…and by loves, we mean we love that we have job security and can secretly feel superior. We remind ourselves this every day. It’s a mantra that keeps us going back to the phones no matter who we have to talk to.

Here is a short list of some of the regulars who call phone tech support. What a coincidence, these people call you too?

If you think you are one of these people, I assure you, the people who do these things know not what they do.

The Nommer
This guy waited until his lunch break to call you. How do you know? Because he’s nomming, slurping, and smacking in your ear. Just when you think it can’t get any worse, he pops a cough drop in his mouth and starts clicking it against his teeth in your ear.

“…click-clock-click …smnosh-smnosh… Yersh, Ihve jrest shent crunch… gulp… you an email with the error.”

The Ummer
This customer is characterized by uncontrollable verbal tics such as: “Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh”. We also have, “um”, “er”, “ah”, “like”, and ending every sentence as if it were a question. A lot of people sound smarter than they are, but these people never do.

“Er. Um… Uuuhhh… I have… like…. Ah. Veesta Ultimate?”

“Ummmm… I’m running… like… the newest one, Snow Leopards..?”

The Entitled User
When people are way too good to know anything about their own computer (or try to check for you), check system requirements, or take responsibility for messing something up (or at least not blame it on you), there is a good chance they are an Entitled User. There’s nothing you can do, say, or fix that will change that fact.

“Why do you make this so complicated? It should just work. What do you mean this won’t run on my computer? You have to support Windows 2000. I’m going to put you on hold. I need to reboot my computer.”

I use Vista, Have UAC Still Turned On, and the VOLUME PUMPED
I don’t know what the call is about yet, but I know it will be painful more due to the fact I have to listen to:

“BOM!”

every time I ask you to do anything.

Can You Hear Me Now?
This guy is jealous of your headset. He cannot type or use a mouse with one hand. He thinks that speaker phone works with his dog barking, children crying, and wife talking to him in the background.

Even better, he’s in traffic not even at his computer. How does he expect to troubleshoot the issue? I don’t know either.

“Noise”

Idiot Pirates (ur doin it rong)
“So… I downloaded this from a website and I can’t get it to work right. Yeah… I didn’t buy it. It’s the free version. I don’t know what pirating is and I don’t think I’m doing that, but my friend said there was this free version. So I went there and I downloaded it and now it doesn’t work. Can you help me?”

Conspiracy Theorist
This guy is super paranoid. You’re out to steal his identity, send him spam, break his computer, and take his money and still not get anything working. He is not going to give you the info you need to solve the problem. He wont even give email address so you can look up and see what he has or send him a fix. What he somehow doesn’t realize is that he’s already given you (the company you work for) all of his info. What he doesn’t know is that you’re trying to help him and his identity is not worth stealing (since apparently it’ll mean an ulcer).

If you get far enough, he might start letting you know what he thinks the issue *really* is and insist you should check into it. These will not be plausible theories, they will be somewhere in left field or even outer space.

“Why do you need my email address? No! I’m not giving that to you. As it is, your company’s website has already broken my computer.”

Yeah I Tried That. It Didn’t Work.
You’ll wrack your brain. You’ll troubleshoot until your brain bleeds. I, the customer, will then admit I didn’t actually do what you told me to about twenty minutes (or three emails) later. It’ll be fun. Whee.

“*Sigh* Ya… I did that already. Of course I did.”

When The Dinosaurs Were Old
“I remember when we didn’t even have computers. What start menu? What’s that? Slow down there… you’re going to have to repeat that. I’m not very computer savvy like you youngsters. You have to understand… *long unrelated story*. Wait, you don’t make this? I called the wrong number? Are you sure?”

“(horrified voice) I might need to upgrade!?”

Anger Management
I don’t know what’s wrong or how serious it is, but I’m angry and I need someone to blame. It’s not my fault, so guess who’s going to take the fall? I’m not interested in getting this working so much as ripping out your heart and eating it.

It’s not that the customer is always right, it’s that he or she HAS a right… that is the right to verbally abuse you.

