the day of pretty freakin’ awful

I’m so glad it’s Saturday. Every moment takes me farther away from the awfulness that was yesterday.

It was filled with ridiculous amounts of spam conversations, stupid conversations about spam, beyond-stupid italics-filled conversations about spam, vaguely threatening conversations about spam, actually-threatening conversations about spam (happily not with me), and head-explodingly stupid conversations about software emergencies*. I held in tears of rage for eight hours, then I went home.

Safe! I thought. Totally escaped the work crap, yay. Then I went grocery shopping. Half an hour later, I’d unloaded 187 pounds of milk, soda, meat, cheese and yogurt onto the checkout and was about to present my credit card when I realized … I didn’t, in fact, have my credit card on me.

Is there a situation more likely to make you feel retarded and useless? I submit to you that there is not.

So I repacked the fucking cart, beseeched the checker to hold my stuff, drove home in a vile humor, grabbed my wallet, yelled at my friends (sorry, Jay — I wouldn’t really have kicked you in the face, I promise), drove back to Albertson’s, re-unpacked the cart, bought my freaking groceries, and drove right the hell home, where I plopped myself down on the couch with KT and watched … something … on television until I went to bed, not engaging my brain more than about twice.

On the plus side, if there’s a Quota of Suck, I do believe I’ve used up most of mine for the month. So that’s all right.

*These do not exist. But people like to think they do. “OMG, if I don’t get Visio installed on my computer todaaaaaaaaaaay the world will blow up.” NEWSFLASH: No one ever died from lack of fucking flowchart.

not the canned meat

I have just one thing to say to our hosting and bandwidth customers: If someone complains that the email you sent them is spam, then it IS spam, and I require you to shut the fuck up and deal with it.

I’ve had it up to here with people replying to my complaint notifications saying “This isn’t spam.”

Well, yes, Sparky, it is, because spam is all about perception and you’re doing nothing to change the recipient’s perception that your email about new content at MooseFuckersUnlimited is not, in fact, spam, so it is.

In addition to shutting the fuck up and dealing with it, I’d like to require our customers to not be bad, bad spammers, at knifepoint if possible.

Alternately, I’d like to be able to check potential new customers against some Known Bad Spammers lists, and have the power to tell our salesguys, “No, you can’t have this big commission, for these asshats you’d like to bring onto our network are Bad, Bad Spammers and will cause my head to explode.”

Really, though? I’d like to shut down all the fuckers on our network who are spamming. I’m fucking sick of all of them.

krakatoa burps

Apparently, no one I deal with at work — suppliers, customers, no one — thinks that timely email response is an important thing.

Me to customer: Hey, they’re going to block your /24. Let me know what you want to do.
(several hours pass …)

Me to vendor: Hey, can I get a quote for this?
(3 days pass …)

Me to Upstream: Please sent me copies of those emails.
(3 weeks pass …)

Me to everyone: FUCK ALL Y’ALL. I don’t need this shit. None of this affects me directly. As far as I’m concerned, you can turn us off, not sell us software or blacklist us. Doesn’t matter to me.

Oh, and confidential to our widget vendor: responding to my carefully-phrased fuck-you email with “let’s discuss this over the phone” means “I don’t want a record of the empty promises I’m going to make.” You can fuck right off, too.

When you decide you want to kiss my ass, you’ll find me right here, NOT FUCKING CARING.

some days I really hate my job

Not because of stupid projects or petty bullshit.

No, the days I dread are the ones where our upstream calls us saying “There’s child pornography on your IP space.”

And before I can email people with a black rage in my heart, I have to type in URLs and verify things. I can’t bring myself to click the link entitled “teens up to 16”.

And then I want to sit in a corner and cry.