The Hammer Redux

If you remember yesterday, you’ll remember that I had a bit of a scare but it turned out happy. Unfortunately, just because 5:00 o’clock rolled around the work day didn’t really end.

Since blogger killed a couple of my previous entries I have gotten in the habit of writing all my posts in MS Word, copying and pasting them into the browser for posting, and then e-mailing them home for storage. I hadn’t sent my posts home in a few days, so I attached the last three, sent them into cyberspace, and went home.

When I sat down to write last night, I began the usual rituals – light the candle (vanilla this time), check e-mail, archive my posts, and then start writing. After going through the e-mail, I realized the one with my posts was conspicuously absent. I checked again and still failed to find it. Then I realized what I had done – I sent it to the wrong person.

There are a lot of people who work for my company, and it’s easy to send an e-mail to the wrong person. During my first week at work I tried to send a file to a guy across the hall. Later that day I got a note from a security guy in Scotland with the same name saying I had sent the data to him instead. Lotus Notes is supposed to pick e-mail addresses from my personal address book before looking in the company directory, but it doesn’t always work that way. Once I tried to ask a friend to meet me for lunch. When he didn’t respond, I checked my outbox and found the invitation had gone to a help desk in Japan. They never responded to my generous offer to meet for Thai food in Vinings, GA.

I have a counterpart, an IT guy with the same full name as me, in Boulder, CO. If this isn’t enough of a coincidence, one of my supervisors also has a counterpart in Boulder. I’m normally careful to ensure the mail goes where it’s intended, but sometimes when I tell Lotus to send my files home, it tries to send them to the guy in boulder. We’ve gotten each other’s mail before – he forwards my requests for database information and I reroute his copious meeting invitations – but he’s never gotten any of my personal files before. The document names are in a non-descriptive code, but what would he make of me sending him a batch of files? Surely he would be tempted to open one, take a peek to see if it’s something he really needs, and…cazart!

So, what’s the harm there? It’s not like I posted anything bad, just stories about drinking too much and how I like sex and death and books and a bit of blabbing about the promotion I wasn’t supposed to mention. Oh, and the beer tale included a link to a previous post so whoever reads those files can go straight to my blog and see everything I’ve had to say since July of 2004. I’ve been careful not to mention my employers or bosses by names, but I have blogged about my life and my job is a part of it. The Boulder guy doesn’t know me, but we have a company directory that is full of information, including the names of some of the people to whom I report.

I tried to imagine what my counterpart would do next. If I was lucky, he’d just laugh or shake his head and forget the whole thing, but somehow that just didn’t sound right. I got the feeling that he would do his corporate duty if for no other reason than to cover his butt. Let’s face it, I look and think like the poster child for going postal. Surely he’ll forward the files to my supervisors and tell them they need to take a look. My supervisors don’t even know I have a personality, much less one that is a little acerbic and despairing and literarily psychopathic. After reading my latest posts they’re sure to dooce me and have me escorted out by security, which is the way I left my last job. You think I’m kidding.

I knew I was fucked. Slightly panicked, I mulled over my options. I considered moving, hiding, or even deleting my blog. I certainly wasn’t in the mood to write, but I reminded myself of a couple of things. First, when I created the blog I promised to maintain my artistic integrity and be true to myself at all times. Whatever happened at work tomorrow, the blog would remain. Second, after two back to back victories (three if you count the recent separation from my mother at the end of 2005) I vowed to make 2006 the year I would remember as the one when I really turned it all around, and that wasn’t going to happen by drinking beer and wallowing in misery. As a compromise, I drank beer and wallowed in writing. I actually liked what I wrote last night, and I felt a little better about myself when I finished. Doomed, yes, but not utterly destroyed.

I finished my beer, watched some bad TV, tried to sleep, failed, watched some more bad TV, tried to sleep, and failed again. I cruised a few blogs but wasn’t in the mood to comment last night since all I could think about is how I just lost my job.

At 2:30 am my e-mail finally arrived. I had addressed it correctly after all. It had just gone on walkabout in cyberspace.

BTW, I drank a much better class of beer last night (since I was celebrating my good fortune) thanks to a recommendation from TOAD (a.k.a. the beer snob).

Note – this beer rules, even though the brand name sounds like a punch line for a bad gay joke.

Time to e-mail this post home. We now resume our normal smarminess.