here, here, here or here.
It was Valentine's Day. In elementary school, this was the day to find out just how popular you were. It laid bare the truth of what people thought of you, based on the quantity of Valentine cards and the quality of candy attached.
As a brand new Utahn, I felt a driving need to make a real splash my first year. I knew I was lost in the obscurity of the cliques and carefully arranged social hierarchy.
I also had pretty much every afternoon free from annoying distractions like friends or a social life.
The result?
I decided to make the biggest possible Valentine box. The inspiration came from one of the wardrobe boxes my parents used to move to Utah. Have you ever seen those things? For an 11-year-old kid, it looked like you could fit a whole car inside.
I decided to make one to look like the Tower of Big Ben. I used poster board to make the roof, and after drawing on the clock, I knew it needed a little something extra.
That's when inspiration struck. I decided to make a face and have the mouth be the slot for the cards. I also decided it would "Super Fun" if I used light bulbs for the eyes and nose. Then I could have them flash on and off whenever a card went through the slot. (I used one of those long skinny bulbs for the nose.)
Because I still hadn't brushed up on my electrician skills, the only way I could make the flashing face work is if I was hiding inside the box and flipping the switch each time.
So ...
I got permission from my teacher to come in early from recess to deliver my own Valentines and slip into the box unnoticed. Once all the kids started delivering their own, I had to flip that switch like crazy. It was thrilling to see how many times something came through the slot. I began to daydream about all the popularity I'd achieved with my Big Ben wardrobe box and how I'd be showered with praise once I finally revealed how it worked.
What I didn't know was how the kids kept testing the light bulbs. They were so amazed that they shoved anything they could into the slot: pencils, pens, paperclips, candy wrappers, garbage.
I had an amazing pile of stuff that year, but half of it belonged to the school or had to go right into the trash can.
And for the record, despite their interest in my box, I still wasn't carried around on their shoulders or invited to any after-school parties.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
"You too"
I have this nasty habit of saying stupid things.
I know.
It's a shocker, isn't it?
One of the most common is when I reply with "you too" to someone helping me in a store or some other customer service situation. It just comes flying out of my mouth, even if it is completely inappropriate. It's as if I have a very specific form of Tourette's.
You can guarantee that if someone says any of the following, I will inevitably follow with an enthusiastic "you too!"
"Enjoy your movie."
"Good luck with your interview."
"Enjoy your purchase."
I also have the uncanny ability to say "you're welcome" before anyone has a chance to say "thank you."
It's a gift.
I know.
It's a shocker, isn't it?
One of the most common is when I reply with "you too" to someone helping me in a store or some other customer service situation. It just comes flying out of my mouth, even if it is completely inappropriate. It's as if I have a very specific form of Tourette's.
You can guarantee that if someone says any of the following, I will inevitably follow with an enthusiastic "you too!"
"Enjoy your movie."
"Good luck with your interview."
"Enjoy your purchase."
I also have the uncanny ability to say "you're welcome" before anyone has a chance to say "thank you."
It's a gift.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Sinking to a new low
Those who were around in 2009 may remember my nearly constant problem of getting mistaken for a woman on the phone.
I call it getting "Ma'am-ed."
Well, last week, I hit an all-time low. By now I'm used to hearing "ma'am" all the time, but this time, I called the LDS distribution center.
This is a store where Mormons can pick up Mormony things, like scriptures, hymnbooks, pictures of temples, etc.
I wanted to know if they had a particular book in stock.
(Tangent)
You know when people are really happy and peppy on the phones?
Whenever I'm confronted with someone like this, who probably has a massive sugar high from eating a dozen jelly-filled donuts, I unconsciously try to match their energy level.
My voice inflection becomes like a roller coaster at Disneyland, and my volume rises to the point that I sound like I'm stuck in a wind tunnel.
Well, this lady was EXTREMELY friendly, and I didn't even realize how enthusiastic I had gotten on the phone. I'm surprised the world didn't implode from the joy of our little conversation.
This may or may not have had something to do with what happened next.
(End Tangent)
When she got back on the phone, she said:
"Okay, Sister. It looks like we have several in stock."
Sister.
To fully understand the crippling embarrassment of this word, you have to understand Mormon culture. In the Mormon church, Brother and Sister are used as prefixes, just like Mr. or Mrs.
In the many years I've been getting Ma'am-ed, I've never been Sister-ed.
Now I'm going to go console myself with a dozen jelly-filled donuts.
I call it getting "Ma'am-ed."
Well, last week, I hit an all-time low. By now I'm used to hearing "ma'am" all the time, but this time, I called the LDS distribution center.
This is a store where Mormons can pick up Mormony things, like scriptures, hymnbooks, pictures of temples, etc.
