(no subject)
Feb. 25th, 2003 12:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dchenesAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH!
There's a dental meeting in Chicago starting Thursday. My boss is in charge of the Table Clinic session, which is a bit like a science fair. He's been soliciting projects for the session since May, and in January he's finally got everybody registered for the meeting and the session and all that jazz, and YESTERDAY he remembers he needs banners for the projects of the people from Tufts.
All right, says I, banners. How long? Oh, about this, says he, holding his arms out. How long is that, says I, wanting something more exact. About this, says he, holding his arms out to a different length. This is going to be fun, says I to myself.
I go to the Educational Media office, which used to do stuff like that. Lo and behold, they don't do it any more. (Shock of shocks. Nothing is ever simple around here.) That was yesterday.
Today I haul out the phone book and call Kinko's. Sure, we do banners, says they. How long? AARGH, says I to myself. Six feet, says I, guessing wildly about the length of the tables in question. They give me an estimate. I tell my boss the estimate. Have them do it, says he. So I tromp down there with a disk containing the logo and the text for the five banners we need and drop off the disk. Halfway back it occurs to me that if this turns into a gigantic clusterfuck, as things like this usually do, it will be blamed on me. Not on my boss, who wouldn't tell me what exactly he wanted, but on me, for doing it wrong.
I'm of two minds about this. One says that if the banners come out wrong, my boss can bloody well have them redone in Chicago, because this is Not My Problem. The other says that I should have nailed him to the wall about exactly what he wanted, so I wouldn't have to worry about whether they're wrong.
On top of which, the Academy of Osseointegration meeting is in Boston this year. This apparently is an excuse for every alumnus from a foreign country for the last twenty years to come tromping through here discussing research that hasn't happened yet and sending packages and receiving faxes and making phone calls and borrowing every piece of office equipment I've got. Oh, and since the office door is locked, they can't open it, but that doesn't mean they don't try.
I really want to bite somebody.
Update: These people are hopeless. I just unjammed a stapler with staples stuck over the copper bit that pushes the staples forward, and the rest of the staples put in upside down. It isn't rocket science to load a stapler, and it shouldn't require a Leatherman to unjam it.
There's a dental meeting in Chicago starting Thursday. My boss is in charge of the Table Clinic session, which is a bit like a science fair. He's been soliciting projects for the session since May, and in January he's finally got everybody registered for the meeting and the session and all that jazz, and YESTERDAY he remembers he needs banners for the projects of the people from Tufts.
All right, says I, banners. How long? Oh, about this, says he, holding his arms out. How long is that, says I, wanting something more exact. About this, says he, holding his arms out to a different length. This is going to be fun, says I to myself.
I go to the Educational Media office, which used to do stuff like that. Lo and behold, they don't do it any more. (Shock of shocks. Nothing is ever simple around here.) That was yesterday.
Today I haul out the phone book and call Kinko's. Sure, we do banners, says they. How long? AARGH, says I to myself. Six feet, says I, guessing wildly about the length of the tables in question. They give me an estimate. I tell my boss the estimate. Have them do it, says he. So I tromp down there with a disk containing the logo and the text for the five banners we need and drop off the disk. Halfway back it occurs to me that if this turns into a gigantic clusterfuck, as things like this usually do, it will be blamed on me. Not on my boss, who wouldn't tell me what exactly he wanted, but on me, for doing it wrong.
I'm of two minds about this. One says that if the banners come out wrong, my boss can bloody well have them redone in Chicago, because this is Not My Problem. The other says that I should have nailed him to the wall about exactly what he wanted, so I wouldn't have to worry about whether they're wrong.
On top of which, the Academy of Osseointegration meeting is in Boston this year. This apparently is an excuse for every alumnus from a foreign country for the last twenty years to come tromping through here discussing research that hasn't happened yet and sending packages and receiving faxes and making phone calls and borrowing every piece of office equipment I've got. Oh, and since the office door is locked, they can't open it, but that doesn't mean they don't try.
I really want to bite somebody.
Update: These people are hopeless. I just unjammed a stapler with staples stuck over the copper bit that pushes the staples forward, and the rest of the staples put in upside down. It isn't rocket science to load a stapler, and it shouldn't require a Leatherman to unjam it.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2003-02-25 12:46 pm (UTC)I think you just said everything that needs to be said about the IQ of the people you work with.
Good Grief, that's depressing.
*hug*