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like a poorly-detailed Uber
Tuesday, May 6 2025
Today in the workplace I was communicating with another developer who somehow gets to work remotely. I needed to learn from her how to connect to and look at some esoteric database, and, despite her laughing at the idea, she was the in-house expert on that database (as all the other developers who had known about it have moved on). She and I ended up dishing about the company, talking about how dreary the office is (since it's essentially a factory) and chuckling about how non-technical the management is for what has become a technology company. The developer even brought up a planned "Quince de Mayo" celebration that employees themselves are expected to cater pot-luck style, which she thought was gauche. Later in the conversation,
I mentioned the king of the lunchroom court and his despotic lunch-room rules, none of which she'd come even close to experiencing.
At the end of the workday, I couldn't do my usual Tuesday routine, because instead of taking Charlotte for a walk while Gretchen was off at pilates, I instead had to pick up some guests from the Kingston bus station who would be spending nearly a week with us. The guests were Kelly and Brian, our friends from Edinburgh whom we'd first met years ago on a European vegan riverboat cruise and whom we've seen on subsequent cruises. They also visited us here in New York once before almost exactly a year ago. I brought the dogs when I went to pick them up.
When I arrived at the bus station ten minutes early, Kelly and Brian were already there, so they climbed into the Forester. (Gretchen had taken the Bolt to pilates.) At the time Neville was riding shotgun, so Kelly and Brian climbed in the back with Charlotte. Then Charlotte freaked out and came to the front and Neville went to the back. With Neville in the back, Charlotte wanted to go back there too, so I ended up driving all by myself in the front while Kelly and Brian and both dogs were in the back seat like they'd caught a ride in an especially poorly-detailed Uber.
On the drive home, I remarked that it was surprising they hadn't ended up in a gulag for the temerity of trying to visit our great and glorious nation. (I was referring to the unpleasantness now routinely visited upon visitors to the United States, up to and including deportation to a gulag in El Salvador, which has resulted in a massive decrease in visitors to our country.) Kelly & Brian replied that immigration officials had been surprisingly pleasant, though one had talked excessively quietly, perhaps as a power move. But evidently the airlines have yet to adjust to the sharp drop off in travel to America, as their flight across the Atlantic had been half empty.
Back at the house, I busted into a bottle of merlot that only Brian and I would end up drinking and then I started a fire to drive the chill out of the living room (though I could've just opened the door, as it was noticeably warmer outside).
Eventually Gretchen came home, and we sat down for a dinner Gretchen had made of vegan lasagna, asparagus, and salad. Among the topics discussed was Dave, an annoying though wealthy man who we knew from the vegan cruises. His wealth had made romantic relationships possible, but none had lasted for longer than three months.
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