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wrong sandwich while injecting my story about oil tanks
Tuesday, May 13 2025
At some point this morning while I was off at work, Gretchen, Kelly, and Brian went for a walk with our actress neighbor A and her boyfriend J. Both J and Brian are native Scotts, so that was fun. Another fun thing was that of the five people on the walk, Gretchen was the only United States citizen.
I had a pretty good workday today after getting an extremely complicated Azure Devops pipeline working, one that also performs end-to-end tests of an entire application stack. And then I did a code review where, with the help of ChatGPT, I managed to zero in on some problems bad enough for me to reject a pull request.
At lunch, I discovered I'd accidentally brought Gretchen's leftover tofu sandwich and not my TLT. (At the Garden Café last night, Gretchen had ordered a modified Beyond Burger sandwich in which she'd had the actual burger replaced with a slab of grilled tofu.) As I was eating that, I of course had to deal with the endless nattering of the king of the lunchroom court, who mostly just talks to Rob, the project manager. Every now and then, though, there is something I want to interject, and I just have to bully it into the conversation, since there is never any space in it to do otherwise. The king had started talking about dealing with old oil tanks, so I volunteered that they can just be cut apart after they are drained. "But then you still have to deal with something," said the imperious king, confident he'd gotten me. Initially I think initially he wanted me to have to guess what that thing was, which was pretty obvious: the oil (and making me guess was unnecessarily patronizing). But I had a solution for that. I said you just add cat litter to the oil and then burn that cat litter in a woodstove, something I actually did. The king didn't have anything to say, indicating I'd won that exchange. Later, the lunchroom conversation turned (as it often does) to lawnmowers. As part of my effort to showcase that I don't operate by the same rules as everyone else, I chuckled and said I hadn't yet cut my grass this season and that now it's "this long." (I made a gesture indicating approximately twelve inches.)
On the drive home, I took US-209 all the way to Enterprise Drive so I could pick up a screen door I'd ordered at Home Depot. While I was in the neighborhood, I visited Adams Fairacre Farms to buy both raw materials for making garnishes for Mexican food (more on that in a few days) and potting soil to help get our garden going for the season. The screen door barely fit inside the Bolt and to do so it had to intrude into the headspace over the front seats, forcing me to drive hunched somewhat to the side.
Gretchen had planned some social call after pilates, so when she headed out this afternoon for that, I wouldn't see her any more tonight. I took a much-needed bath and went to bed unusually early.
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