I wanted to know if they had a particular book in stock.
(Tangent)
You know when people are really happy and peppy on the phones?
Whenever I'm confronted with someone like this, who probably has a massive sugar high from eating a dozen jelly-filled donuts, I unconsciously try to match their energy level.
My voice inflection becomes like a roller coaster at Disneyland, and my volume rises to the point that I sound like I'm stuck in a wind tunnel.
Well, this lady was EXTREMELY friendly, and I didn't even realize how enthusiastic I had gotten on the phone. I'm surprised the world didn't implode from the joy of our little conversation.
This may or may not have had something to do with what happened next.
(End Tangent)
When she got back on the phone, she said:
"Okay, Sister. It looks like we have several in stock."
Sister.
To fully understand the crippling embarrassment of this word, you have to understand Mormon culture. In the Mormon church, Brother and Sister are used as prefixes, just like Mr. or Mrs.
In the many years I've been getting Ma'am-ed, I've never been Sister-ed.
Now I'm going to go console myself with a dozen jelly-filled donuts.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Nathan's OBGYN Appointment
Yep, you read that title correctly.
For those of you who don't know, Mormon boys are encouraged to go on missions for the LDS church.
It's actually a pretty cool experience that not only helps the little 19-year-old twerp grow up a little, but it also allows them to share something with others that has brought them a great deal of joy and peace.
Before any of them can go, they have to have physical with a doctor to sign off that they are capable of the rigorous physical activity often required.
I was one of those 19-year-old twerps once. And I had to get a physical just like everyone else.
For the life of me, I can't remember the situation, but for some reason, I had to make a last minute appointment with my brother-in-law's father.
He was an OBGYN.
Needless to say, it was a little awkward going to his house for what could potentially be an unpleasant experience from someone who knows me and my family.
We sat down across from each other in his office, and all he asked was: "So, do you feel healthy?"
I said "Yes," and he checked off the paperwork. He had to take a blood sample or something (I honestly can't remember), which had to be analyzed by a lab, so he asked that I pick up the completed paperwork a few days later at his work.
That day, I wandered into a surprisingly large waiting room filled with women in various states of pregnancy. I told the nurse why I was there, and she asked that I have a seat.
I figured they would do the logical thing and bring the papers to the front desk for me to pick up. That is why I was so flabbergasted when a sweet nurse opened the door to the back and called, "Nathan? ... Nathan?"
As I got up and crossed the room, I could feel the eyes of every women in that waiting room on me. Questions like, "Why is that guy seeing an OBGYN?" or "Is that really a guy?" or "If that is a girl, how can that skinny little thing actually be pregnant?" were probably eating away at them.
Red faced, I went through the door, and she took me back to see the doctor. He was sitting at his desk, and when he saw me, smiled pleasantly and handed me the paperwork.
Are you kidding me? Did I actually have to go through that walk of shame just so you could hand me the paperwork yourself?
To this day, I still think he did it on purpose just for the comedic value. I'm positive I was a popular story at their office Christmas party that year.
For those of you who don't know, Mormon boys are encouraged to go on missions for the LDS church.
It's actually a pretty cool experience that not only helps the little 19-year-old twerp grow up a little, but it also allows them to share something with others that has brought them a great deal of joy and peace.
Before any of them can go, they have to have physical with a doctor to sign off that they are capable of the rigorous physical activity often required.
I was one of those 19-year-old twerps once. And I had to get a physical just like everyone else.
For the life of me, I can't remember the situation, but for some reason, I had to make a last minute appointment with my brother-in-law's father.
He was an OBGYN.
Needless to say, it was a little awkward going to his house for what could potentially be an unpleasant experience from someone who knows me and my family.
We sat down across from each other in his office, and all he asked was: "So, do you feel healthy?"
I said "Yes," and he checked off the paperwork. He had to take a blood sample or something (I honestly can't remember), which had to be analyzed by a lab, so he asked that I pick up the completed paperwork a few days later at his work.
That day, I wandered into a surprisingly large waiting room filled with women in various states of pregnancy. I told the nurse why I was there, and she asked that I have a seat.
I figured they would do the logical thing and bring the papers to the front desk for me to pick up. That is why I was so flabbergasted when a sweet nurse opened the door to the back and called, "Nathan? ... Nathan?"
As I got up and crossed the room, I could feel the eyes of every women in that waiting room on me. Questions like, "Why is that guy seeing an OBGYN?" or "Is that really a guy?" or "If that is a girl, how can that skinny little thing actually be pregnant?" were probably eating away at them.
Red faced, I went through the door, and she took me back to see the doctor. He was sitting at his desk, and when he saw me, smiled pleasantly and handed me the paperwork.
