8 o'clock info meeting

Today there’ s an information meeting for the entire staff, with an announced "surprise". I’m still waiting to get fired, so maybe they really want to put me on the scaffold for this time. SURPRISE!

Only thing about this meeting’s that it’s inhumanely early in the morning. 8am. Seriously, who gets up at 8am and get away with it? Getting on the bus this early morning, a good three hours before I usually do, my body hurt. It hurts physically to get up that early. My head hurts, my limbs ache and my intestines are in uproar. There’s a s sense of frantic panic in my gut. Internal confusion:

"Hey! What’s this? Get up and get things going, there’s important stuff happening out there! What’s this? We’re at sea? Cue sealegs. We’re sweaty? But the upper torso reports cold. Cue shivering. Stomach? I have no clue, the reports from the central brain are conflicting! We’re not at sea? Oh, what the fuck, WHATEVER YOU DO RELEASE AS MUCH GAS AS POSSIBLE! OPEN ALL VENTS!
Wait.. hang on! Stomach requests permission to empty bowels. What should I say? No wait. It is also slightly hungry. Adjust scraping feeling of hunger to ten PRONTO! Reverse regurgitation! WHAT? WE’RE STILL AT SEA? Pump all accessible liquid into the legs. Make them as heavy as possible. Brain reports that the eyes say we’re still on solid ground? Christ! This guy is clearly hallucinating. Activate extra-sensory synapses, request stats from inner-ear balance, AND SOMEBODY GET ME ANOTHER CUP OF COFFEE!"

But I get there on time. Half an hour to eight, I’m outside having a fag, when some other faces arrive.
– Good morning, Sigg3.
– You think?
– Early for ya?
– Or late, depending on how you see it. Where’s all the people?
– I don’t know. I don’t think the meeting’s until 9 o’clock.
– NINE?!
– Yeah. The e-mail subject and calendar say 8 but the programme starts at nine.

You might think I actually got to use this time to relax, blog a little, do something useful, but fifteen after eight I had four people showing up in my office claiming that THERE ARE NO INTERNETS. “That’s funny,” I said, and glanced at my display clearly demonstrating my full connection to teh internets. Mail, printers, intranet, everything a-ok.
I finally got up from the chair and climbed the stairs to the top floor. Incidently, this is where all the guys were sitting. That’s peculiar, I thought, and after a little testing and troubleshooting it was clear that there were no internetz on that entire floor. I told them to get on the wireless on another floor while I figured out what had happened.

When I got back a Skype instant message was flashing at me, casting ghastly blue illumination across my dark cave: "Whoops, I spilled tea on my laptop keyboard, can I still use it RIGHT AWAY K THXBAI?" I put my face in my hands and sighed. Or burped. It was a combination, really. My gut was reacting to an imaginary food poisoning. I posed an answer.
– What day is it?
– Thursday.
– I am not entirely convinced. This feels very much like a Monday.

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