14th March, 2002.

"I hate this form! I think you were right -"

Hold that pose while I get a camera to capture the moment. Or a taxidermist.
" - they didn't give any thought to what anyone actually needed to do with it, and just made up one that matched what they needed and didn't take anyone else into consideration!"

I said that? I seem to say a lot of things I don't remember saying. Are you sure it really was me and not just the Voices again?

"Well actually the form works for 95% of the people in the building. It just doesn't work for us, which is why they let us use the workaround we came up with when you raised this [ranted about this] last time. Just print off our version like we did for the last six orders, staple the official form to the front like we did for the last six orders, and write see attached on it. Like we did for THE LAST SIX ORDERS."

"The form's completely useless!"

Damn, too late for the taxidermist. Normal service has been resumed.

"What are we going to do? Can we get a database developer in to modify the database so it can print out the form when we generate an order request?"

"We don't need to do that. We just use the workaround that's already been approved, that requires minimal fuss, and that doesn't require a couple of thousand dollars worth of modifications to the database. It's not a problem. We've already dealt with the form's limitations and have been given the official OK to do it this way."

"This form's no good at all! Why didn't they consult us before they brought it in to use?"

Gee, I don't know. Maybe because they've met you?

"How are we going to raise this order when our database system just doesn't use the same format as this form?"

I abandon my efforts to convince her that she's met and overcome this hiccup before. Clearly it's time for some decisive action. "Okay, what we'll do is just print off the standard form we use, staple their form to the front with the appropriate signatures and write see attached in the rest of the fields."

"I guess that's all we can do, isn't it? Are you sure that will work?"

"Trust me."

Cow-orker returns to her desk (and I congratulate myself for the thousandth time for having the foresight to hide the spare chair) and before she can think of any fresh objections I'm out the door and on my way for a sanity break.

---

Cow-orker insisted on coming along to a presentation that had nothing to do with her and which was dealing with things she doesn't fully grasp.

Unsurprisingly her main contribution was to extol the virtues of her Spawn to a pair of complete strangers, who I'm sure don't mind flying interstate to hear how not only can an eighteen-month old child walk and say single words, but it can pinch toys from other children, too, because "she's spoiled rotten".

That, incidentally, is one of the reasons the Cow-orker is giving for having another child - somehow it will prevent the incumbent Spawn from becoming even more spoilt. Because de-regulation has worked so well in so many other arenas, after all...

---

"Why won't the systems security guys tell me what kind of data they look after for people?"

"Because you don't need to know."

This is a recurring issue - Cow-orker doesn't deal well with working in a "need to know" environment. She wants to know everything that's happening, even if it's totally unrelated to her. This in itself wouldn't be a problem, except that not only does the additional information drives out the stuff she does need to know, she makes wild extrapolations based on things she's not familiar with and doesn't have enough discretion not to run around sharing her conclusions with everyone.

"But why do they want it encrypted? What can they have that's so important? I don't understand why they're being so paranoid!"

"It's their job, for one thing. They get a lot of information from external clients about their computer security setup, the type of data they have, how it's stored and encrypted, where it's stored... You know - confidential stuff."

"But why won't they tell me? What's the big deal?"

Repeat after me: "Their job. Computer security. Confidential information. Corporate clients. Government clients. *Law enforcement* clients. Non-disclosure agreements. Breach of contract." Any of this making sense yet? Now leave me alone!

"I asked him straight out what sort of data they were protecting, and he just danced around the issue!"

No, actually, he told you everything I just told you. What did you think he was going to do? People's tax file numbers? Their financial details? Criminal records?

"I don't understand why they're being so paranoid about all this!"

At last the phone rings - saved! When it becomes clear that it's not going to be a quick call, and with no place to sit down and wait, the Cow-orker decides to call a supplier and tell them her troubles instead.

Either our suppliers don't have Caller ID, or they really value our business.

---

12th March, 2002. 

The Cow-orker is on a maternal kick at the moment which is threatening to reach crisis proportions. There are only so many times you can have the same picture of the same unattractive child waved in your face before you have to start biting your lip to refrain from denouncing the baby as having a face like a collagen-injected Pug, and hair like Harpo Marx.

11th March, 2002.

I was warned, but I didn't listen and was struck down by Cow-orker foot odour whilst on my coffee break. Next time I'll know better and heed the warnings of others.

8th March, 2002.

The Orker-of-Cows is still absent, but in the three and a half days I've been answering her phone I've made an interesting discovery: she gets only three or four work-related phone calls a day. No more. Which makes her feat of spending half the day on the phone telling strangers everything they never needed to know about the inner workings of our organisation (and her family) all the more remarkable. It's one thing to be aware that she's spending a lot of time on the phone that has nothing to do with work; it's another entirely to find out just how much time that actually is.

It's starting to look like she really doesn't have anything to do during the day except talk loudly down the phone and annoy me.

6th March, 2002.

Woo-hoo! A Cow-orker free day! And I was feeling especially fragile this morning, too. I can't believe how much my mood has improved just from the absence of one person.

The concern of my workmates is touching - one of them has offered to come over to my desk and start babbling at me if I feel lonely, which made me and my manager laugh out loud, so obviously everyone's enjoying the holiday spirit of the day.

---

Gone but not forgotten...

My manager and I spent several minutes revisiting some of the Cow-orker highlights of the last year or so ("Cow-orker Classics", I suppose you could call them). My manager hadn't heard about some of the more surreal efforts and laughed so hard he was crying. For my part, I was alerted to some things that had escaped my notice up until now, such as the Cow-orker's propensity for wearing too-revealing clothes in the most inappropriate circumstances (and with the most inappropriate body posture), and the threat of lethal foot odour. Now I know to be doubly careful when the Cow-orker kicks back and puts her feet up on the desk.

Workplace bonding is a wonderful thing.

5th March, 2002.

Eeeuuhh!!! Cow-orker discussing intimate medical issues with her doctor over the phone. Too much detail!!!

---

Eeeewwww!!! Eeeeewwwwwwwwww!!!! Stop it!!!!!!! An hour of this is way more than I should have to put up with!

---

Prescription sunglasses, you say? And they're called that because they're sunglasses that have prescription lenses in them? How extraordinary! And the prescription is the same one you use in your regular, indoor glasses? The world is just full of amazing coincidences, isn't it? And you say that looking through them is just like looking through your normal glasses, but everything's darker? Well who'd have thought that tinted lenses would do such a thing. And yes, while you're at it, please tell me all about your health-care plan... It's only my lunch break, and it isn't like I was planning to go away from my desk and eat or anything...

1st March, 2002.

Hooray. The Cow-orker has finally realised that she needs to document how to do her job so that when people aren't here they can see what she does all day. Either that or (more likely) our manager has finally managed to impress upon her that telling us "everything you need to know is in Outlook" is inadequate. Now she's complaining about having to do a massive catch-up job on something she's been avoiding doing for years.

I'm particularly looking forward to reading the chapter on "Annoying The Crap Out Of The Person I'm Supposed To Be Assisting", if only to see how closely her processes confirm to her practices.

---

An exchange between the Cow-orker and a workmate who happened to be passing through our area. Cow-orker has just discovered that this workmate can convert numbers to binary figures in his head:

"Wow, that's amazing! Anyone else would just go and look it up, or use a calculator! No-one actually tries to work things out for themselves anymore these days, they just want to be spoon-fed everything."

She looks back at her work briefly, before shouting across the room to me.

"Hey! Whereabouts do I find this client in our searchable database?"