“$%*&^%”

The following is a fictitious tale of techies in a basement building and repairing computers. They wish they could do just that, but instead they spend most of their day doing tech support on the phone and through the web for the customers of the store they work for called Computer World. Most of us know that IT is not like BOFH as much as we wish it were. These guys are like most of us who can’t avoid dealing with… PEOPLE! (duh-nuh-naaaah!) Between the sales people on the floor upstairs, who the IT people are convinced are out to get them, and the customers, equally out to get them, it’s a wonder anything ever gets fixed. Maybe you’re on an IT team yourself, work in customer service, have a job where you seem to be doing anything but what you took it for in the first place, or maybe you’re exactly the sort of customer to call up…

Team IT

In a Galaxy Not So Far Away

“Stupid, broken piece of crap Vista! I mean, it works great on my home machine,” Ben said to everyone, but most of all the tower he was working on, “I have no idea what the hell keeps making this machine turn off.”

“Yeah. It’s still not working. Whatever,” Tom decompressed the mute button and continued in frustrated, yet controlled tones, trying to guide another caller through the ins and outs of their own Mac.

“Dude, it’s not even rebooted yet. I didn’t say try it again yet,” Ben plugged it back in and hit the switch, “I’ll get it up. I said I’d get it up and I will.”

“That’s what he said,” Sarah casually threw out as she walked in, plopped down her coat, and flicked on her PC.

“Did he now?” asked Neil from over the cube wall.

“Probably still trying,” answered Sarah logging into the domain, “I didn’t wait to find out.”

“Wha- oh,” Neil finished his own though internally.

“I’ll take a look at it after I get off the phone,” Tom had the mute button compressed and Remote Desktop up on his screen waiting to try to connect to the Vista computer Ben was working on. Tom was working on that computer earlier that morning, but had been on the phone since, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Look, I’ll let you know when it’s up,” Ben growled.

“That’s what she said,” Craig added from the corner where their server rack was.

“Told you,” Sarah told Neil.

“Haaa. Word.” Tom had his hand over mute again.

“Okay. I think it’s fixed,” Ben insisted.

“For now,” answered Tom.

“I believe you,” said Sarah unconvincingly over Ben’s shoulder.

Ben’s phone rang, “That’s me. I wonder if I can get this call to last my entire shift… um, not that I’m trying to. Man, did I say that out loud?”

“Like Sarah, I believe you,” Tom now had a game of Tetris and a blog up on his screen, decompressed mute and continued talking on the phone.

“This lady has gone from knowing nothing about this to being a master. Boo-yeah,” Ben decompressed his mute button, “It only has taken like twelve calls to us. Problem is now she thinks I’m her friend or priest or something… go away. Leave me alone.”

“Nice work,” congratulated Tom, “Teaching n00bs to fish. Now if only you could get the custie’s Vista box up and running. I still can’t log in.”

“Yeah, it looks like it turned itself off again,” confirmed Ben.

The phones continued to ring, and everyone settled into their bluetooth headsets, mostly at some computer or another. A line of yet to be repaired computers snaked around the door, everyone with at least one ‘project’ laid out a neglected due to the afternoon rush of callers.

“I’ve got two questions,” called out Tom.

“And since we’re playing fun time with numbers, I just hit sixty minutes on this call,” called back Ben.

“How the heck do people end up using computers and yet not using them at the same time? Seriously, for all this person can do, he’s using it as an expensive paper weight!” Tom decompressed mute and went back to sweet-as-pie tone on the phone.

“Considering you talk mostly to Mac users, who think of their computers as status symbols or toy poodles, you shouldn’t be so surprised,” Sarah was fast to criticize the Mac versus PC commercials for stereotyping, but surely had stereotypes of her own when it came to that debate.

“I’ll be back on the phones in a moment, I’m trying to see how back logged we are,” Craig typed at a computer in the hall, “And maybe even see if I can make a schedule that will get some of this crap our of the dungeon and back on the floor.”

“And there are now four people in line and yes, I am still on the same call,” Ben updated everyone, “Just in case anyone cares.”

“Only up to nine minutes,” Craig checked, “They can wait on hold if we can wait on the phone with them.”

“No kidding,” agreed Ben, “but I really gotta brb something awful.”

Ben posted on their internal blog:


“People need to hold on holding on,” Sarah complained, “Why do they all call at the same time?”

“Keep your pants on,” sighed Craig, “I’m logging back in.”

“No need to worry, pants were in no danger of assuming an off position,” Sarah replied.

“Thanks, and that’s what she said,” called over Ben, “Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Dude stop saying uh.”

