ninanevermore (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ninanevermore) wrote2008-09-30 03:40 pm
ninanevermore) wrote2008-09-30 03:40 pm
Entry tags:
Tuesday – The Backlog
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I stopped by to talk with The Carney, a.k.a. the Angel of Death, the other night, to see what was up with him. I've been neglecting everyone and everything in my life of late, with the possible exception of my job. For something that gives me so little money or personal satisfaction, I sure do spend a lot of time doing it. The backlog that started in August when I took my trip to California, then got bigger at the start of September when I took a couple of days vacation, grew exponentially when hurricane Ike forced me to stay at home for a week. I am officially drowning in paperwork.
Turns out, The Carney knows a thing or two about backlogs. His own makes mine look like nothing.
"Cry me a river," The Carney said, his teeth clenched around his cheap cigarette, "Everyone's got more on their plate than they can handle. Don't think I'm any exception."
"How hard could your job be?" I asked, "Can't you just stop the ride and let lot's of people off at once if you have to?"
"The ride is just a visual metaphor, baby girl, to help you understand how things work. The truth behind the metaphor is more complicated. The way things are looking, it could take me another millennium to work through my backlog."
I was skeptical. "People die all the time. You don't seem so backed up to me."
He raised one eyebrow at me and gave a sad chuckle. "Look at the evidence: people used to live to be about 30 years old on average. Nowadays, people are living to their 80's and beyond in some places. I'm 50 years behind in my workload! Who cares about your little reports that were supposed to go out a couple of weeks ago? Image being 50 years behind in your reports, only to have 250 little reports being born and added to the stack every minute. "
"That sucks," I agreed. "Maybe our bosses can send in a couple of temps to help us out." Being over 30, I was silently hoping his boss wouldn't, but as a friend I felt I needed to sound sympathetic.
The Carney sighed. "They send in Fate once in awhile and she does what she can. She arranged that tsunami a few years back, and that helped me quite a bit. She spawns a couple of hurricanes now and then, but most people high tail it out of the danger zone, so those don't do as much for me as they used to. Now back in 1900 she sent a whopper that almost washed Galveston off the map, but that was the last hurricane I would call a success. These days they do a lot of property damage, but the death tolls almost never get up above the triple digits."
"Four hundred people are missing after Ike," I said, trying to cheer him up.
"Yeah, I found most of them. Four hundred isn't enough to get me caught up or anything, but God bless people who get told there's a 20 foot wall of water headed for them, and they decide to stick around and see how bad it can be. I'd be lying if I said they didn't make my job easier."
"Well, there you go," I said, raising my diet Mountain Dew in a toast, "Here's to the fool hardy and overly optimistic: they kept Death from getting too behind in his workload."
He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, "They're some of my favorite people, second only to women crazy enough to make social calls on the Angel of Death."
"Don't flatter yourself too much," I told him, but I could feel myself blush, "With my drive and my hours, I'm hard up for friends these days. I'm not in a position to turn down anyone's friendship, no matter what they do for a living. That that you operate a carnival ride and harvest souls isn't enough to make me not want to hang with you."
I paused. "Man, my life is pathetic."
The Carney lit a new cigarette, and we grinned at each other through the haze of the smoke that danced with the reflections of the lights of the Ferris Wheel.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
.
.
I stopped by to talk with The Carney, a.k.a. the Angel of Death, the other night, to see what was up with him. I've been neglecting everyone and everything in my life of late, with the possible exception of my job. For something that gives me so little money or personal satisfaction, I sure do spend a lot of time doing it. The backlog that started in August when I took my trip to California, then got bigger at the start of September when I took a couple of days vacation, grew exponentially when hurricane Ike forced me to stay at home for a week. I am officially drowning in paperwork.
Turns out, The Carney knows a thing or two about backlogs. His own makes mine look like nothing.
"Cry me a river," The Carney said, his teeth clenched around his cheap cigarette, "Everyone's got more on their plate than they can handle. Don't think I'm any exception."
"How hard could your job be?" I asked, "Can't you just stop the ride and let lot's of people off at once if you have to?"
"The ride is just a visual metaphor, baby girl, to help you understand how things work. The truth behind the metaphor is more complicated. The way things are looking, it could take me another millennium to work through my backlog."
I was skeptical. "People die all the time. You don't seem so backed up to me."
He raised one eyebrow at me and gave a sad chuckle. "Look at the evidence: people used to live to be about 30 years old on average. Nowadays, people are living to their 80's and beyond in some places. I'm 50 years behind in my workload! Who cares about your little reports that were supposed to go out a couple of weeks ago? Image being 50 years behind in your reports, only to have 250 little reports being born and added to the stack every minute. "
"That sucks," I agreed. "Maybe our bosses can send in a couple of temps to help us out." Being over 30, I was silently hoping his boss wouldn't, but as a friend I felt I needed to sound sympathetic.
The Carney sighed. "They send in Fate once in awhile and she does what she can. She arranged that tsunami a few years back, and that helped me quite a bit. She spawns a couple of hurricanes now and then, but most people high tail it out of the danger zone, so those don't do as much for me as they used to. Now back in 1900 she sent a whopper that almost washed Galveston off the map, but that was the last hurricane I would call a success. These days they do a lot of property damage, but the death tolls almost never get up above the triple digits."
"Four hundred people are missing after Ike," I said, trying to cheer him up.
"Yeah, I found most of them. Four hundred isn't enough to get me caught up or anything, but God bless people who get told there's a 20 foot wall of water headed for them, and they decide to stick around and see how bad it can be. I'd be lying if I said they didn't make my job easier."
"Well, there you go," I said, raising my diet Mountain Dew in a toast, "Here's to the fool hardy and overly optimistic: they kept Death from getting too behind in his workload."
He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, "They're some of my favorite people, second only to women crazy enough to make social calls on the Angel of Death."
"Don't flatter yourself too much," I told him, but I could feel myself blush, "With my drive and my hours, I'm hard up for friends these days. I'm not in a position to turn down anyone's friendship, no matter what they do for a living. That that you operate a carnival ride and harvest souls isn't enough to make me not want to hang with you."
I paused. "Man, my life is pathetic."
The Carney lit a new cigarette, and we grinned at each other through the haze of the smoke that danced with the reflections of the lights of the Ferris Wheel.