To Be A Fly On The Wall

To live is to be at war and so every morning, the first step to a productive and rewarding day is to do battle with yourself. On the drive to work, begin the propaganda: today, no memes, you sit down at your desk early and get shit done and later, alcohol! But it is also a good idea to remind yourself that even the best general suffers a defeat and the first half hour spent looking for a good reaction pic is what the warmongers refer to as a tactical retreat.

Learn sick fidget spinner trick for the next half hour.

Well, seven hours to go.

Better check again. Yep, still seven hours. Fuck.

Briefly debate whether to have Zooper Dooper now, instead of at the regular hour. Instead, print reaction meme of Frozen princesses and their viewpoint on penis size and stick up in another team’s work area.

Finally, people arriving into work. While not overjoyed that there are now people filling the empty office, still overjoyed that the empty and pointless platitudes thrown at each other are using up valuable time spent not-drinking. “Yes, it is early, how astute”, “Oh god yes, morning coffee, amirite!”.

Listen intently as catholic Indian lady from bookkeeping begins story with, “Husband kept me up late, now I have a sore back” but then doesn’t relate a sexual mishap, so lose interest, but then says it was because she was cooking curry, so interest back, but hasn’t brought any curry or the rumballs she promised, so devastated. Fucking rollercoaster of a conversation.

Look suitably appalled when people notice a Disney picture hanging in the audit team area. Begin a debate on whether it is more appropriate for Anna to be the shocked one rather than Elsa, because you know, Elsa always seemed more cock hungry. Reiterate again how disgusted you are and how this is inappropriate in the office. Suggest HR be alerted.

Look for and find the work intranet and yes, there are HR templates. Begin to complete a harassment complaint about the picture but notice we have a job opening for a Graduate Accountant so start an application for that instead. Two things at once! Feel mentally drained.

Lean back and tell person in next desk how overworked we are. He agrees and then spend 15 minutes complaining about the management not providing us with the staff we need, which of course is a reminder so tell him you need to get back to “it”. “It” or course being the graduate application for the vacant position in his team.

Finish job application and celebrate hard work with a Zooper Dooper. Be absolutely amazed they have a ‘Jaffa’ flavour and further amazed that the flavour is on target and pretty good. Setup up reminder in Calendar to write them something nice, too busy right now.

Like a steam-roller now, more work-cyborg than man, open client file and begin reviewing work prepared by outsourced team. Lose interest in continuing work in this profession and shortly after, life, because it seems to be submitted by accident, as if someone vomited onto a spreadsheet, the bile and half-digested food metaphysically manifesting into an excel file and then, probably through achieving sentience, sending an email saying it is ready for review.

Be pissy and ask catholic Indian colleague to ring up her cousins or whatever relatives they must be in Outsource team and call them useless fucks. Call her racist when she refers to “white-man” problems and remind her about missing rumballs and the almost palpable taste of betrayal.

Find solace in iced coffee and chocolate éclair from over the road. While eating, remind colleague what a rough day it is.

Create pact with former personal assistant (who was shifted to corporate team, because reasons) to follow a meme and replace all instances where you want to say “fuck you” with “OK, great!”.

Be asked by the GM to write up a general feedback/review of outsource team. Tell GM that this is likely going to take a few hours because there needs to be an angry version and a sanitised version. GM doesn’t have half an hour to debate the point so leaves you to be you. Draft feedback confirming the current procedure has left us as emotionless husks; empty vessels circled by shrieking ghosts and hyperbole.

Have spirited discussion with other manager on feedback provided about Outsource team. Find out other teams do things differently, or to be phrased more appropriately, they are wrong.

Due to being swamped with just, everything, have late lunch of zucchini slice made gluggy with gluten free flour. Find out from google whether gluten free anything is a war crime.

Research how to have something declared a war crime.

Home time. Celebrate hectic day of intensive whatever it was by drinking and dying on the inside, just a little bit more.

I stared too long.

It burns.