Are you kidding me? Did I actually have to go through that walk of shame just so you could hand me the paperwork yourself?
To this day, I still think he did it on purpose just for the comedic value. I'm positive I was a popular story at their office Christmas party that year.
Monday, November 22, 2010
... Thanks ... Scooby Doo.
So, this probably won't be funny to most people, but it is indicative of my daughter.
The other day, my daughter came up to my wife and asked:
"Mommy? Does Jesus fight the Holy Ghost?"
This may baffle most of you (it baffled me when my wife told me), but in context, it makes perfect sense.
My daughter is a huge fan of Scooby Doo right now. HUGE.
Since most of the episodes are of them fighting some type of monster, and since many times it involves some sort of paranormal entity, my daughter has developed a certain contextual association with ghosts.
Now begins the uphill battle of trying to explain that not all "ghosts" are bad.
The other day, my daughter came up to my wife and asked:
"Mommy? Does Jesus fight the Holy Ghost?"
This may baffle most of you (it baffled me when my wife told me), but in context, it makes perfect sense.
My daughter is a huge fan of Scooby Doo right now. HUGE.
Since most of the episodes are of them fighting some type of monster, and since many times it involves some sort of paranormal entity, my daughter has developed a certain contextual association with ghosts.
Now begins the uphill battle of trying to explain that not all "ghosts" are bad.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Best prank ever ... or at least the most devious
So ... my bishop (that's Mormon-speak for my local church leader) is also a colleague at work. And he has a sense of humor.
On Sunday last week, I got a phone call from him where he announced himself by his official title, which was an immediate clue that something was wrong. When he hesitated a little and told me this phone call was particularly difficult, my nerves nearly forced me to lay an egg. (He probably deserves an Oscar for that performance.) He then told me that it had come to his attention that my daughter had punched another little girl in the face during church. (This is the assault I referenced last week.)
I was mortified.
He went on to explain that he was going to have to address the situation with me and figure out what we were going to do about it.
At this point, mortification wasn't nearly enough of a word to describe how I felt.
Then he started laughing.
It turns out it was all a big joke. My daughter had in fact hit another little girl, but he was playing a prank on me for making it a bigger issue than it was.
... So, I decided to get him back.
I found out that his son had been a little bit of a stinker in elementary school, receiving two action slips last week, one on Monday and one Wednesday. If a student gets five action slips in a school year, they must have a mandatory suspension.
(Tangent)
To be clear, this boy is absolutely adorable. He's not a troubled child, and his parents give him all the love and support he needs.
But as my mom would say, he just likes to march to the beat of his own drummer.
(End Tangent)
So, I got a friend to call from a number that would display as a school district number on my bishop's caller ID, and read the following script:
Hi, is this Mr. Johnson? (Names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent)
This is Sylvia Barnes with Fieldcrest Elementary. I'm calling to let you know that your son, Timmy, received another action slip this morning. I don't know if you are aware of our policy, but if students accrue three action slips in one week, they are required to have a 3-day suspension and must meet with the school social worker.
We tried calling your home, but we weren't able to reach your wife. Timmy is currently in our office, and we will need you to come pick him up.
It worked like a charm. Thankfully, I told his wife last night, because by the time I got to his office, he already had her on the phone, telling her he just got a call from the school district.
Once I told him it was a joke, he burst out laughing while telling me he was going to get me back.
I have two words for him ...
Bring it.
On Sunday last week, I got a phone call from him where he announced himself by his official title, which was an immediate clue that something was wrong. When he hesitated a little and told me this phone call was particularly difficult, my nerves nearly forced me to lay an egg. (He probably deserves an Oscar for that performance.) He then told me that it had come to his attention that my daughter had punched another little girl in the face during church. (This is the assault I referenced last week.)
I was mortified.
He went on to explain that he was going to have to address the situation with me and figure out what we were going to do about it.
At this point, mortification wasn't nearly enough of a word to describe how I felt.
Then he started laughing.
It turns out it was all a big joke. My daughter had in fact hit another little girl, but he was playing a prank on me for making it a bigger issue than it was.
... So, I decided to get him back.
I found out that his son had been a little bit of a stinker in elementary school, receiving two action slips last week, one on Monday and one Wednesday. If a student gets five action slips in a school year, they must have a mandatory suspension.
(Tangent)
To be clear, this boy is absolutely adorable. He's not a troubled child, and his parents give him all the love and support he needs.
But as my mom would say, he just likes to march to the beat of his own drummer.
(End Tangent)
So, I got a friend to call from a number that would display as a school district number on my bishop's caller ID, and read the following script:
Hi, is this Mr. Johnson? (Names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent)
This is Sylvia Barnes with Fieldcrest Elementary. I'm calling to let you know that your son, Timmy, received another action slip this morning. I don't know if you are aware of our policy, but if students accrue three action slips in one week, they are required to have a 3-day suspension and must meet with the school social worker.
