Hell Is Other People: And They All Work In Marketing

me to marketing: do you guys still use site X for staging? because y'all have done a shit job of keeping that tool updated and now it's insecure as shit.

marketing: we don't know if we use that site

me: *mildly dumbfounded by that response* okay, how about you discuss amongst yourselves until you figure that out; i'll give you until the end of the day to either pony up credentials to that tool or i'm deleting it before the fucking chinese take it over to sell knockoff raybans. like they did to the other environment i yelled at you guys about being insecure for literally years and you did nothing about it and it got taken over and i had to drop everything to fix THAT two weeks ago. 

time goes by... so slowly

marketing: the new marketing manager says she totally uses that site all the time and we definitely need to keep it around
me: ...... ooooookay, how the fuck does she login into it?
marketing: we don't know, aren't YOU the people who track all of that?

Oh. My. Fucking. God. 

Am I... am I through the looking glass or something today? I have, no shit, NINE fucking emails going to no less than six people today all of which are basically me begging: Do you use this? Yes? Great, give me your login so I can get in there and secure it.

And I still don't have that info. I don't use this shit and have been adamant about not supporting it because, as much as I don't like to pull the "not my job" card on people, this is the dictionary picture of "not my job". It's literally a terrible use of the company's money to have me spend time on this. And yet, because I care, I point out "hey, thing X is still about as secure as an open purse showing a wallet and iPhone inside sitting unattended on a New Orleans outdoor patio table during Mardi Gras" to them, as a prod to, I dunno, maybe do something about it. Then I graduate to offering to just fucking do it because Jesus FUCKING Christ. 

And, even in this act of charity, I am just fucking stymied at every turn. It has taken every ounce of my admittedly-poor self-control to not send these fucking dopes an email that would almost definitely get me fired over this.

I'm just gonna get "Help Me Help You" tattooed on my forehead and see if that registers. 

Sorry. No greater point or moral to be had here, just had to get this out of my body and onto someplace else before I screamed.

 

The Books of 2016, #14: The Silk Roads, by Peter Frankopan

PROS:

  • For a non-academic history, covers a topic/region that is severely under-represented in western literature, particularly when weighed against its historical importance.
  • Well-written; not the kind of writing that inspires dreams of becoming an author one's self, but, for a history book, flowing and engaging enough to not put the reader to sleep.
  • Situates what was going on on either end of the area in great detail so the reader can understand why the Silk Roads were particularly important at those points in time.

CONS:

  • Is more of a history of Central Asia than it is of the Silk Roads per se; fails to really explain that there is controversy regarding whether or not a recognized "Silk Road" ever existed; some historians believe that the water routes through the Indian Ocean and Red Sea carrying the spice trade were always more important to the civilizations on either end than the Silk Roads were. I buy the author's argument that the Silk Roads were a very important transmission route for valuable materials as well as, later, ideas and new knowledge, but would've liked to read more about the opposing opinions that are out there.
  • Goes overboard on situational detail at times; there are pretty detailed sections on, say, the progress of the German invasion of Russia in World War 2 or the development of religions in the Middle East that the author doesn't really tie to Central Asia and/or the Silk Roads except in the most vague "this  big event happened sorta close to the area we're concerned with so here's 100 pages on it" kind of way.
  • Related to the point above, I found the book not quite focused enough on the topic. I understood going in that it's a generalist history of the topic, but it could've presumed a bit more knowledge on the more well-known topics that occurred around the periphery of the Silk Roads and focused more on those events impact ON the area in question or how the area affected those events. There's a weird disconnect in his writing that doesn't tie his long digressions on, say, how religion developed in ancient Palestine to how the Silk Roads impacted that development or helped transmit it to other areas.

IN SUMMARY:

It's a good book. I feel it either could've been shorter, via cutting down the reams of info that are outside of the topic and could be assumed as already understood on behalf of the reader, or the same length but with a tighter focus on the area of study and/or with arguments presented against those who believe the Silk Roads importance is overstated to begin with. Still, given the paucity of good generalist writing on Central Asian history in general, it's a great starter for gaining an understanding of that region.

Hell Is Other People: The Lady Who Smokes Too Much

So, while not a full non-smoker yet, I haven't smoked at work in years. That said, I recognize myself in the tribe of folks I see huddled in the smoking area (when they feel like obeying that rule) and the general air of miserableness they broadcast alongside smelling like Dick Cavett's lungs.

There's this one woman, probably 50ish (or a hard mid-40's), who I share the elevator with occasionally. She's got that particular look of a woman who was probably THE hottest chick at the Whitesnake concert back in 1987, but things ain't been goin' so good for since then.

We both arrive at the elevator at the same time, me all fresh-faced and sunnily ready to face a brave new workday (no, seriously; it's usually 11am or so before the workday hogties my optimism and shoves it face-first into a mud puddle). Her, smothered in a miasma of ashtray funk and positively radiating hatred for her fellow man. I recognize that impulse, so I wordlessly wave her into the elevator car ahead of me.

Once we're onboard, I hear a grunted, smoke-smothered "nice tats" in an octave low enough to make more sense coming from, say, an emphysemic trucker than a whippet-thin blonde office worker.

I'm pretty sure she complimented my ink years ago, but she doesn't strike me as someone who's particular about remembering things, so okay. I'll take the morning compliment, they're rare enough. I reply with a "Aw, thanks".

Aside: I never know how to reply to a compliment about tattoos. "Thanks" seems trite and obvious; what, am I gonna go "Oh, no, they're total bullshit. Garbage. I regret them every second of my existence"? I hate social interaction.

As the elevator slows down to stop at her floor, again, without making any eye contact, she grumbles out "Back to Hell".

Okay, that's the sorta line one might expect from a co-worker or something, but it would usually be delivered with at least a hint of a smile or smirk in the tone. She, however, delivered it in the same tone of voice I would expect to hear from an animal lover returning to their shift at the Puppy Strangling Factory.

She then followed that up with "god I fucking hate this place" as she walked out.

...

I get being miserable. I don't get inflicting it upon total strangers who can't really share why you hate everything, so we end up just feeling kinda bad for a stranger, which isn't a fun position to be put into in the morning. It certainly sent me off the elevator in a grumpier mood than I was in when I got on it.

So, Terrible Lady, I ask that maybe you double-up on the Parliament Lights next time you're out there, because that single cancer stick isn't doing shit to improve your mood.