The continuing winter of my discontent

Tuesday, Dec. 05, 2006, 8:36 p.m.

From the Getting To Know The Real Me files:
I've come to accept that even though I know every Tuesday and sometimes Wednesday will be at least a thirteen-hour work day, it doesn't mean that by the time the day is over, I will not want to cut someone open and feed them their own intestines. I look at this as a step forward in my quest for self-realization and inner peace.

This morning, I began a three-day driver's training session, designed to prepare me for the arduous task of driving a humvee. It's a class I have been dreading (and avoiding) for something like four years now -- not because it's hard or complicated or anything, but because once I am licensed to drive a tactical vehicle, I will be magically assigned as the driver any time one is needed, Thus Saith the LORD, because that's how my luck goes.

Anyway, the class itself, as I said, isn't difficult at all. For me, the challenge lies in staying awake during some of the training videos we've been watching, which were created during a time when soldiers still wore olive-drab uniforms, drove Jeeps, sported shag haircuts, and, I don't know, killed their dinner with a bow and arrow. Our study guides were up-to-date, but were apparently copy-edited by a herd of dyslexic sheep. The only thing that made the time bearable was that we actually spent the majority of the class period openly mocking the teaching aids -- the only logical course of action, I believe.

After class was done for the day, I headed over to the office to see how much of the newspaper layout Incompetent Co-Worker had messed up while I was gone (remember him? Oh yes, he lives! Although we don't directly work together anymore, he still shows up at the office every now and then to serve as a reminder that no matter how bad things get, I will always have someone to blame them on). Surprisingly, he hadn't caused any of the computers to spontaneously combust or any of the work we'd already done to simply disintegrate into a fine powder, so that was a plus. Unfortunately, he works almost as quickly as snow melts in the Yukon, so almost nothing was accomplished. Having him there kind of made me nostalgic, in a nauseated sort of way.

After we'd been working for a while, our lieutenant colonel sauntered on over to our office and started in on his whole being-a-sucky-ass-boss thang. Since he's the guy who not only banned me from writing opinion pieces, but also is the sole motivating factor for me to reenlist in the Army, thus avoiding any possibility of having to deploy with him, it's safe to say that being in the same room with him makes me a wee bit twitchy. Like, if he makes eye contact with me, I am likely to burst forth with a statement like, "Sir, have I ever told you how AWESOME you are at micro-managing? Seriously, since I have only been doing this work for four years now, I need to be walked through it every step of the way. Thank God you showed up when you did."

If I were to actually say something like that, the Army would rain fire down upon me, so I'm forced to come up with preventive measures include a) avoiding eye contact with him, even if it means distorting my head in unnatural ways, b) rapidly walking the opposite direction, regardless of obstacles or obviousness in purpose, c) ignoring him, a la Peter Gibbons in Office Space.

So far, it's worked, but after one more thirteen-hour work day that begins with video tutorials by Sergeant Shag and His Amazing Brainwashed Minions, I can make no guarantees.

P.S. One thing that did cheer me WAY the fuck up this week was receiving this link of the best "SexyBack" parody EVER, from the oh-so-on-it K.C. Go check it out right this minute, because, HA!