Friday, February 10, 2017
Why yes, that is ice encrusted upon the window through which I took the photo on Thursday. Not wanting to let the Arctic into our humble abode, I didn't try to open the window for a clear shot of the blizzard raging at that time in Little Rhody.
So Thursday morning I awakened at my normal time, rather hoping for two things, the second depending on the first. Oddly enough I was hoping to see that it was snowing (that would be the first thing). As I was feeling like a grand deluxe blivet*, if it was snowing I might perhaps work from home. Obviating the need to shave and make myself presentable.
It was most assuredly not snowing. In fact, it was raining. A quick check of AccuHunch (a tip of the hat to Rev Paul for that gem) revealed that the predicted start time for our latest snow storm had been pushed back to 1000 from the original start time of 0600. Sigh...
As it wasn't snowing, there was no need to check for an email from the boss (out in Sandy Eggo, where I can assure you there was no threat of snow) to see if I might work from home. The roads were clear, I could haul my not insubstantial derrière into the office for to make a personal appearance. I needed his chop mark on an email authorizing me to work from home so that my line management (which means something entirely different in civvie street than it does in the military) could authorize my working from home.
(Apparently our department is made up of anti-social, computer game playing infants. Oh wait, it is the software department. Never mind. In my defense I didn't become a "bit whacking wienie" until I was well into my thirties. Prior to that I had an active social life and... Hhmm, perhaps the less said about that the better. But I digress...)
Drove to work at the usual time and noted that most of the denizens of Little Rhody had decided to hunker down in their domiciles and not venture out into the "the storm's not here yet" weather. In truth, those folks had chosen wisely.
Fired up the computational device (which I had taken home with me in breathless anticipation of perhaps needing it) and noted that my out in Sandy Eggo boss had not sent me a reply to my humble request for his blessing to work from home. Nada, zilch, bupkis. Ah well, it wasn't snowing anyway.
As the day wore on the radar picture showed it snowing in most of Little Rhody, except for Aquidneck Island (where I labor) and Bristol Neck (where I dwell). I thought that rather odd but then again, it's New England, as far as the weather goes in these parts, one can have two different systems within spitting distance of each other. That large body of salt water lying off the coast does strange things to the climate. And algore has naught to do with it. Just to clarify.
Around 1100 local, I returned from the cafeteria (which was minimally manned, ["person-ed"?]) and cast my gaze out upon the Bay of Narragansett. "Hey, look! It's snowing!" The little boy in me was thrilled, the adult which controls my "normal" behavior was a bit pissed that now I would have to go out in the storm to get home. As I hadn't received special dispensation from the Pope of my tasking, I would, needs be, use some of my valuable PTO. (Yup, that's on the Acronym Page, proof is left to the reader.) I made the judgement call that I was not going to risk life and limb in order to stay at work.
Returning to my office (it's really a former computer lab) I fired up the computational device for to perform an orderly shutdown and lo and behold, there it was, the email granting me dispensation to work from home. Off I went, a song in my heart and a smile upon my lips. Until I hit the great outdoors.
The wind did blow and the wet snow did fly, invading every opening in my winter attire. After cleaning off the car, off I went. Sometime later, I arrived at Chez Sarge, changed into my comfy clothes and set up the work computer in my lair.
And there I worked, fending off feline wave attacks, and sniffling and sneezing and coughing like there was no tomorrow. Yes, je me sentais misérable. The condition, not the very long novel by Monsieur Victor Hugo. Said lofty personage actually has a monument to his own self upon the battlefield of Waterloo. Why?
Well, he wrote about it in Les Misérables. The battle that is. Was he there? No. But I guess he got the monument because he was a great novelist, he was French, and the French lost that battle. I guess even in those days everybody got a trophy.
Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.
Or as Buck might have said, "It's always sumthin'."
* You'll want to check the urban dictionary for a definition of that term. While I will use it in these spaces, I do not have the temerity, nor the gall, to define it herein or on the Acronym Page. At least not in the full glory of that word.