I just spent the last hour writing a blog entry and with one accidental click of a mouse button it’s gone. Oh boy. Let’s see if I can do it again but tersely.
I’m back, baby! Yes, after ten days, seven tech/customer support calls, and going into work to get my online fix I’m finally up and running at home. Maybe my wireless router will actually work now, too. I’ll have to bring the work laptop home this weekend and see.
Okay. I’m about to complain about my coworkers. Take it with a grain of salt if you read this and I’m mercilessly tearing into you. I’ll try to hold back a little. I’m just frustrated so don’t take it personally as I tell you to go screw yourself.
I played softball tonight. We have a company softball team, such as it is. I was calling us the Bad News Bears but after tonight I’m pretty certain the Bad News Bears would cream us. And then taunt us mercilessly. I kind of got sucked into a game one night and I didn’t completely stink and had fun so I’ve played every game since. It was a forfeited game but that made it carefree and laid back. And it’s a good way to get a few sprints in.
Here’s the thing. Now that I’m kind of into it, I would really like to win a game. Just one game. An honest, well-earned win.
I don’t think my teammates have the same goal. I mean, I’m sure they want to win but they don’t seem to want to do the little things it would take to win a game such as: be sober, be there before the game starts, be prepared and — I’m going to go out on a limb here — practice! Except for you, Jenny. You rock and I’m proud of you.
Our game tonight started at 9pm. Every time we have a 9 o’clock game, they head to the bar after work around 6:30ish, drink and eat wings. As much as I like to put foodstuffs in my face, I would like to posit that this is not the best way to prepare for a game. I mean, it’s a given that once you have a drink and a little food you enter another dimension in time and space (of sight and sound) that doesn’t include the desire to leave that situation and warps time such that you think you have forever to get to your next appointment. How about finding a field and warming up or practicing a little bit? Grab a bite and then have some fun and bond while improving enough to maybe win one for the gipper.
We’re supposed to report to the field a half hour before game time, which tonight meant 8:30pm. I had some stuff to work on plus lacked anything better to do so I was around in the office getting some productive quality time in until about 8:10. I made it to the field a few minutes before 8:30. Only person there. Little lightning, little thunder, but there were games going on and nothing more than drizzle. I really expected some of our people to be there warming up or whatever. I rushed over there to warm up with them like a dumbass. Yes, I’m an idiot. I know. The rest of them, including the ever-elusive 4th female with them, didn’t leave the bar until about 8:45. Must have been a cozy scene.
I was f—ing infuriated! It’s the same damn thing every time. HULK SMASH!
They were late, needless to say, and barely — and I mean baaaaaarely — got there before the ump called the game. He basically waited for our team to arrive and when they did they hadn’t changed clothes, didn’t have their gear, etc. The ump let us play but he chewed out our manager a few times while waiting.
It was embarrassing. It’s always embarrassing. And I honestly think (very typical of me) that this culture is indicative or reflective of the dysfunction of our company in general. A little effort, a little loyalty, a little consideration for the other people involved, a little reliability would go a long, long way towards our being an actual team. If you can’t be trusted with a nickel, you can’t be trusted with a hundred dollar bill. But nope. This kind of stuff is, at best, enabled, and, at worst, indirectly encouraged. These other softball teams get out there and even if they’re not all that good they play well together, they’ve got enough people, they’re on time, and they crush us!
I SALUTE YOU
There are a few people who make the effort, though, and that’s why I keep at it. They’re the ones who consider the game more important than drinking and are responsible enough to leave when it’s time to leave without having to be herded like cattle. They’re the ones who show up on time, play a good game, and don’t complain about the slackers while still giving it what they’ve got. They’re consistent, reliable and a pleasure to play and work with.
Anyway, even when we play a full five innings (only three tonight) I never feel athletically fulfilled. I had a lot of energy coursing through me on the way home after the game so when I got here I picked up my headphones and went straight to the fitness room. Like, I was in the mood to run forever or workout and burn off the steam and frustration. The funny thing is that after about eighteen minutes on the treadmill I was wiped out. Everything hurt — shins, achilles, quads, back, feet. You name it. I tell ya, aging’s a bitch. Oy gevalt! In my defense, though, the air conditioner in that room barely works and there’s no air flow to speak and I forgot my portable clip-on fan so it was Buster Poindexter hot hot hot and humid humid humid.
And speaking of changing the subject, I put new strings on my electric bass and it sounds suh-weet! It’s like a new instrument. I’m looking forward to making some new music with it. It might be instrumental since my voice has been out of control recently. Dang, it’s frustrating. But I’m still at it, one way or another. Stay tuned.
What else. Hmmm. Oh! The Fairfax and 2nd St. kittens are back! Well, I suppose it’s a new litter of kittens altogether. I worry about them but they seem to do what they have to do every time. And the Swifts (I think that’s what they’re called) are doing their thing along the Potomac. They’re a pleasure to watch. Put the Blue Angels to shame.
Have a good night, America.