Jeffrey D. Tharp's Blog, page 13

What Annoys Jeff this Week?

1. Management. I spent the better part of a year beating on AFGE 1904 when they were standing between me and a perfectly acceptable new telework agreement. Don’t think for a minute that I won’t give management the same treatment now that they’re the ones dragging their feet. The new policy was signed and went into force on August 4th. We waited while management called a huddle on the 8th and then dropped our updated packets that afternoon… to be told to wait, hold up, management still has some details to work out. Here we are two weeks later with no word on when or if our little office might decide to comply with the approved organization-wide policy… or any explanation for what’s actually holding up the works this time. Management had almost a year of knowing 95% of what was going to be in this new and improved policy, but from where I’m sitting, it appears to have taken them entirely by surprise and without any plan for how it might work when they were told to execute. File that under disappointing, but not in any way surprising. Until they get around to doing the right thing, I’ll continue to take this and every other opportunity to poke the bear.

2. Rice cooker. I’ve been a long time fan of what is commonly called whole grain – white rice, brown rice, barley, oats. It features on the menu a fair number of times a month – even if only to serve as a bed to sop up whatever sauce comes along with the meal. It’s become more prevalent recently… and I finally gave in and purchased a dedicated rice cooker after many years of grousing that a stand alone machine for rice was just an appliance on the kitchen counter that I didn’t need because doing things on the stove top was perfectly fine. It turns out I was absolutely wrong. That stupid rice cooker is a game changer. I’m both annoyed that I was wrong and that it took me literal years to find that out.

3. Failure to read and comprehend. For the last five or so years, whenever I have been in the office, one of my “key duties” has been to push the button to open the door into our office area. To date, I’ve pushed the button approximately 770 times. The damned bell that rings when someone wants into the area is the kind of obnoxious that you end up occasionally hearing it in your sleep. The good news is that (sometimes) procedures change. For instance, we’re no longer supposed to push the button when people want into the room. Now there’s a much more convoluted procedure they need to go through that doesn’t involve a bell in any way. We sent out a memo… and even put up a large sign, neither of which anyone seems to have read, because now we just have a vestibule full of people grousing about not being allowed inside. Expecting anyone to read and follow directions is probably a bridge too far, so I expect we’ll be back to being glorified doormen before long at all. Whatever. It would just be nice, though, if people occasionally did a little reading for comprehension.

Editorial Note: We were, in fact, back to being glorified doormen less than 24 hours after I wrote up this week’s third annoyance. 

Flying trees…

There was a formerly magnificent oak tree in the back yard that was dying for as long as I’ve had the house. Its leaves always looked a little battered and brittle and its canopy considerably thinner than its immediate neighbors. Four years ago one of its main limbs plunged into the yard while I was eating dinner on a summer Saturday night. Anyone under it would have had an awfully bad day.

That was worrisome, but the rest of the tree looked to be in decent enough shape and without any more obviously dead branches. This spring’s drought, it seems, was more than the old girl could take. It stood there showing shades of nothing but brown since sometime in early June. Once this particular tree came down, it was obvious that sometime in the last decade it was lightning struck. The scorch marks around the top of the trunk were plain – and it had a six-inch hollow from nearly root to crown. It was going to come down sooner rather than later whether it was planned or not. 

A dead tree in the woods isn’t necessarily cause for worry in and of itself. This one, though, had a bit of an awkward lean to it. In that condition, I expect it could easily have toppled directly on seven or eight segments of split rail fence that I didn’t especially want to replace. It also overhung one of Jorah’s favorite spots in the yard. I like the idea of replacing him even less than the thought of replacing a big section of fencing. 

That’s all a lot of lead up to say that I hired an arborist to deal with what was well beyond my own scope and abilities as a homeowner. Over the course of a day, his team took down the dead oak as well as a living one that hung precariously over the garage. They also cleared out several smaller trees that all overhung my bedroom. Due to their problematic locations, nearly every cut was tied off and hoisted by crane – some to be disposed of naturally in the woods and some to be hauled off site.

Each lift weighed in somewhere around 3000 pounds according to the crane operator. Having a ton and half of dead weight flying over the house all afternoon was, in a word, unsettling. It absolutely unlocked a brand new variety of homeowner fear. I hate the idea of taking down perfectly healthy trees, but after seeing how big these oaks are once they were on the ground, the thought of any of them landing on the house is nightmare fuel. 

If you’re envisioning a small project, I’m not describing it properly. In fact, it’s likely only the first third of what we’ll end up doing over the next two or three years to beat back the trees that have encroached on the house since the building site was cleared 23 years ago. This year we took on the worst offenders – those trees or parts thereof that were deemed most likely to fall directly on my head.

It’s not the home improvement project I had planned to take on or budgeted for this year, but once you’ve committed to having a crane set up in the front yard, it feels like you should make the most of it being there. At least I know again this year why I won’t be going anywhere that even hints of a vacation. Hopefully the tree guy at least goes somewhere fun. 

What Annoys Jeff this Week?

Donald Trump. Do I honestly even need to add any additional commentary here? The man is a sociopathic threat to the republic. And even if he weren’t, putting forward the argument that West Virginia is the proper venue for his impending trial for attempting to overthrow the government because the jury there would be more “politically unbiased” and demographically balanced and “more diverse” borders on laughable. Or it would if he and his legal team weren’t serious. I have a huge soft spot for West Virginia. I grew up within spitting distance of the south bank of the Potomac, but it’s hard to imagine a more thinly veiled argument for moving his trial. The crimes Mr. Trump is accused of took place in DC and there his trial should stay. Let his lawyers challenge jurors “for cause” rather than shamelessly hoping to find a more politically favorable group of twelve.