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Under My Wing

Holy fuck, I have been asked to provide guidance on some software changes to our offshore team who we affectionately refer to as the “Inglorious Indian Basterds”. Well I call them that anyway. For some reason our wise management was happy for me to liaise with the ‘Basterds directly, which showed a great deal of faith in me, or in another more accurate way, it showed an uncommon lapse of judgement on their part.

Dear Team India

Thank you for your feedback, we take your comments very seriously and in me you can be rest assured that the firm has provided their best resource to guide you. Well in truth I can’t claim to be the best, but on a good day, at least in the top 20. In any case I will be your guide and champion, like some offended mother goose spreading her wing protectively over a new clutch. If anyone or anything bothers you I will hiss and chase those pricks off the network, honk’n and spitt’n, my solemn word to you: I will fuck them up.

So yes, we recently put through some global migrations to the ledgers and because this is the real world and because our software vendor is like a black hole of stupid, some fixes are required. Before you throw up your hands and call everyone a bunch of thieving cunts for making your work life so much more difficult, for effectively stealing your time, I should warn you: that doesn’t solve anything. I know that because I did the same thing. As your guardian-goose, I am free to offer minor and offhand criticisms during this and all future commentary and right now I feel you are lacking in one important life lesson:

Assume you are about to be fucked over. Assume that in the next minute, hour or week, something will happen which will cause you to throw up your hands and wonder why this and why now. Here’s the crux, God is not real. Your elephant God with the titties isn’t real. This is life and life is cruel. It punishes us for having the gall not just to exist, but to live. You get out of bed and look forward to a bright day? Don’t just expect to be challenged for your own hubris. Demand it, because you are a fucking warrior.

So again, we thank you for the screenshot of the ‘error’ message you provided along with a garbled email that I assume you typed out while having a stroke. Going back to my point above, I recognise the half hour I spent deciphering the message not as karma, but as existence itself challenging me. Well played by young gosling. Well played.

Pictured: IT Department Head

To answer your main question, the error message wasn’t an error at all, it was just a slight change to the wording. As an Australian we have a healthy fear of the unknown, of dark, unknown places where we are expected to place our hands (even if metaphorically). This is because these dark places are full of shit that can kill us (even if metaphorically). I remind you that you are a warrior so click that shit with the confidence of someone born to conquer. If you get bitten, well just ensure you have a good excuse to give to the IT department or at the very least a scapegoat because the IT department has no time for existential excuses about bets between you and the universe. They aren’t normal like us.

There are a few main problems to fix and of course there will be individual challenges in each ledger as well, but I know you have taken my advice from above to heart. You won’t lament when you find these, you will accept them as your due for walking, talking and mastering the fucking electron. Then, knowing you, my young goose-padawan, you will email me a long-winded email which meanders through conflicting statements and questions without reason. But I accept that, because that is my due.

I could explain how to address these main problems, I could even create a “procedure” and document it in the “intranet”. In fact, I should do both of these things because that is what I was asked to do. But what would you learn then? Instead I’m going to offer you exactly the same thing I was provided when I faced these same challenges, jack fucking shit. You pick yourself up and either be the professional you are being paid to be or alternatively find a way to move numbers around and talk fast enough so that it looks like you are, really in this world the only difference between the two is how you sleep at night.

Also let me know if someone is giving you grief here, I will literally stoop down, point out my neck, hiss and bite them right in the groin while flapping my arms around. It’ll be fun.

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Office Banter

A lot of people work out there in the world, without cubicles, without the sterile atmosphere and the scent of people that have just given up. Also, the scent of some dumb fucker who decided to have fish for lunch. Anyway, assuming you were curious, wondering what was said behind those glass doors, this is pretty much it:

Colleague: Are you coming to the Partners’ barbeque?
Me: No.
Colleague: Why?
Me: I don’t like driving north. It feels, wrong, kind of dirty, you know?
Cubical-buddy (interrupting): His wife said they already have something on that night.
Colleague: Why can’t you give a normal answer?
Me: Because my father took off when I was seven years old. But before he left he told me one thing - “Always fuck with them. Always.”
Colleague: Did he really say that?
Me: No.
Colleague: Did he really leave when you were a kid?
Me: Also no.

