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Cinco de Mayo
Wednesday, May 5 1999
At work, morale management appears to be caught in some sort of tail spin, and it's not just me who feels this way. Few comments from our coaches are ever positive. The fruits of our dedication are so easily tossed aside without bothering to understand what they did, often to be replaced with clearly inferior second-generation crap. It's rather hard to take pride in work for which one never receives appreciation. There's even a surreal irony underlying the work we do: no one has any strong motivation to make something that works right the first time when the flawless projects never receive any attention. Unless something blows up regularly, no one seems to know it even exists.
I feel as though my enthusiasm for work is ebbing away in lots of ways. Another factor is the huge hiring binge being undertaken by my company. The slice of the pie that represents my contribution is shrinking away to insignificance as others come on board. I'm starting to feel like, if I could pull off the necessary subterfuge, I could play Tetris all day and do nothing of any value for the company and no one would ever know.
I had no desire to play volleyball on the beach with my colleagues, the scheduled "activity" for tonight. I chose instead to stay home and write. Scott, the speaker engineer from down Cape May, came by with a Sam Adams in his hand and we chatted about UNIX for awhile. I showed him some pictures from the New Orleans trip, but somehow it seemed inappropriate to tell any tales from the adventure.
Meanwhile Kim was out celebrating Cinco de Mayo with her colleagues. She came home drunk and horny, which is cool with me. But then, inevitably, she turned nasty when I continued to write.
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