Buzzkill

*Warning: blantant Everclear reference following. I'm still under the influence of Santa Monica*

So much for the afterglow.

Nothing like a buzzkill than crash landing to reality.

Monday, first day back to work:
I don't have my coat off yet, and the coworker who's name we cannot say (also referred to as the OCD coworker that is beyond annoying, aka simply crazy) is asking me for details of my trip. I just got back, ya'll! Do you think I really want to talk about it, especially when I'm going to be showing ya'll the photos (once they're printed). It took everything I had not to reach out and choke her right there. She is pleasant enough... but oy vey! The woman has no impulse control. And that's saying something right there, folks, if I think she's too spastic.

So in my mail is a legal notice. Dated Feb. 15. Brief was due Feb. 18. Wah? I'm thinking this has to be a typo. Especially since the due date was a Saturday. Normally, we get 14 days to prepare. And they aren't even open on a weekend.

I bust off a voicemail to my State lead: "Not sure if you saw this, but do you think the day's right? Are you going to call, or want me to call?" I find out the State staff might be out 'til Wednesday. Guess I'll be calling.

Call to the hearings office: "uh, is this date maybe a typo?" Hearings office: "no, since we received it Feb. 3."

Hmm. Now I'm all for fairness to the appellant and all.... But WTF? Just because ya'll didn't do anything with the paperwork (for two weeks!), I'm supposed to kill myself to meet a deadline? Guess so, since we'd default with no response. And I'm not the kind to let that happen. Good thing they like that for the person in this job.

Fortunately, when the hearings office gives a weekend deadline, your deadline is really the close of business the next business day. That would be the same day I returned to the office. Oh well. Saves me a trip to the gym that night. My blood pressure is already pounding by 9 a.m.

Then I get the cheery news the federal attorney on a big 'ole case is demanding claim prints. Something that I knew they'd be wanting, but have been hoping they'd realize the volume of their demand, and shelve the idea. Oh no!

My boss realizes that I'm about one foot over the edge. She runs a report to get me the claim numbers in demand. She also runs copies of the agency brief after it's slammed together. She's a good woman. Or she's afraid of being the closest cube should I snap. I think "this should be a piece of cake. I can run a report to retrieve the data, then dump it in to the database engine and generate the form."

Ha!

The highly-paid systems engineer that designed the procedure didn't much plan on that database creating multiple forms. I'm sure it's a simple mistake, as multiples are a rarely seen, but highly coveted option. I'm also sure the irony is not lost on my devoted (female) readers that when I really needed that multiple option, we find the man forgot to program that possibility. So a "help!" e-mail gets sent off.

This is only freaking noon!

After watching and listening to my animated pantomime during lunch, my friend and our team Scotty takes up my cause. She fiddles with the database, and convinces it to start printing multiples. Of course, me being the opportunistic kind of gal I am, I'm like "could you maybe change this and this?" She yet again saves the day. She is able to polish out the flaws of the SE-designed form, and rewrite its more annoying attributes. She is worth so much more than what those systems guys get paid. And is a lot cuter, too.

No, Igor, you can't meet her. She's getting married in May. But you will be able to make fun of me that I will purposefully wear purple. Actually "victorian lilac", and very pretty. But it still reminds me of Willie the Wildcat.

The things I do for friends!