08 Dec / Monday Blues
Another roadshow today. Oh yeah. I’m blessed. The roadshow a mere two weeks ago (how times flies when you’re drooling on the floor in boredom) was presented by our local company. The roadshow today (on a Monday. A Monday!) was presented by our holding company – otherwise known as the mothership.
Please don’t beam me aboard.
During the first roadshow there was a lot of informal talking and humour. There was some attempt to relate to us minions, and introduce the personality of the presenters. Today was a blank corporate front.
There were a lot of smiling faces, but they belonged to the actors hired to pretend they were undergoing a catastrophic event which we were helping them with. There was a lot of rousing music, but in the same way that your bank will have rousing music on its ad. Its ad with lots of smiling-faced actors.
It didn’t help that the sound quality was sub-par, and the volume was CRANKED UP!
Note to self: when trying to disguise the inadequacy of a sound system don’t turn it up to full. Opposite of disguise happens. Opposite. End of note.
On the bright side there were biscuits after. Chewy, oaty, honeyed biscuits and crisp, snappy, chocolatey biscuits. One needed some fridge time to be more snappy, and the other needed some microwave time to be more gooey. But for an empty stomach that otherwise would be fed only coffee they tasted like heaven.
I also thought later that given the number of biscuits and the number of attendees, I was probably only meant to help myself to one (and considering the decreasing size of my clothing maybe not even that) but it was too late. I should be more observant I guess, but then I’d go through life hungry and who needs that.
Upon my return to the office I discovered that the functions on my computer that had been working eratically but useably in the early morning, were now not working at all. I called the tech-team, which used to be called the help-desk but had a name change due to experiences not equal to inherent promises, and received an incident number in return. There was some blah-blah-blah which would blah-blah and they would blah-de-blah-blah and then the call ended abruptly. I may have hung up. You can’t prove it.
I failed to do anything useful with MY BARE HANDS AND A CALCULATOR and then went to my optometrist appointment. The ‘two pairs of glasses for $299.00’ promise on the poster was translated into a ‘two pairs of glasses for $1,429.00’ reality on my credit card, and then I had a rather unpleasant surprise.
You know those tiresome tests where they blow on your eye, take a photo of your retina, and then shine a bright light in your face while asking you to look in directions that you usually have to stare at your hands to work out? Apparently they’re not just cool methods of torture to put myopic consumers in their place.
No. They’re real tests that provide real information.
Information such as the retina that I’ve had an operation to place a band around to hold it close to the back of my eye followed by laser surgery to burn said retina into place because the band didn’t quite cut it, now looks like it has a blister in it. A blister that may be a blister requiring further laser surgery to burn it into stability and make sure it doesn’t leak and disrupt the rest of my tattered retina; or it may be the start of another detached retina meaning that another tear has to be fixed by another surgery that runs the risk of creating further scar tissue that may lead to further tears and detachment and will probably hasten the development of cataracts that increases the possibility of retinal detachment.
I’m still upset about my credit card. I’ll leave the rest of it to unpack tomorrow.
Speaking of tomorrow…
First up on the blog tour this week I have Jersey Girl Book Reviews who is bucking the trend by including the word Review in her blog title and actually providing one! Way to go Jersey Girl. Head over there now for that and a
rambling blog post on ‘How to Handle Negative Criticism.’
Next up we have Beyond Romance. The post isn’t up as I’m typing, but until it is you can amuse yourself by perusing their Sunday Snog. Filthy, filthy, filthy. I’m going back to read it again.