“Braaaaaiiiins,” Sarah agreed. She loaded up a game of Brain Chef to play in the background.

“My personal line is ringing,” Ben sighed, “How do people get our numbers? It’s.. so annoying. And silly. Like we’re on the phone, so we’ll answer the other phone?”

“Amen, brother,” Neil agreed, “Preaching to the choir.”

“And what the hell is wrong with our sales people on the floor,” Ben continued the gripe, “What is so hard about following directions? I typed it in an email!”

“What? You mean you didn’t go up there and do it for them?” Tisked Al who was just coming down from the floor.

“Like anyone besides you ever steps foot outside of the dungeon?” Sarah asked pointedly.

“No way I’m going up there,” Neil said in seriousness, “They’ll nab us and make us talk to their customers face to face, and then complain we say the truth and lose their sale.”

They worked in the bottom floor, the basement, of a repair, reseller, and supporter of all computers called Computer World. The sales people didn’t often trudge down, and the support people didn’t often trudge upward. There was some kind of alliance between the two that would break down swiftly if lines were crossed.

“To get our numbers, all they need is to spell our names,” Tom added to Ben’s gripe.

“Beautiful, they’re not smart enough to RTFM, but they can look up our numbers?” Sarah pointed out, “From now on, my name is Neil.”

“As flattered as I am, no. At least your last name isn’t as easy as mine,” Neil answered.

“I want to be removed from that list,” Ben was still holding his need to go to the bathroom, “If people can have their house numbers unlisted, I want my work number unlisted.”

“Alleluia!” shouted Neil.

“I know that is not gonna happen,” conceded Ben, “Sales is getting sick satisfaction from picturing each of us on two calls at once. And wow, I’ve already talked with this guy. I know what his deal is, but this is gonna go like an hour more. Ah. Well. I will put you on hold and brb… while I check on some documentation in the loo.”

Craig laughed, “This guy is watching our instructional video’s while calling IT. Beautiful,” Sarah, with the help of Tom, maintained the company website which is laden with all the tools to help the customers not call in, but they still did.

“So why does he need us?” asked Sarah, always defensive of her brain-child.

“…he’s watching videos on what he’s not using,” Craig continued laughing.

“A for effort?” Tom suggested, happy someone was at least trying to find an answer on their own.

“Haaa.. No,” Neil shot down.

“Is anyone else coming in today?” Craig was eying the line of computers sighing. It never ended and no one knew why Craig seemed to think with a little more effort it would.

“Yeah, everyone else is on the late shift,” Ben announced with disdainful emphasis on the words ‘late shift’. It used to be the most coveted of positions because it meant you came in late, did a few hours on the phones, and then worked on computers and web requests the rest of the night. Then, sales and marketing got it in their heads that since we were there late and being paid to be there late, presumably doing nothing, we could also be taking calls. The big bosses got wind of this, and next thing, they were always back logged and on the phone until past dinner.

When the representatives of the basement complained, it was explained that it was too late to go back. Customers loved having the option and there would be backlash to take it away now. The bosses also would hear nothing of needing to hire additional qualified technicians, suggesting that a couple of guys from sales were ‘pretty good with computers’ and suggesting maybe they could help out downstairs.

“Over my fried motherboard,” said Craig ominously. Everyone on the IT team agreed and dropped the matter for the time being, except Craig who fought a good fight with control and passion. The bosses actually seemed to like him, but it didn’t mean that he liked them or was able to make them see reason.

So the work load remained unreasonable, but the team always found a way to vent, take pride, and survive and even succeed.

Always on the brink of disaster they toiled, “Okay, try the Vista box now,” Ben insisted hitting the power switch.

“Is someone making toast?” Tom sniffed the air and sounded unconvinced that there was food involved.

“Yeah, this box,” Ben sighed, “It’s now toast. Sparks, smoke, and we’re giving them a new PC.”

Craig walked over and pretended to say a little prayer over the PC before taking it and placing it in a very different line of computers that snaked around and out of sight. Unlike the first line, these computers were mostly partially apart and some covered in dust. He slapped a post-it note on there saying: ‘data recovery and scrap’.

“And another one bites the dust,” Tom commented with the customer on mute before resuming his call.

This post’s screen shot is from the NES game Armed Dragon Fantasy Villgust. This guy is reading the first chapter of Adventuring for Dummies.

