Karma’s a bitch

Somewhere in a past life, i must have tortured puppies.  The cutest ones.  Slowly.  With dull, rusty implements….

In fact, i’ve done some pretty nasty things in this life, but nothing i’ve done has earned me the karmic punishment du jour.

Another “required training opportunity”.  This time?  It’s the ugly 10 day “systems engineering lip service” class that i’ve cleverly kicked down the road for about 7 years.  It has sproinged into life and latched it’s rabid jaws firmly on to my professional ass.  This is the last one required.  At least i hope so – or i’ll end up on the evening news amidst a bloodbath.

The last one was painful, but only five days.  The latest?  Ten days.  At the two day point, i’ve already chewed the insides of my cheeks bloody.  My credo is simple…

Stay awake.  Smile.  Be respectful to the instructors and my classmates.  Don’t shoot Bambi*.  Remember the course is “pass/fail” – there are no bonus points for over-achievement.  Do the minimum required/expected.  Leave the room in an efficient manner.  Don’t fuck over my team mates.  Repeat all of the above as necessary.

Usually i can spot him by the third day.  The crusty ‘elder professional’ who decides that the course will be significantly enhanced by endless contributions of war stories.   Oh, no… we have an over-achiever this time.  Rearing his head mid-day during the FIRSTFUCKINGDAY of a TENDAYCOURSE he regaled us with his vast knowledge of nothing anyone cared one micro-fraction of a nanofuck about….

On the first day?  We were fifteen minutes late for lunch because he just couldn’t contain his excitement about a cost/schedule over-run from 1987.  i could not make this shit up.  19-fucking-87.

On the bright side?  The two tag-team instructors are with us.  They have already promised us that if we behave, and stay on track, we can finish up the course requirements in a mere nine days, giving us all a magical three day weekend!  Woo-diddly-hoo!  Instructors who are just as interested in “checking the fucking box” as we are… this is a “win-win”!

If Mr. Elderfuckly Crustacean McYaptard doesn’t get with the program by tomorrow?  He’s going to find himself encased in a body cast of Post-it Notes, and stuffed unceremoniously in the supply closet with a broom for a butt-buddy for the remainder of the course….

You really don't want to know the atrocities i've commited in prior lives, motherfucker...

Trust me, motherfucker, you DO NOT want to know what i've apparently done in prior lives...

* “Bambi”.  Standard callsign for the young, sweet and naieve engineers in attendance.  If they want to pipe up with some inane but marginally relevant tidbit from their personal experience, i will not roll my eyes and start pantomiming a game of Russian Roulette with my dry erase marker… They are cute.  They aren’t dangerously burnt out yet.  Like me…