Lost
T minus 10 to the start of a new project, and still no sight of a project plan. I am writing this under cover of darkness, with only a faintly smoldering wreck of a cubicle to illuminate my scribbling. The stench of charred flesh from the intense spontaneous blaming is almost too much to bear.
Many have gone insane from the uncertainty of it all. Will the new project plan rescue them, or will they be left behind on this God-forsaken old project, stalked by wild production support beepers in the night?
As I peer out from behind my special project shelter, I hear groans emanating from analysts with severe back wounds. Their eyes, glazed over with fear, stare into space; their hands, still clutching rudimentary and rather dull accusations, strike out at all who pass, even those who try to help them. Unfortunately, they are beyond help. Their use cases show no vital signs whatsoever.
Along the edges of the destruction, maniacal laughter of scavenging developers peppers the night air. After several fractured ambush attempts on the analyst encampment, they have managed to run off with disjointed fragments of business process modelling. They have used these broken pieces to construct twisted, leaky structures for shelter. Many of them, as a result of exposure to the toxic document dust cloud hovering over the area, have contracted terminal refactoring illness. The main symptom appears to be keyboard-shaped indentations in the forehead region.
I try to huddle deeper into my corner, but my hands only find more hard places and rocks behind me. Instinctively, I pull my keyboard and mouse closer to me. I am getting better at shooting CYA emails at zombie-like forms approaching my dark but dry patch. Fortunately, most of them take each other out before I am forced to fire warning shots across the ether.
Once or twice in the past few days, plan-shaped objects appeared on the horizon. Some poor souls who crawled out from beneath their documentation, believing salvation was at hand, were instead trampled in the stampede. They should have known. Real plans have a characteristic stable flight pattern which none of these decoys had.
Hope slowly fades. How could no-one have noticed that a project carrying so many passengers failed to reach its destination? We are lost, utterly lost. When will a real project plan arrive?
I shall continue to search the skies, but my will grows weaker by the day.
Please send help.
Many have gone insane from the uncertainty of it all. Will the new project plan rescue them, or will they be left behind on this God-forsaken old project, stalked by wild production support beepers in the night?
As I peer out from behind my special project shelter, I hear groans emanating from analysts with severe back wounds. Their eyes, glazed over with fear, stare into space; their hands, still clutching rudimentary and rather dull accusations, strike out at all who pass, even those who try to help them. Unfortunately, they are beyond help. Their use cases show no vital signs whatsoever.
Along the edges of the destruction, maniacal laughter of scavenging developers peppers the night air. After several fractured ambush attempts on the analyst encampment, they have managed to run off with disjointed fragments of business process modelling. They have used these broken pieces to construct twisted, leaky structures for shelter. Many of them, as a result of exposure to the toxic document dust cloud hovering over the area, have contracted terminal refactoring illness. The main symptom appears to be keyboard-shaped indentations in the forehead region.
I try to huddle deeper into my corner, but my hands only find more hard places and rocks behind me. Instinctively, I pull my keyboard and mouse closer to me. I am getting better at shooting CYA emails at zombie-like forms approaching my dark but dry patch. Fortunately, most of them take each other out before I am forced to fire warning shots across the ether.
Once or twice in the past few days, plan-shaped objects appeared on the horizon. Some poor souls who crawled out from beneath their documentation, believing salvation was at hand, were instead trampled in the stampede. They should have known. Real plans have a characteristic stable flight pattern which none of these decoys had.
Hope slowly fades. How could no-one have noticed that a project carrying so many passengers failed to reach its destination? We are lost, utterly lost. When will a real project plan arrive?
I shall continue to search the skies, but my will grows weaker by the day.
Please send help.
posted by Little Green Potato at 8:34 PM
7 Comments:
Did you ever watch Ally McBeal when it was on tv? If so, did you like it? Somewhere in the background of your blog I see a little naked baby dancing around...
I thought I should also let you know that my mom made me a bacon buddy for breakfast this morning. I almost fainted.
No dancing baby, but there might just be a singing goat...
Hang on in there, potato. I've contacted Managements Sans Frontieres to see if they can arrange an emergency drop of @task or even (gulp) Microsoft Project 2003. It's the least I could do.
You're back! What's life after 30 like? I hear one needs to be prepared with lots of Super Glue and cream cheese.
Honestly! Don't destroy your many readers' belief that I'm 21!! I know you're only 17, but that's not the point...
Cream cheese was found only on my birthday carrot cake. Super Glue I haven't had any call for. Yet. Fine vodka, on the other hand, is exactly what the doctor ordered (potato-based, of course).
Unfortunately I've had no time for existential crises, given the presence of foster children, but they've gone now so I'm preparing for the onset of depression with a glass of wine this lunchtime. You should try drinking in your work lunch break. I'm sure it would help you overcome all sorts of problems.
See you at 40!
Count us in for the logarithmically more depressing 40th...
As for drinking during my lunch break, I agree that it would solve many of my problems. After hurling and/or swelling up to the size of a hot air balloon, I would be able to go home sick and not have to deal with morons for the rest of the afternoon.
i'd partake in the drinking at lunch if only to see that...
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