What you call yourself? What do you say when someone asks what you do for a living?

Many people say: a student. A student of what? That sends many into a flurry. If you’re a student of everything, aren’t we all? And aren’t you forever a student of your field(s)? You don’t wear a cap and gown and quit learning…

Many people cite what they do to make money. However, what you currently do for money may have nothing to do with it. Working at Dunkin Donuts is a means to an end, not a living. Have the confidence to associate yourself with your longterm goals and dreams. Little sister would say she’s a musician. And she is. She was when she worked at KFC and she still is serving donuts and coffee. Her ability at the oboe doesn’t diminish as she uses the cash register.

Money has nothing to do with it. Was Ray Charles not a musician until he got his first paid gig, or signed his first record deal?

It has everything to do with passion.

What would you still be doing even if no one were paying you to do it? There may lie your answer.

To the right: Phantasy Star 2 (Sega Genesis).

When you Google yourself, you expect to find yourself in at least a few places that you didn’t expect to be found.

What no one expects is for some idiot to treat their blog like it’s some pre-teen’s live journal and talk about you unkindly as if no one would ever know it was you. If someone were to do that, you’d at least expect them to try and hide who you are. Like say “this guy” or “someone I know…” or “…we’ll call him Bobalicious…”. If they still used, not just your first name, but your whole legal, given name, you’d figure they’d at least have a reason to… like some kind of vendetta. Maybe you keyed their car or slept with their sister. Maybe you kicked their dog.

What if all you did was try to be polite?

A friend of mine ran into someone she used to know. During the conversation, another old mutual friend came up. She asked how this friend was doing, what they were up to, and even took down their number. She did it just to be polite, never called the number, and didn’t even think about it again until much later.

Much later, she was playing everyone’s favorite internet game: Google myself!!

When she Googles herself, she gets a lot of results from people who are spell check impaired since her name is close enough to real words. There are other people with the same name. Nothing too noteworthy…

Then she found this (all misspellings, bad grammar, etc. I kept, but the names are ***ed out):

 
“So I wonder what’s gonna happen when ********** calls my cell-phone. Will I answe it? What would we ever have to talk about. Apparently we’ve been living in the same town for quite awhile- I wonder why she doesn’t ever come downtown. ***** said she looked the same, acted the same. It would be a shame if she’d never blossomed. Maybe she just still shy. I’m terrified of talking to her”

 
She was satisfied with telling her friends about it and us all saying ‘what an ass’, but I was a bit more pissed. I wanted to call that number and give this guy something to be terrified about.

Another friend did some reconnaissance and found the blog. I left a comment. I even left a link to my blog…

 
“So I wonder what’s gonna happen when ********** calls my cell-phone. Will I answe it?”

When? Don’t you mean if? Just because she was polite enough to ask for your number doesn’t mean she’ll call it, especially if you’re posting this.

“What would we ever have to talk about.”

Life? Is there really so little that has happened to you since you last spoke that you’d have nothing interesting to tell an old friend about?

“***** said she looked the same, acted the same. It would be a shame if she’d never blossomed.”

She still looks and acts like ****. Yeah, I know, too bad she didn’t conform to the way she should look or act.

“Maybe she just still shy. I’m terrified of talking to her.”

She’s shy but you’re terrified of talking? She’s like barely five feet tall and an openminded individual. Whatever she had to say, I bet it would have been nicer than what you had to say on the internet.

Well, no need to be afraid. I’m sure she won’t be calling you now.

 
I hope he reads it. I hope it makes him blush. I hope he then links to here and sees that I talked about it in my blog. I hope he then writes a follow up post either bad mouthing me or trying to defend himself.

Never blossomed? I’m sorry that we’re not all flowers or bloomin’ onions. We’re women who come into our own, but not exclusively in ways designed specifically to appeal to your own individual male sensibilities.

Look the same? Did he expect her to have a problem with not being a six foot blonde with a paper thin tummy and mushy melons? Did he expect plastic surgery on his behalf?


Sound the same? She’s always had interesting things to say and an amazing singing voice. Who should she sound like…

Him?

And all these conclusions are jumped to because he talked to someone who talked to her.

