I'm busy fixing my mouse. It's gotten to that stage where it won't scroll or move smoothly, so I need to flip it over, lift out the ball, and give the inside of it a good clean with a straightened-out paper-clip. My blood boils when a defective mouse makes me take an extra half-second to open something.
You'd be surprised how satisfying it is getting all the dusty crud out from the wee mechanisms.
Eeyore interrupts my work. He's wrongly received an e-mail requesting help, but he's trying to help anyway.
"Who would be responsible for fixing emails with attachments that don't open properly?"
"I don't know. It's not us though."
"I don't know what to say to her."
"This girl. She's sent us a mail asking for help."
"I think she's probably just selected the wrong address. We don't deal with that stuff."
"Still, we ought to try and help her out."
"Why? We have no idea how to fix her problem. Just respond and tell her she's mailed the wrong people." (Wanting to add "And save her and everyone else some fucking bother.")
"But I want to be helpful."
"Yeah. You can be helpful by telling her she's got the wrong address and telling her to call the helpdesk."
"I'm going to speak to Steven, see if he knows who can help."
"OK. Go for it."
"Did you know that you're truly beautiful?"
"I saw you in a different light just there."
(nervous laughter from me)
"I did. It scares me sometimes."
Points to note are (a) this is a perfect illustration of why he never gets any work done and (b) Eeyore isn't a sexy large-breasted brunette with come-hither eyes, he's a slighly overweight man-breasted balding chap with regular blue eyes.
Still, that's probably for the best. I have enough on my plate without worrying about whether or not women still find me attractive.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006