Me: So, do you have a husband? Boyfriend?
Graduate that I am training: Sort of.
Me: So, girlfriend? We are all pretty open here, <Cubical-buddy > is a lesbian and <other work colleague> is more camp than a row of tents.
Cubical-buddy: No I’m not, don’t listen to him.
Me (whispering very quietly): She experiments.
Graduate: No, I am seeing someone but it is new, and he is three years older.
Me (attempting to look cool in front of a 20 year old): Older is awesome. My wife is 21 years older than me.
<months later at a team bonding fishing day which included spouses>
Graduate (after staring at my wife for an uncomfortably long time): You aren’t 20 years older than him!
<Wife glares at me>
Me: Yeh, my bad, I didn’t prepare you for that one. I am juggling so many balls I forget what lies I’ve told people.

Cubical-buddy: Do you think <Partner> has had a boob job?
Me: Dammit, I know what you are doing. Stop it.
<after coming out of meeting with Partner>
Cubical-buddy: That was fast.
Me: She asked me to leave.
Cubical-buddy: Were you staring at her chest?
Me: I was staring at her chest.

Partner: Did you call <Manager of another team> a cunt?
Me: Before you start shouting, it was situationally relevant.
Partner (now shouting): How could the situation call for that?
Me: He was being a cunt.
Partner: Please don’t do that again, I now have to go and respond to an official complaint.
Me: Fine, but since I’m scratching your back, how about you do that thing for me. You know, the thing I like.
Partner: Fine <turning to Cubical-buddy> go make him a coffee.
Cubical-buddy: He doesn’t even drink coffee!
Partner: Just do it. I will be busy with HR for a while.
Me: Oh good, can you please ask them how my sexual harassment complaint is coming along?
Cubical-buddy: When were you sexually harassed?
Me: I was groped in front of the lifts yesterday.
Partner: Jesus, I just bumped into you and it was an accident.
<Cubical-buddy gasps dramatically>
Me: I know, right. Uninvited physical contact. Her boob rubbed right against my arm.
<Cubical-buddy gasps louder>
<Partner walks off swearing>

Cubical-buddy: Someone used some of my butter in the fridge.
Me: Communal fridge, it happens. Don’t let the man get you down.
<Me, after Cubical-buddy goes to a meeting, sends long winded firm-wide email out condemning the butter theft, reiterating that Cubical-buddy has five children she needs to feed and educate, which is difficult enough, but also her husband ran off with his secretary so she is doing it alone>
Colleague from another team to Cubical-buddy: Look, sorry, I took some of your butter and to make things right I’ve brought you some things, to help out a little.
<hands over a bag of assorted groceries to a confused Cubical-buddy before walking off sheepishly>
Cubical-buddy (for some reason only now noticing the email): God fucking dammit, you lying asshole. Now I need to give this back.
Me (looking through groceries): Fuck that, we got cookies!

This image was mislabeled, obviously. I'm going
to allow it though.

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Office Badgers

Hold my calls, Sue. Shit

is getting real.

People know I’m not going to send a routine “Stephanie is sick today” email around the office yet they persist in calling me directly or bafflingly, asking to be transferred to me from reception. In that instance, they are actively bypassing someone who is helpful and cheerful by nature to reach a point of reference who defends their right not to be bothered like a honey badger woken up from hibernation. With a foghorn. Right in its furry little ear. A bet that little bastard wouldn’t take it with good grace or aplomb either. He would write the shit out of an office wide email.

Good morning, beautiful people

Stephanie will not be in the office today. She wouldn’t expand on the reasons why she is unable to perform her duties but as she sounded a little vague and stilted in her speech I can only assume she is on some really good gear. I know when I am tripping balls the last thing I want to do is come into work. Everyone should take a page from the book of Stephanie and follow these simple rules:

If you are physically ill, stay at home. Your lack of productivity and the potential you will pass what you have on to someone else is almost certain. Additionally, the sound of you coughing and hacking up lungs rings around the office and is really disturbing. Most people are too polite to point this out but really shouldn’t be, you need to be more self-conscious of the disgusting sounds your body makes.

