December 9, 2010
Home today. Sent home by the IT people at work. Sick office computer. I can't tell how sick, but I took it as a bad sign that I could not open any programs besides my browser and my automatic weather feed. I think that means it has mono.
Germs do spread.
I left for lunch at 11:30 (to meet Tracy and find out she had had all the luck with lanyards this week--$500 on Tuesday alone) and all was well. When I got back to the office at 12:30, my precious desktop was way under the weather. I submitted my trouble ticket, printed out my grade spreadsheet (preparing for the worst-case scenario), and powered down. Soon Ashley from IT arrived--just like someone from the Ghostbuster team. She took over the driver seat and started searching the mitachondrial level of my computer files.
She spent the next hour digging deeper and deeper in the file structure of my computer, while I did the same thing to the files and stacks of papers on my desk and credenza (I never NEVER throw anything away after the semester begins on the theory that I can't always tell what piece of paper a student my find important.). She wasn't really making tut tut noises or big gasps of amazement or even little sighs of disgust while she worked, but I could tell she wasn't making big progress either. At some point she exchanged texts with some other uber-guru, then asked me if I could work at home for the rest of the day. When I nodded, she then added "And maybe all day tomorrow" and looked away quickly.
So here I am at home.
My reward for having all my grading finished and recorded (save finals)? Besides have a computer in the critical care unit of the Mays Business School Computer Hospital?
Dog poop, scorpions, and puke.
That's right. After breakfast this morning, I walked down the hall to see what I needed to do around the house before I went out and ran seasonal errands. I glanced into Davis's room (which I had cleaned for his Thanksgiving trip home and which will need to be brushed up before he gets home for Christmas) and spotted four little poop logs. I turned into Erin's room to avoid looking at the poop and found a six-inch (wide not tall) patch of puke.
A quick about face headed me to the bathroom (and the cleaning supply cabinet) where I came face-to-face with brown scorpion trying to scrabble its way out of the bathroom sink.
I wished, ever so much, that I was at the office, and someone else was having my fun.