Hmmm? Isn't it? Banana?

Must be the wrong kind of rain...

I have been patiently (kind of) waiting for my new phone line to be
installed so that I can continue my on-line life, my inter-life, my
weblife, inter-existence, etherlife, time vacuum. Whatever you wish to
call it.

I was informed today that I will have to wait a further 2 weeks for my
phone line. That was PHONE LINE. Not broadband, that will be a further
10 days after that! I am at the point of trying not to spit fire through
gritted teeth. I am SO pissed off with this. I have pictures to share
with my mates, I have people to chat to, to flirt with and to generally
stalk (you know who you are!). Of all the times to be without the web,
just as you move to a new town and don't know anyone.

Arse.

This could really screw with my desire to stay out of the pub. Well.
When I say "Stay out", I mean more "Not spend every night in one". I've
been there and done that, and have the belly to prove it. It's on it's
way out now (finally) and I aim to keep it going that way!

Apparently the reason for the massive delay with the phone line is that
British Telecom have had lots of problems recently with lines going
down, and all their personnel (they called them engineers, for some
reason) are digging holes in fields to repair all these lines. I ask
you. Engineers? Digging muddy holes? What is the world coming to? It
seems that if someone can manage to pick up an object that could be
considered a tool, they get called an engineer. I assume it is all to
placate the poor dears that don't want to be called "Technician" (as
that is taken to mean "One who can tell their arse from their elbow") or
maybe even just "BT employee". I went to University for 4 years to be
called an "Engineer" (I will get abuse for this, as I refer to myself as
one often enough, mainly by way of apologising for my logical and
pedantic nature. Ho hum), but I am qualified and this is my
profession. Some bloke picks up a shovel, they tag it onto your
poxy job title to make you feel special, and it instantly makes somewhat
a mockery of my (rather long and expensive) education. Thanks Dad, by
the way, being as you paid for it. Because the chances of you reading
this are somewhere down there with the chances of Liz Hurley sleeping
with me, I don't mind saying "Ta" for once, either. Such is the family
harmony and closeness we enjoy.

Anyway, back to the point, this isn't here to talk about me...

Everyone wants a fancy title these days, and I even find myself being
unwillingly dragged into it by association. The sort of title that I
would consider appropriate for, or reasonably descriptive of, my job
would be woefully inadequate when it came to functioning within the role
because customers and suppliers (especially) wouldn't take me seriously
without a wanky title. I have had to be called a 'Manager' for the last
18 months, even though the only thing I was 'managing' was not to belt
the Directors in the chops for not finding us the money to refinance the
company enough for us to go into the next phase. The next phase being
actually having more than just me in my department...

Only in the last 2 weeks have I started to employ people to work for me.
The end sort of justifies the means, but it has been a bit hard
to sit there and spout a job title that meant nothing to me. I always
fudged and sort of said "Well, I run this bit", only to have them
wanting to speak to someone with a label that they felt they ought to be
speaking to before they were actually prepared to negotiate and talk
money. Arseholes.

I reckon, and this is in no way tainted by my lack of a phone line I
assure you, that all the blame for this modern bullshit falls squarely
at the door of British Telecom. The fuckers.

Where's my Broadband, you bastards, eh? Bring back Busby, I say. At
least you were shit then but had a stupid animated bird on the adverts.
You had something going for you...

posted by Brock @ Monday, September 06, 2004