If you are mentally ill, stay at home, or alternatively bottle it up and show to the world a happy, pleasant exterior. Nobody likes a sad-sack.

If you are on the gear, make a decision. If you are going to stare at the screen for three hours, or interrupt other staff members with relentless giggling because you found how hilarious honey badgers are on Youtube, stay at home. Most businesses are pretty progressive nowadays; being gay is awesome, work medical insurance can help you with ‘plan B’ and woman literally wear pants now. We aren’t all there yet though, bosses still tend to get all judgy about midmorning hallucinatory incentives – bear that in mind.

I’m sure Stephanie will be in tomorrow.

He probably wouldn't have a meeting

with HR on Monday.

I am actively working towards a goal where it becomes substantially harder to have a phone conversation with me than to call in sick. Partially because I don’t want to be bothered, partially because I want to encourage participation and productivity but mostly because I don’t want to hear about their problems.

In closing, fuck you Stephanie.

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Hacking

Hacks at home

• When quietly smoking a jay at home, your wife will invariably ask if that was marijuana. Tell her no, it’s just a cigarette. BAM - life hack!
• Made too much cookie dough for the amount of trays you have? Eat the cookie dough from the bowl. BAM – life hack!

• 

  Thank you, Captain Sulu

  from Star Trek.

  Is it too far to the kitchen to find a glass? Take a gulp from a can of soft drink to make room and then pour your choice of spirit directly into the can. Pre-mix for half the price! BAM – life hack!
• Want to go camping but there is rain expected over the weekend? No issues - drape all the sheets and blankets from the linen cupboard over the lounges and you have your own camping area in front of the TV (It also doubles as a fort but you will need to protect it from jealous womenfolk who inexplicably seek to destroy your grand work). BAM - life hack!

Hacks in the workplace

• Always running out of staples? Think the walk to the stationary cupboard is too far and possibly constitutes a war crime? Next time take four seven twelve boxes and store then at your desk. BAM – work hack!
• Someone pissing you off at work? Like for example their very existence insults you in ways you can barely comprehend? Take the scissors from the binding area and put them in that persons desk drawer. The admin ladies will hunt her down and gut her like a trout. BAM – work hack!

• 

  I'm working here, Gladys.

  Learn to knock.

  Your employer has just asked if you have finished something you haven’t even started yet? Just tell him, yes. BAM – work hack!
• An afternoon nap is often hard with all the distractions at work. Try having a large hot lunch and then chase that with seven bourbons, you’ll be asleep in no time. BAM – work hack!
• Crippling anxiety or the unreasoning desire to leave this place of misery? Spend an hour in the bathroom masturbating. BAM – work hack!

This is an abridged list because I started drinking and then wasted four hours looking at memes while my wife went to look at the graves of relatives and visit someone in a nursing home.

Stay in school, kids.

Christ, meme.

Where were you 15 years ago?

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TGIF: Passionate Anger and Software

I have a background in IT and a solid education in software development and while my experience walked me down a different path, I still have a keen eye for issues occurring in the ICT world. This is of course resume bullthwot for I might have connected some computers once and my degree suggests I turned up to at least some of the software engineering classes. I suppose what I am saying is I have enough knowledge to be dangerous but not enough to be overly useful or actually, you know, knowledgeable.

I have been using the same software for many years and while I don’t feel the need to name that brand I do feel the need to expand on why at times, literally smearing my monitor in shit seems like a more efficient use of my time than using their products. While they started with a flagship offering

Thanks. Now touch your toes.

over fifteen years ago, they have since either developed, bought or imagined a huge range of business solutions. This is normal as any type of software house needs a range of products and the smartest of them find ways to bring you a one-stop-shop offering. This is because the cost to adopt is huge but so is the cost to change. They know that once installed there is a very high probability that the business will never change that software. It’s brilliant really, they can drop service, support and artfully ignore bugs and smile at you cheerfully as you hand them fistfuls of cash while crying. In fact, your tears are a fundamental part of their commercial operation.

