Tuesday, September 21, 2004
Guess I'm Doing Fine
A proper computer programmer will leave behind helpful comments throughout their work. This is so that other poor sods who are later ‘tasked’ with maintaining the programs have a bit of a head start on figuring out was going on in the author’s nerdy little mind.
Yeah, right. I’ve been spending some time now trying to decipher a script by some guy who no longer works here. There are no useful comments, no explanations. One minute you think you understand, the next all is confusion and error messages.
We thought Tabatha was coming in to be interviewed tomorrow. Me and Terry had made plans to be Elsewhere, somewhere over the ring road, five miles out of Preston on the Out Of Harm’s Way.
We also assumed the smart young woman in Stella’s office this morning was just some rep or a customer or other unimportant person. And you know what assume makes.
As they emerged from the office, Stella wished her good luck and told her to pop in after the interview.
“Hello Tim,” said Tabatha, smiling not unpleasantly.
“Hi Terry,” she continued. He made an unscheduled bowel movement. “How’s your Mum? Is she better now? Listen, I‘ll catch you later. It’s time.” He made like a bashful teenager and mumbled something in return, which is one more mumble than I’d managed.
This wasn’t the Tabs I’d been led to expect. She seemed really nice. How could she have known that about Terry’s Mum?
“Good luck,” I said long after she’d left the room and the moment had passed.
Today has been all confusion and error messages. I feel like I’ve been whacked over the head with a cartoon frying pan.
Terry is no better. “This is going to sound, erm, weird,” he said later, oblivious to the bluebirds circling over his head, “but I think I‘m in love.”
I’ve no idea where this is going.
Yeah, right. I’ve been spending some time now trying to decipher a script by some guy who no longer works here. There are no useful comments, no explanations. One minute you think you understand, the next all is confusion and error messages.
We thought Tabatha was coming in to be interviewed tomorrow. Me and Terry had made plans to be Elsewhere, somewhere over the ring road, five miles out of Preston on the Out Of Harm’s Way.
We also assumed the smart young woman in Stella’s office this morning was just some rep or a customer or other unimportant person. And you know what assume makes.
As they emerged from the office, Stella wished her good luck and told her to pop in after the interview.
“Hello Tim,” said Tabatha, smiling not unpleasantly.
“Hi Terry,” she continued. He made an unscheduled bowel movement. “How’s your Mum? Is she better now? Listen, I‘ll catch you later. It’s time.” He made like a bashful teenager and mumbled something in return, which is one more mumble than I’d managed.
This wasn’t the Tabs I’d been led to expect. She seemed really nice. How could she have known that about Terry’s Mum?
“Good luck,” I said long after she’d left the room and the moment had passed.
Today has been all confusion and error messages. I feel like I’ve been whacked over the head with a cartoon frying pan.
Terry is no better. “This is going to sound, erm, weird,” he said later, oblivious to the bluebirds circling over his head, “but I think I‘m in love.”
I’ve no idea where this is going.

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