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vacuuming masseuse
Thursday, October 12 2017
This morning while Gretchen was off in the forest, I had happened to notice a couple people standing outside our front door. I went out there and found that these people were totally separate parties. One of them was a burly middle-aged guy who claimed to be "making a delivery" and the other was a youngish woman who was there to give Gretchen a massage. I knew about the massage, though evidently the time for the massage hadn't been perfectly communicated between the parties.
[REDACTED]
There was an October chill in the living room, so I started a fire in the woodstove in hopes of making it a more comfortable place for a massage. While she waited for Gretchen to return from the forest, the masseuse vacuumed the living room floor, which was flecked with possibly-sharp bone fragments the dogs had left while chewing up old deer vertebræ. "You don't have to do that," I told the masseuse. "No, I like vacuuming!" she replied. At some point I went walking down the Stick Trail to find Gretchen and hopefully hurry her home. [REDACTED]
I had a very long meeting this afternoon regarding the store and the fussy little things that still need to be done to it. Most of this didn't concern me (this is why I try to stay away from frontend work), but it seemed polite to stay in the meeting until the bitter end.
As the end of the day approached, I drank kratom tea and built a system that could read an email inbox, retrieve an email containing a CSV, and automatically process that CSV to update stock quantities. This would effectively serve as an API that the fulfillment center was failing to provide. They were willing to email us CSVs of stock quanitities, and this system would automatically process them.
This evening we had yet another IT happy hour, though this time we didn't actually have a guest. So all we did was sit around, drink and shoot the shit. For whatever reason, most of what was said came in the form of me telling stories. I told the story of the two people who had come to my door this morning, which included the part about the bone-bit-vacuuming masseuse (which the others found more intriguing than I'd expected). Somehow I got to talking about the place I live in the forest, and the annoyance of people with guns shooting down at the bus turnaround. I ended up showing my colleagues two different flyers I'd made to discourage such shooting. One of these associates the shooting with approval for Obama's election, and the other claims the bus turnaround is an official gun range for "the U1ster County Jihad Sοciety." Those visual aids kept everyone chuckling nicely.
[REDACTED]
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