Is the terrifying thing that he may hear about how great she’s doing? She’ll tell him all the places she’s been and things she’s done, and he’ll feel small and empty and write about it on his blog. So instead of calling her, and judging for himself how this friend is doing, make a preemptive strike online. He belittles her so he can feel better about it when she calls. If she calls. She isn’t going to call him. Why would she?

He apparently has nothing much to say anyways.

I can’t sleep. Dada. Hiss. Moon in the window. My flower undies. Rocking yellow wicker. White soft sheets. Warm. Rocking. Yawn. Creak. Rocking chair.

The whiffle ball and bat are still in the car. They are brand new. I have to practice for when I’m older and can join the major leagues. I’m not even five yet, but Mom says it’s okay to go across the street to the car and get them. Mom gives me the keys. They’re in the back seat, so I have to unlock the door in the front because there’s no keyhole in the back. I can crawl in the back real easy, which is more fun and faster than unlocking the back door. I crawl back into the driver seat and decide to put my bat and ball in the passenger seat. I’m the driver. Vroom, vroom! I turn the wheel and peer over the dashboard. The wheel doesn’t move when the car is off, but I can pretend. I can see pretty good when I sit on my knees. Suddenly I’m not pretending. The trees are moving, and I’m going down the hill. I’m in so much trouble. I’m stopped and I don’t remember crashing into the tree. I’m in the yard again but Mom’s there and she’s screaming at me.

Meatloaf had five kittens. Then she had another four later. They seem kind of dirty to me and I think they need a bath. I asked the fishies if I could use their water. They don’t mind. There is a little light at the top of the tank so I can see the kitties swimming around. They’re having fun meowing and swimming around. Mom comes in and she’s mad. She’s drying the kitties and she won’t let me pet them, even though I asked. I said please.

You can run all the way from the kitchen, into the living room, into mom and dad’s room, and jump onto the bed. You can’t do it when mom’s sleeping during the day. You can’t do it when dad’s sleeping at night. But, when mom goes to work, then we can play roll ‘em! Dada rolls and we fall down if we don’t jump over him. He also has the recking-ball lemon-squeezer. It’s really just his cast and his leg. He’ll squeeze us if he can catch us, but he never catches me. I’m too fast.

When you are watching television and you turn it off or change the channel, why isn’t it the same thing you were watching when you turn it back on? Why can you do that with the movies as Grouchy Grandma’s house?

Chris said that if I pick up all his baseball cards for him, then I get to keep them. He really doesn’t want to clean his room. So, I pick up every single card, even the ones under his bed which smells like pee. After I’m done, he laughs at me and takes the box of cards. I put my hands on my hips and tell him that he’d better give me them or I’ll call the police on him. He laughs. Dada walks into the doorway. He tells Chris to give me the cards. He tells Chris not to make deals he can’t keep. Don’t be an Indian-giver.

It’s in the middle of the night and I’m creeping out of my bedroom and into the kitchen. Dada is in the living room next door, so I can see a little. I crawl onto a chair and then the kitchen table. There’s almost a whole stick of butter in the dish. Midnight snack. I make it back to my bed undetected.

When Dada helps me change clothes, he tells me to lift up my arms so he can take my shirt off. Sometimes he doesn’t do it all the way and the shirt is stuck on my head. He tells me I have a nice hat.

We live in a triple decker which means there are people living upstairs. One of the people is boy older than me. He’s as old as my brother, but he’s not like my brother. He hates my brother and together we make fun of him. Sometimes though he plays with my brother instead and they make fun of me. They can both say the alphabet faster than me. They say that means that they’re smarter.

I’m playing pretty ponies and little people when my brother opens the door and farts. He closes the door and runs away laughing.

Every once in a great while my dad smokes a cigar. I don’t like the smell, especially when it gets in my room, but it’s funny when he puts it in the plastic Halloween pumpkin’s mouth. The pumpkin looks funny smoking.

On one side of the triple-decker there is a bank-in. It’s steep, with trees, but then gets flat again at the bottom. We’re not supposed to play there, but we do. We even have a fort. Chris doesn’t play fair, though. Chris only has fun if I’m not having any. He’s laughing in the bank-in. I’m at the top. I’m going to go tell mom and dad, but they won’t do anything. If I scare him so we won’t laugh at me again. I find a rock I can barely lift. I throw it next to him, down the bank-in. It’s heavy, but the slope helps. It hits his head. He falls down. He screams. I stand at the top of the bank-in. I just watch him scream. My parents come and take him, yell at me. No one believes that I didn’t mean to hit him.