This is where I come in. As I said, I view my limited knowledge as powerful while they view it as dangerous. Though I’m not saying they wish I would shut up because they simply don’t care what we think of their product. Changing becomes a costly and logistical nightmare. They know that, and as much as I hate their dark soulless hearts I kind of admire their shitty magnificence. So, as I said, I’m disgruntled by the company providing the software but also by the drones in every firm I have been in who continue to eat grass and passively accept. As an analogy, imagine asking someone if you can shove a pineapple up their arse. They will probably decline, no matter the situation. Ask them the same question but with something smaller, like a pear, but if they decline they now must actively contribute in creating a world where shoving fruit up your arse isn’t a thing. That person is busy, that person doesn’t care and so they shrug and take the pear suppository rather than doing anything.

You are tired when Pascal says

you are tired.

I’m tired of having fruit shoved up my arse and so should you. At no reasonable time should this be something that is done and at no reasonable time should we accept that our very expensive software has an excessive number of bugs, glitches or works in ways that downright hinder productivity. And then this happened, I needed to contact their support because, of course, their poor software was again doing something stupid. As an aside, this is pretty much how I talk to everyone on the phone (irrelevance coupled with dad jokes):

Support: What is your client number?

Me: <Provides number ignoring the fact I had already typed that into the phone like 20 seconds ago>

Support: We ar-

Me (interrupting): I know, your system says my firm is named something else but if you click your buttons a few times you will see a different firm name, right?

Support: Oh, I’ve found it now.

Me: Greeeeeat. You know I have this same conversation each time I call. Considering literally nothing I have ever called about has ever been resolv-

Support (interrupting): I can see that in the log here, they were all known issues.

Me: Right, right, as I said, unresolved. Could you please throw me a bone and just fix up our firm name in your system? I need something. You owe me this.

Support: Only your client relationship manager can do that.

Me: ….the Lord giveths..

Support: Pardon?

Me: Nothing.

Support: How can I help you?

Me: <Provides problem>

Support: Have you checked our support forums for the solution?

Me: Yes. The solution was incomprehensible. I’m pretty sure your web support manager is a water fowl of some kind.

Support: OK. Cou-

Me: Maybe a Pelican.

Support: -uld I please have team viewer access?

Me: Roger that, you have the conn!

Support: Pardon?

Me: Nothing.

Support: <Clicking around my screen in areas unrelated to my query>

Support: Please hold. <hold music>

Support: Sir, this is a known issue and the only way is to use a workaround.

Me: …there is no God.

Support: Pardon?

Except this one. He knows shit.

Probably the worst thing about this whole dirty situation, and I do feel dirty by using their products, is how they handle every aspect. You show them a productivity issue, they smile vacantly and blame the user. They come up with a new feature and then expect us to adopt it, the reality of the cost involved in time and effort be damned, yet they tell us they are listening to our needs. They honestly seem surprised when I told them once I couldn’t offer a particular solution of theirs to a client because it was god awful. They smiled indulgently and I gave the patronising fuckwits the objective reasons for this judgement but they in turn fell back on the ‘other accountants are happy with it’ defence. You know what, most accountants are useless clowns who can barely understand how to turn a computer on. A solid endorsement from some clueless sheep with a pear up their arse isn’t particularly useful for me.

Breaking news just in: An open support ticket of mine, which basically means they couldn’t fix something quickly, has just now been closed. Without them fixing the problem. I imagine someone there put down the phone and immediately hid under the desk. Then for the next two weeks kept popping their head up, noticing we were still asking for a solution and then ducking back down again. Now I hadn’t asked for an update for a few days and so they breathed a sigh of relief and closed the issue. Without talking to us. To repeat again, without fixing the fucking problem.

