Two Years Ago

Almost exactly one year after I retired, I lucked into a great high-paying (for Tucson) job with a medical IT software company. I was referred by a years-long internet acquaintance (we were part of a Email splinter group from a humor USENET newsgroup) who I first met on my job interview after submitting my first and only civilian resume. My training background and skills were a great fit for the department (Client Education) and my writing sample put me ahead of the other applicants. I was selected with one other applicant; we would marvel at our luck...this was a FUN place to work! Our office (mostly female) was a strange beast for the company, because most of us were not software people or even from a medical industry background; we were trainers and educators, with some product experts and a webmaster/graphic artist thrown in. The Artist was a zany extrovert in the extreme and was the Ringmaster for the office's (and company's) fun activities.

My internet buddy was a wildlife rehabber outside of work, so the office had accumulated a menagerie of animal figurines that on Friday afternoon would be stacked precariously, daring the cleaning staff to topple it. On my first birthday with the company, the office added a cheap Chinese GI-Joe knockoff (in reference to my military service) to the Animal Stack. These inexpensive, poseable action figures got to be an addiction for the ladies; thus, the Man Stack was born. I'll bet John Donovan's figurines don't play Twister!


We enjoyed an open office on the second floor for several months, then moved to a cube farm up on the fourth. We were now among product developers and client advocates and were admonished many times to keep our laughter down, especially while the CAs were on the phone with clients.

Not long after we moved in, the "Rad" (product nickname) cubes next door were dismantled to make way for a hush-hush project that no one knew anything about. Since we kind of fond of the Rad developers, the Man Stack mobilized in protest. By the way, that's me way back in the cube with my back to the camera.


The Sigmund Freud figurine stood in for the corporate suits upstairs. The Albino Bowler had prior commitments.

Whatever they were putting in the empty space would be sound-proof...no solace to those of us who had to work through all the construction noise, which was much louder than the client educators at our most raucous.















Finally, after sneaking in the fixtures overnight, the company unveiled the project, a company recreation center, complete with air hockey, vending machines, a large-screen TV with a game system and another with cable and a DVD player. I hardly set foot in there, spending most of my breaks following links from Instapundit and Wizbang and browsing in the Castle Argghhh! dungeon/rec room. My other coworkers were not so shy about hopping on the game system for a half hour at a time in the middle of the afternoon--when I needed to interact with them.

This was around the time I was suffering from allergies (unbeknownst to me, due to my new male ferrets, Lenny and Squiggy). So I was taking Benedryl, getting little sleep, and struggling drowsily with new practices and changes to the software I used (Flash, Robodemo, and the company's products I was demonstrating). On top of that, the zany (and irritating) Artist kept demanding we throw in the "bells and whistles" he "taught" us. There is no worse student than a professional educator being taught by someone who is not. I felt like when Mom taught me to drive: "Turn left here! Turn right here!" [Pull over to curb. Turn off engine. "Mom, just tell me where I'm going first and let me drive...or here's the keys!] The Artist just kept pushing my buttons, but was off fighting anime warriors when I really needed him.

This job did wonderful things for my quality of life: I'd bought all-new furniture for the first time, I had my yard landscaped, got a big screen TV, bought a ton o' guns, and socked away most of the money for a new truck. But this wasn't worth the aggravation I was feeling. I especially enjoyed giving the company a one-day notice, since they'd released several managers the same way. I didn't even mind bailing out the Friday before the three-day Labor Day weekend. I just wanted out.

I had lots of blogs to read and maybe start one of my own...which I did three days later.