Pynchon

Let me tell you about what a nice guy yours truly really is.

All day yesterday I was on a course learning about data manipulation software. It was not at all boring. In fact it was really interesting. I learnt a lot, made some really good notes and came out of the course in a really good mood.

The mood didn't last.

I got back to my desk with an hour of the working day still to go. Plenty to do, but I felt I could cram quite a bit of work into an hour. I was up for it.

Except that I couldn't log on to any of the external sites.

I asked if somebody had been messing about with the modems. I got indifference.

I asked again. Had somebody been messing with the modems? Somebody said that they thought somebody had been under my desk doing something (isn't that a great sentence?), but that it shouldn't have affected me.

I said that I was affected. Could somebody sort it out? Please?

Lorraine suggested that I have a look for myself.

And I did have a look for myself. Hardware, cables, modems, printers, mouses, routers, phone sockets, wireless, blingimigs, woofers, tweeters, blodgers, marfarrrrs, eekephips. Machines. These are not my bag. These are not things that I am happy with. I sweat when I have to plug in and mess about with machines. I don't like doing it. I especially do not like making a fool of myself at work with machines especially when there is a dedicated (hah!) section, the Internal Infrastructure Team, to do it for people like me.

Then Lorraine said, "We always have to baby you along, don't we?"

I fucking exploded. In front of everybody. In front of the whole office. Well, by that time it was 17:30 and the mass rush for the exit had started, so it wasn't everybody who witnessed the Pynchon meltdown. I ranted and I raved and I banged the desk with anger.

Something had fucking changed. Someone had stopped me doing my work. Somebody had gotten in my way. Somebody should take responsibility. All I wanted was help to do my fucking work and all I was getting was indifference. Like our customers. Like everybody that The Fucking Company deal with. I could see the James Cunt in his office. He heard what I said.

Lorraine was very red in the face. She said some things and I said some things and a guy who was going to give Lorraine and me a lift home quietly disappeared. I don't blame him. He probably thought we would start punching each other in his car.

Eventually, after a very quiet journey on the bus, we got home and started again.

Lorraine said that I had shown her up in front of everybody. She said that I had embarrassed her. She said that work was bad enough as it was without me being a bastard. She said that if she let me get away with it, I was giving all of her staff carte blanch to talk to her how the hell they wanted. I said that I really didn't give a fuck.

But... She was right.

I regret it. I could have handled it a lot better. I could have chosen not to lose my temper. You can choose to do that, you know. I know that sometimes I have anger problems, but it rarely turns into a red mist moment. My Mom has told me that my Dad used to have those a lot when he had been drinking.

You can choose not to be an arsehole and that's what I have become.

Before stopping to watch "C.S.I. Crime Scene Investigation" and "Smith" I listened to "In Utero" by Nirvana on my MP3 player. I am pretty certain that the last time I listened to that album was the evening in 1994 that Sister 3 had her abortion. I paid for that abortion. She asked me for the money because nobody else would help her out. Maybe "In Utero" is my severe crisis album?

Yes, I am a really nice guy. A really fine piece of work.

(By the way, when I got into work this morning the connectivity on my PC was fine. Lorraine had crawled under my desk and sorted it out. That really made me feel good. Nothing else was said at work by anybody. Pynchon survives, but it will be a blessed relief if I am sacked.)

Labels: Arguments, Computers, Lorraine, Stress