God damn it, MYOB is the company. MYOB is the useless moronic juggernaut that I hear being advertised on the radio as a bright and shining example of business prowess. The reality is that their products lack vision, they lack competitive edge, they definitely lack decent developers and they obviously lack leadership at every level right to the top.

Obviously at some point this rational argument turned into a subjective gripe and the anal fortitude of some may have been metaphorically tested. I never thought I was passionate about anything but as it turns out, I kind of demand a level of design competence and accountability in my software vendors. It is this very passion that forces me to emote in ways I generally would not. Should I apologise for that? Maybe.

But I won’t.

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Why do I even turn up anymore?

America started it, but Australia has followed suit and now we have new laws coming into place which discriminate against a very specific cultural element. I’m not going to reflect on the fairness of the situation because, as my children repeat back to me now – fair is where you take a pig to win a ribbon. Let’s just call it the state of the world at the moment and possibly because it doesn’t really affect me too much I was willing to let it slide. Because apparently I am a cold inhuman monster lacking empathy.

It was only when my work came out with a new set of rules that my political indignation became inflamed, I found my empathy and was appalled with just everything. These new rules seemed oddly situational, discriminatory and almost specifically tailored towards a certain demographic at work.

Namely me.

1. Don’t use the large drinking glasses, those are reserved for people who have energy shakes. If for some reason you do use them, say for example you simply don’t give a shit about which fucking glass you are drinking water from, you will receive an email and a formal warning if further infractions occur.
2. Don’t use a coffee mug belonging to someone else. The mugs won’t be marked or in any way identified as having an owner but that is your problem. You will face a long and boring lecture from the owner of the mug and one of the firm partners will later bring it up at a meeting because you (rightfully) told the owner what you thought of their capitalist system of mug designation.
3. Do not discuss the attire of any another employee unless there is an exposed nipple.

4. 

   Damn it, Gary. I swear I will

   hose the smug out of you.

   When you put cutlery into the dishwasher, ensure the knives are pointing downward. Alternatively, when caught changing all the knives in the dishwasher to facing up, don’t raise one hand in a defiant salute, scream “Attica!” and then hide in the bathroom for an hour.
5. When asked to review the updated firm guidelines do not amend the second last clause to say, “In the event of conflicting or confusing guidelines, just do whatever you fucking want. These clowns don’t read anything longer than a sentence anyway.” If the amendment is noticed, do not immediately blame Stephanie.
6. Leadership does not involve bringing a water spray to work and encouraging junior staff to “work harder or it gets the hose again”.
7. There is an established guideline for out of office emails. Copy and paste the content and do not put Stephanie’s personal mobile number for clients to contact in case of emergency of should they need “a good time”.
8. Belcher versus Capital Services isn’t a real court case and quoting the non-existent “exposed nipple defense” will not void a sexual harassment complaint.
9. When asked if you need additional stationary, only request valid stationary items. You are wasting everyone’s time when you ask for, a “bitch’n” helper monkey named Travis, 1000m of 4kg braid fishing line and KY because you and the wife will be getting “freak-nasty” tonight.  Do not further clarify to the receptionist later, “all of them. At once. It’s going to get weird.”
10. The ‘mystery’ of who is constantly stealing the scissors from the binding area and putting them in Stephanie’s drawer will eventually be resolved.

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Office Responsibilities

Yesterday one of my staff was going to be very late due to car trouble. A part of my solemn duty as Management Czar is to let our offices know when one of my staff is going to be late/not in. I know we must do this because I never do it and I keep getting shouted at by various people.

Client. Yeh.

In the interest of toeing the line but also rebelling at the system that line represents, I now do send an organisation wide email out but I do it in a way that would make Tolstoy shake his head and ask me to wind back the word count. Somewhere in the spelling errors, run-on sentences and life lessons a reader may be able to deduce that I am out of the office visiting a client.

In any case I sent an email around which included the (what I thought to be) harmless line “Buyer’s remorse is not something you have three years into the ownership. It’s for three hours after, while finishing a bottle of scotch and wondering what your wife will think of this $300 robot toy”. I was of course referring to the staff member’s poor choice in vehicle and my need to purchase stupid robots that do very little and I get bored of within a few hours anyway.

