"Hey! Where did you get that?"

"In the back. What? No one told you there were drinks here? You just showed up and he put you to work?"

"Yeah. No kidding. They didn't even have a chair for me to sit in. I mean, look at the chair I'm sitting in. Look! You stole my comfy chair!"

"Oh. Do you want this chair?"

"No."

"Do you? Do you want this chair?"

"How can I complain, Mike, if you keep fixing everything I complain about?"

Kris came home and told me his first work story. It started off with the comment that he made a lot of code check-ins yesterday afternoon, fixing a bunch of pending bugs and closing them out.

For the last week and a half he's been working with another developer, a busy woman who seems to be in demand for a lot of development tasks.

Well, one of the files he had checked in yesterday was a file his mentor was also editing. When she was preparing to check-in her files this morning, she had a code conflict. When she discovered she had a conflict, she called Kris over to look at it.

She started in on him on how could he have made these changes, why did he change the same files she was working on, didn't he know she was working on the file, what a waste of her time to deal with having to resolve these conflicts.

My opinion of this mentor has dropped considerably, I assure you.

Come on, woman, how hard is it to find the <<< in all the files, look at the differences and freakin' choose? How hard? Exactly. Not hard at all.

In the end, despite all the woman's sighs and accusations and huffing and puffing, the conflict was one line in one file, where both Kris and this lady fixed the same bug.

I'll say what Kris can't say.

"Bite me, lady."

Then learn to use the tools.

Hmph. Kris made me post this to only logged in users. I wanted to leave it open to the world. Sigh.

"No. No! NO! Dog!"

"Heh."

"Why do they go to the bathroom outside and come inside to wipe their butts on my carpets? My-eye carpets!"

"Because it feels soooo-ooooo good?"

"Hmph."

Well, crap. I make it to SBUL, determined to play since SFUC was rained out last night and I went to the amazing dinner anyway. So, I get to the fields early, determine that yes, they are playable, update my voicemail message to let everyone know they should come out and play, then head to the restroom to change into my clothes.

Half undressed, I realize that I have forgotten my sports bra.

What the hell? That one of three things always in my car, along with a pair of cleats and a disc. Okay, I say that, but it's clearly not true, as evidenced by my asking, "How retarded can I be?"

So, I do what any self respecting female ultimate player would do: I wrap the bandage I was going to use for my quad around my chest, squishing my lovelies so flat I look like the rolling hills of, uh, southern Indiana, grab the other bandage and wrap that one around my thigh, and head out to see how this is going to work.

Surely this will work out, eh? I mean, what did women do before sports bras?

Oh wait, I know.

They didn't play.

Or, their boobs hung to theirs waists by the time they hit 30.

Client: "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be difficult."

Me: "Oh, no, no, it's okay. You haven't done this before, so it's understandable. Don't worry about it. Okay, so, here's how you do it..."

A few minutes later, I hang up the phone.

Doyle: "You should say, 'Call me again, and I will kill you.'"

Me: "What?"

Doyle: "You haven't called me about this before, so it's okay. Call me about this again, and I will kill you."

pause

"BTW, I should be allowed to interface with the clients more."