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Right. As an addendum to yesterday's Post O' Panic, I add the ultimate outcome of the situation. It turns out that the assistant manager needed to open a cd that wasn't working on the DPW, so decided to try mine as it is both Fancy and Schmantzy.
Not totally clear what happened next. Either he minimised all windows with one key stroke, or he is totally oblivious, since the only word I could focus on when I came back and pulled the window in question up was "nipple". It might as well have been animated and waving protest banners. Marching across my screen. I really didn't even see anything else.
However, he saw nothing, and we then spent the next ten minutes regaling each other with stories of inappropriate action by friends while at work. (Sorry for blaming you, Tara!) So, all good, and THANK CHRIST it wasn't the technology specialist or the manager.
...I can't believe I used the term DPW. The computer behind the counter. Let's just leave it at that. And we will NOT take a stab at what DPW stands for. But I bet it's Document Processing Workstation. Because that sounds better than "computer that actually works. Usually."
As a total irrelevancy, I just would like to point out that if you are ever in a position to place an advert in a newspaper for a job oepning, and you do not specify in the ad that you would like 7-10 years in communications, I WILL APPLY ANYWAY, for you are what we technically call "wankers", and DESERVE to have me thinking "Let's see...ten years ago was 1994...and I was doing editing at THAT point...so I can stretch the truth!" For it is not lying on a job application to say that I have been in communications for 10 years. It is not lying, actually, to date that all the way back to my nearly-single-handed creation of my sixth grade class yearbook. It might be to date my involvement in the filed back to when I learned to speak, but we won't go there.
It's not lying, it's telling the exhaustive truth in a way that sheds the best possible light on me, and fails to point out that for two summers of that, I was working as a prostitute in a Korean B&B, in a small town just south of Seoul, where I entertained a number of North Korean diplomats with a fun little number called a "colour television", and where you got an economy family size (ie, larger than my torso) jar of Kim Chee for every five punches on your punch card, as judged by the number of times you rented our services overnight.
As we used to say, in the business, "A quickie doesn't count!"
*flees*
ETA: The music choice on this is ACCURATE. This is one of those moments I'd like to freeze in amber, sound and vision both. Writing about working as a Korean prostitute (ah, the memories!) to the sound of...well, look at the music choice.
Not totally clear what happened next. Either he minimised all windows with one key stroke, or he is totally oblivious, since the only word I could focus on when I came back and pulled the window in question up was "nipple". It might as well have been animated and waving protest banners. Marching across my screen. I really didn't even see anything else.
However, he saw nothing, and we then spent the next ten minutes regaling each other with stories of inappropriate action by friends while at work. (Sorry for blaming you, Tara!) So, all good, and THANK CHRIST it wasn't the technology specialist or the manager.
...I can't believe I used the term DPW. The computer behind the counter. Let's just leave it at that. And we will NOT take a stab at what DPW stands for. But I bet it's Document Processing Workstation. Because that sounds better than "computer that actually works. Usually."
As a total irrelevancy, I just would like to point out that if you are ever in a position to place an advert in a newspaper for a job oepning, and you do not specify in the ad that you would like 7-10 years in communications, I WILL APPLY ANYWAY, for you are what we technically call "wankers", and DESERVE to have me thinking "Let's see...ten years ago was 1994...and I was doing editing at THAT point...so I can stretch the truth!" For it is not lying on a job application to say that I have been in communications for 10 years. It is not lying, actually, to date that all the way back to my nearly-single-handed creation of my sixth grade class yearbook. It might be to date my involvement in the filed back to when I learned to speak, but we won't go there.
It's not lying, it's telling the exhaustive truth in a way that sheds the best possible light on me, and fails to point out that for two summers of that, I was working as a prostitute in a Korean B&B, in a small town just south of Seoul, where I entertained a number of North Korean diplomats with a fun little number called a "colour television", and where you got an economy family size (ie, larger than my torso) jar of Kim Chee for every five punches on your punch card, as judged by the number of times you rented our services overnight.
As we used to say, in the business, "A quickie doesn't count!"
*flees*
ETA: The music choice on this is ACCURATE. This is one of those moments I'd like to freeze in amber, sound and vision both. Writing about working as a Korean prostitute (ah, the memories!) to the sound of...well, look at the music choice.
