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underneath the bridge
Monday, September 13 1999
There are castaway beer and vodka bottles beneath the San Diego Trolley Bridge where it crosses Mission Center Road and the San Diego River. I was sitting under there today during my lunch break, envious of the homeless, friendless bums of the world. My lunch breaks are becoming increasingly essential to my psychological well being. You see, recently I moved back to the back room with my boss(es) and the other web developers. It's a terribly distracting environment in there. I'm forever surrounded by loud people bustling in and out pretending to know things they clearly don't, asking all the wrong people all the wrong questions and getting answers leading them to make all kinds of rash, stupid decisions. As the place becomes increasingly corporate, the fakeness of people's behaviour seems to be growing exponentially. It's become rather hard to take. Perhaps this is just a temporary bummer I'm going through. It seems to come every three months or so, especially between major projects. We're in the midst of a code freeze, after all, and I'd thought I'd be happy.
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