We have a stone wall in the back running along the apartment. It is between the side of the yard where the swing set is and the side of the yard with the bank-in. The wall has a bit of ground at the top of it, then a fence that separates us from another apartment. Sometimes we climb up and sit there. Is being off the wall when you are on the wall and jump off? The jumping doesn’t last very long and it’s not very high up. I don’t get it.

Mom says that we are human beans. God is not a human bean, though. He is just a bean. I don’t think that makes sense. I think he’s kind of like a cloud that looks like the face of a man, the man in the moon. What do we have to do with beans? What kind of beans?

When Chris is mean to me I tell him I’m going to call the police on him. Sometimes he believes me and stops being mean. He doesn’t believe me this time, so I pick up the phone to call the police. I put it to my ear and a man’s voice says, “This is the police.” I scream and put down the phone. Dad comes in laughing. It was him on the other phone. I didn’t know you could do that.

“I’d love to hang out, but I need to wash my hair… all day… and until later this evening. You know, lather, rinse, and repeat? Maybe some other time.”

“But, you’re the one who said we should hang out. You even picked the day!”

“Well, I did, but that was until I got so busy with paying attention to my hair follicles. Sorry!”

This person got off light. I got a non-specific vague implication of suddenly being busy. So, I’m supposed to be sad, sit at home and eat ice cream, waiting until this person says they want to hang out again, right? Instead I make other plans.

I also let it out to a few friends who all have had a similar experiences recently.

“That happened to me the other day. So-and-so who I haven’t seen in forever calls me out of the blue and we make plans. The morning before I leave to meet her, she’s all *cough* *cough* ‘I don’t feel so well’ *cough*.”

“What’s that? It just makes you never want to have anything to do with them again.”

“Exactly. Just don’t make plans in the first place. Or tell the truth.”

“Yeah, at that point the truth is not going to have a worse effect.”

I’m a little annoyed at and confused by humanity. Why can’t people say what they mean?

It makes me feel like attempted communication with most people is useless, because there’s no actual connection being made. A bunch of words spew out, you think you are on the same page, and instead you’re a million miles apart. Every once in awhile something spectacular happens and someone actually picks up what you’re putting down. You both hold onto it, run with it, and friendships are born. With all the bullshit people say and do, it’s a minor miracle.

It’s a full out miracle when it stays for the long haul. I am lucky to have a handful of friends that fall into that category.

I’m unlucky that they don’t live close by.

I’ve been a bit hard on myself lately that I don’t have the ‘buddies’ to hang out with in this area that I once had. I haven’t lived here for over five years and people have moved, moved on, changed phone numbers, changed emails, and lost touch- sometimes even fallen out. In addition, this area of the United States of America contains people with a particular attitude on friendship and communication. I grew up here. If you want to be close, you’re clingy. If you’re open, you’re a freak. Being distant is cool. Meanwhile, in college I got used to asking friends if they wanted to go to the grocery store together. I’d get calls asking if I wanted to hang out and do laundry together. I could show up at someone’s door and call up ‘Lemme in!’ and be invited to stick around for dinner.

Life is short, and people around here are spending it being standoffish. In Maine and Virgina I became close to people quickly. We found one connection and ran with it. We found joy in getting lost in the car together or driving around nowhere all night knowing exactly where we were.

I am sad because those friends are still out there, but they’re too far away. I’m sad because I did have a few people here that it took me my whole childhood to find. And they have since scattered or fallen out of view. I drive by those places and have a fit of stir-crazy nostalgia.

Moving is a terribly hard adjustment, and I’m finding that moving back after being gone so terribly long is even worse. Everything is a comparison. Everything bares a past bias that is hard to shake. When I moved back, I was hoping my views of this area were youthfully prejudicial. I hate it that I was right all those years growing up. It’s worse now that I’ve lived other places and seen that other people are like me in their approach to people and friendship.

I have plans next weekend with an old friend, and I know we will be hanging out unless there is an act of god. I know if something comes up, the truth will be told and we’ll see again soon.

I’m pissed at humanity, but grateful to my friends. Here’s to them.

Follow up posts:
Wednesday Night

Historical posts:
Communication Technology