We tried calling your home, but we weren't able to reach your wife. Timmy is currently in our office, and we will need you to come pick him up.
It worked like a charm. Thankfully, I told his wife last night, because by the time I got to his office, he already had her on the phone, telling her he just got a call from the school district.
Once I told him it was a joke, he burst out laughing while telling me he was going to get me back.
I have two words for him ...
Bring it.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Stunted Development
When I was 11 years old, my parents moved to Utah for 3 years, which really did a number on my friend quotient.
This is one example of what happens when a tween has too much time on his hands. For more stories, go here, here or here.
If you grow up in the snow, you instinctively know when snow pants are needed and when they will just get in the way. Since I grew up where the lowest temperature was 50 degrees, I was blissfully ignorant by the time we had our first snowfall.
So, when I got ready for school that morning, I pulled out the bin of all the winter gear my mom purchased, intending to find a way to strap all the pieces onto my skinny little body ... because if they sell this stuff, it must be important to wear, right?
(Tangent)
Have any of you seen "A Christmas Story?" That kid who couldn't put his arms down has got nothin' on me. Click here to view (the clip I found won't allow me to embed the video).
(End Tangent)
So, after becoming my own version of the Michelin Man, I headed off to early morning choir practice.
At school, all the little choir geeks had to sardine themselves into the room (I believe they called it a kiva), and started going through warm up scales.
The janitors were a little overzealous with the thermostat settings, and it wasn't long before I felt like we'd all been transported to Egypt. I was roasting in my layers of thermals, sweat pants, jeans and snow pants.
As the practice extended into the eternities, I started to wonder if I hadn't been very good in life and mysteriously died during the night. That would certainly explain the torture I was being subjected to at this moment.
After I had sweat my own body weight in fluids, they finally dismissed us, where I went to the bathroom and peeled out of the 18 layers, swearing off snow pants for the rest of my natural life.
This is one example of what happens when a tween has too much time on his hands. For more stories, go here, here or here.
If you grow up in the snow, you instinctively know when snow pants are needed and when they will just get in the way. Since I grew up where the lowest temperature was 50 degrees, I was blissfully ignorant by the time we had our first snowfall.
So, when I got ready for school that morning, I pulled out the bin of all the winter gear my mom purchased, intending to find a way to strap all the pieces onto my skinny little body ... because if they sell this stuff, it must be important to wear, right?
(Tangent)
Have any of you seen "A Christmas Story?" That kid who couldn't put his arms down has got nothin' on me. Click here to view (the clip I found won't allow me to embed the video).
(End Tangent)
So, after becoming my own version of the Michelin Man, I headed off to early morning choir practice.
At school, all the little choir geeks had to sardine themselves into the room (I believe they called it a kiva), and started going through warm up scales.
The janitors were a little overzealous with the thermostat settings, and it wasn't long before I felt like we'd all been transported to Egypt. I was roasting in my layers of thermals, sweat pants, jeans and snow pants.
As the practice extended into the eternities, I started to wonder if I hadn't been very good in life and mysteriously died during the night. That would certainly explain the torture I was being subjected to at this moment.
After I had sweat my own body weight in fluids, they finally dismissed us, where I went to the bathroom and peeled out of the 18 layers, swearing off snow pants for the rest of my natural life.
Monday, November 8, 2010
I'm back ... I think
It's amazing how student paperwork deadlines (and the weeks afterward with students panicking about missing the deadlines) sucks up all my time.
I feel like my head is still spinning.
The other day, my wife was outside with our daughter, when she went up to my wife and said:
"Mom, I'm a Sleeping Beauty Monster."
My wife immediately thought, "I can't think of a more concise way she could have described herself."
And I agree. That brings her completely opposite personality types into perfect oppositional clarity.
(Tangent)
And since we just received a report that she slugged another kid in nursery at church yesterday, I'm wondering if the Sleeping Beauty part is just that. Sleeping.
Let's just say our daughter is becoming an expert at time outs.
(End Tangent)
I feel like my head is still spinning.
The other day, my wife was outside with our daughter, when she went up to my wife and said:
"Mom, I'm a Sleeping Beauty Monster."
My wife immediately thought, "I can't think of a more concise way she could have described herself."
And I agree. That brings her completely opposite personality types into perfect oppositional clarity.
(Tangent)
And since we just received a report that she slugged another kid in nursery at church yesterday, I'm wondering if the Sleeping Beauty part is just that. Sleeping.
Let's just say our daughter is becoming an expert at time outs.
(End Tangent)
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