It wasn’t until someone mentioned marital aides that I realised I may have inadvertently, and to the entire organisation, suggested I had purchased my wife a vibrator.

Well, doesn't that clarify

my meaning?

What I should have done:

Clarified my meaning to ensure the old people stopped looking shocked, the young people stopped looking at me like I was a pervert and the partners stopped remembering my name again.

What I did:

Looked up adult web sites to find what $300 would buy in the form of toys. Pretty fancy stuff it turns out.

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Work Dilemma

When I got to work this morning there was a bunch of folk in the kitchen dealing with some sort of medical situation with one of the staff. They attempted to usher me through quickly and told me to remain calm.

When told not to panic, why is my first thought to pick up a bin, throw it through a window and start looting?

Sometime after, one of my staff came in a little late and complained about feeling dizzy. Already worked up from the original encounter I immediately looked for a bin to start the whole looting process again. As long as any future crisis has a ready supply of bins, plate glass windows and things worth stealing, I am set.

I kind of think of myself as Die Hard - assuming Die Hard didn’t save anyone, broke some shit and just heroically walked out, pockets bulging with stationary and a monitor under one arm.

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The Enjoyment of Coffee

I don’t like hot drinks in a general sense, but in a more specific sense I dislike coffee. This isn’t one of my normal dislikes either, I’m not militantly opposed to it existing, I just don’t want it existing in me. However, the business world is about work, coffee and soul crushing tedium and it hasn’t changed in my 15 years, it isn’t likely to change in the future so my excuses seem kind of hipsterish at this point. I’m like one of those people who is refusing to use Apple phones because everyone else is using Apple phones. Nobody, and I will repeat that several times more, -nobody- likes an Android user.

At the moment I’m trying to get over my dislike by repeated exposure, theorising it would be just like getting used to beer. Beer is wonderful and has become an enriching cornerstone of our family life but it took a while to reach that level. Coffee is different. Each cup I find more distasteful than the last and I don’t see an end point to that. Yet I keep trying because…Android? I should stop using that analogy because I keep drifting into another story about how Android phones are terrible and people who use them are evil. That story has dragons.

So melodramatic.

I should probably admit that I may never accept the flavour and instead of trying to get used to coffee, I just need to tolerate it. Which to be fair isn’t expecting much from a person; you put it in your mouth, swallow and smile. And you then bask in the warm glow and try to ignore the aftertaste. I’ll move on as that innuendo was entirely unintentional but now I can’t stop giggling.

In my work life I get asked frequently whether I would like a coffee and after what seemed to have mortally offended people by saying no I have taken to just saying yes and then simply not drinking it. Of course if asked how I take it my coffee I reply with “irished, hold the sugar. And the water. No coffee either. In fact just bring a 12 year aged bottle and some ice.” Of course they laugh because drinking at work is funny but I just stare at them blankly in hope they take me seriously this time. Yes, I would take a scotch. Yes, I do know it is 9:30 in the morning.

Maybe I am part of the

problem.

Another point to consider is that maybe the flavour isn’t what I dislike, maybe I just hate conformity and this vile liquid is an embodiment of that. This reasoning works for me as well, it means I’m not the problem. Society is to blame. I sit in an office for 9 odd hours each day, then a few hours each night dwelling on pointless arbitrary shit, and the only personal value I get out of this is the air-conditioning. I’m not sure if conformity is in the dictionary but if so there would be a picture of some suits sitting around a table and drinking coffee. Well I’m sure it is in the dictionary but I’m not checking. Also sure the dictionary doesn’t even have pictures.

My point is that this game is getting awfully boring.

Also, when I visit my parents, and despite me never having had coffee at any point in their memory, ever, I get asked by my father if I want one. I’m becoming to wonder that after 30 years he may just be fucking with me.

Tomorrow we discuss how awesome strawberry flavoured milk really is and, spoilers, there will also be dragons.

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