For my birthday this year, my cousin bought me a great t-shirt with the phrase 'I see Dumb People' emblazoned across it, which I am considering either having blended with my skin as a permanent fixture or copied as a tattoo!

Okay, in fairness, I can occassionally be one of those dumb people if I'm not thinking straight, but working in IT you get to meet more than your fair share of people who managed to somehow stumble into the gene pool.

Yesterday, I had a call out of the blue from a customer we had finished doing work for three months ago, wondering where we were with fixing an issue they raised in May. Um ... considering we responded with a series of questions and never heard anything back, we're not likely to be anywhere with it, are we?! Especially as they are not paying us for support!!


Anyway, I said I would look into it and asked them to send me the creation scripts for the database configuration in order that I could duplicate the situation in development. However, the bright spark chose to send me the scripts for the version that works instead of the version that doesn't!!

Aaarrrggghhh!!!! People!!!!

If you expect us to fix something, what on earth is the point of referring us to the working version?! We can't fix something that works!!

Perhaps I'm being too hard on the person in question: he does have a lot on his plate, after all...

That said, leaving it two months before throwing me an urgent job and mere days before I am supposed to go away, doesn't make me very amenable. I don't know how this guy does it, but he always manages to lump something on me at a critical time, resulting in my working overtime to get the job done instead of using my non-work hours to get my own stuff done.

Every. Darn. Time.

* * * * *

Over the past couple of weeks, I have noticed a disturbing fact.

Somehow, I seem to have gotten into a toilet cycle with one of my colleagues.

I guess if I visited the gents when I needed to, instead of holding on until I've completed a piece of work, then it wouldn't be an issue. However, I get to the point where I really need to go, and he ups and walks out to the gents!

The first few times was quite amusing, but now its happening several times a day and I can no longer bring myself to go at the same time ... this is one of those cycles that must be broken!!!

* * * * *

It seems that Tring may not be quite the pure English town that you might at first think ... though I guess it depends on your interpretation of a pure English town!

As my hair needed a bit of a trim (which is all it got as it was shorter than I thought), I popped into the barber shop on the high street. Although 'popped' sounds like I wandered straight in, whistling to myself, whereas the reality is that I waited for the place to empty so I could increase my chances of getting one of the girls: the last time, I had my hair cut by the guy that works there and he didn't do a particularly good job ... and he kinda weirds me out ... like when you feel uncomfortable around someone but can't explain why?

Anyway, the girl who cut my hair was in a bit of a mood as someone had nicked a parcel that had been left for her on Saturday. In her own words, she figured it had been "taken by the drug dealers upstairs" ... hang on, drug dealers?! In Tring?! Two doors down from the cop shop?!

Are we talking serious stuff here or a couple of students making the most of the local poppy population?!

I seriously considered doing a runner while she was on the phone, after all, it wasn't like she had done any work yet, but I lost my chance to disappear. However, this did give me the opportunity to learn a little more about this not-so-sleepy Hertfordshire town.

The obvious thing to do is call the police. Okay, they probably won't be able to do anything but at least it would be logged and have a crime number. However, this option was off the list as she didn't want to tell the police what was in the package, which means it had to be either a) totally dodgy, or b) a sex toy.

I'm plumping for the latter as she looked like she needed it more.


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