Low salt. Before the cardiologist got a chance to yell at me, I’d already started casting out salt. Salad dressings, sauces, just about every recipe I’ve mastered over 20 years, even my beloved giant burrito should be on the forbidden list. So far nothing tastes good. There’s a limit to how much bland stir fry one should be expected to endure. Food should be a joy. Now it’s more something to jam into my face as quickly as possible in hopes I don’t taste much of it. No, it’s not the end of the world and yes, I’ll probably eventually strike on some recipes that aren’t awful, but I’m feeling just a little bit sorry for myself and that might just be the most annoying thing possible.

Management. With the new telework policy signed, management is having entirely predictable trouble with figuring out how to implement this thing they’ve known was coming for almost a year. I’ll illustrate. The policy was published by the executive office on Friday. Wait, wait. Don’t do anything until the directorate has a meeting about it on Tuesday. Fine, you might think. Sit through the Tuesday meeting, get the guidance in person and then send your package in for what should theoretically be simple review and approval as long as you crossed through all the appropriate wickets. No. Now we’re on pause waiting for additional guidance and determinations to be made at the “branch” level, because there’s “more information” to put out and analysis needed.  Maybe more info and analysis is the sort of thing that should have had some academic rigor applied before the thing hit the street instead of piecemealing it out after the fact. Just get on with it. Continuing to bottle this up isn’t winning management any new friends. And their old ones are getting awfully skeptical. If you had almost a year of knowing 90% of what was coming and then seem to be confused and befuddled when it finally lands on your desk, shame on you.

Good news… it wasn’t a heart attack…

There are, as you know, things that I don’t discuss on social media. It’s an old fashioned notion, even sharing as much as I do, that some things at least ought to remain private. I say that only to note that what follows is an incomplete telling of the tale. The salient points, however, are unmolested.

My trouble started on a Wednesday night. I wasn’t doing anything more dramatic than sitting in the living room watching TV after dinner. Out of nowhere, my heart revved up to a roaring gallop and stayed there. No pain. No trouble breathing. No light headedness. I’ve never understood what people meant when they said they experienced an impending feeling of doom. I do now though. All in, the trouble lasted maybe an hour or 90 minutes before it began subsiding.

After first trying to power through it and then consulting the family medical professional, I eventually conceded that it was probably something I needed to have checked out. Shortly thereafter, I was being given the once over at the local emergency department, where they quickly ruled out a heart attack and monitored me for four hours before sending me on my way.

The next night, same time, same place, same experience. Well, not quite. It wasn’t as bad and didn’t last as long. It was still deeply disturbing and I spent the rest of the night felling like absolute trash.

By Friday morning, I still felt decidedly “off,” for lack of a better description. I later described it as feeling like someone had filled my head with wool and then pressurized it. I knew if I called for emergency services they’d just dump me back where I had been on Wednesday night. That wasn’t an especially comforting thought.

Whether it was entirely advisable or not, I drove myself over to the “main campus” facility of the local hospital system. After many of the same tests given to me two days earlier, but finally having met with two cardiologists, they confirmed that I wasn’t having and didn’t have a heart attack. Their most likely diagnosis was supraventricular tachycardia (SVT) – essentially a (probably) not life-threatening electrical problem in one of the upper chambers of my heart that can cause an erratic heartbeat.

They prescribed some new meds to slow my heart rate and scheduled me in for a proper cardiology appointment after which I assume we’ll start the full battery of diagnostic tests and determine a long-term treatment plan. My first proper cardiology appointment is later this week. 

I haven’t had any more incidents, but I spent the better part of a week feeling entirely wrung out. If it wasn’t for needing to feed the herd, it’s hard to say how little I’d have forced myself up off the couch. All told it was every bit of two weeks before my head stopped feeling wooly and I was able to concentrate for any length of time. Even the meds they gave me as a temporary expedient aren’t entirely benign. Over the last week or so a couple of side effects have gotten more pronounced and working with the medicos to get that dialed in has been significantly less than fun.

Look, I’m thrilled that the diagnosis is “not a heart attack,” but going into the second month of feeling like warm trash isn’t exactly the summer adventure I envisioned for 2023. I’ll know soon enough if this week marks the end of the beginning or if just kicks us right back to go. Given the abuse I’ve hurled at my body for 45 years, I should probably be impressed that it’s just now starting to seriously object. I only wish the good times would last a little longer. That not being the case, we’ll just have to play the ball from where it lies.

What Annoys Jeff this Week?

1. The end of a long-running gag. Forty-four weeks after the new telework policy for supervisors (that was also supposed to be the new telework policy for employees) was published, my employer and AFGE Local 1904 were finally forced into terms by the Federal Service Impasses Panel. In their Solomonic judgement, the best solution was to split the baby. Rest assured I’ll cover that in more detail in a separate post. That said, the inability of the union and my employer to find their ass with two hands and a flashlight has featured in the lead off position of What Annoys Jeff this Week for the last 40 weeks. While I am pleased that a separate government entity has finally forced them to come to terms, I’m just a little bit sad that it’s a regular and recurring crutch I won’t have to lean on week after week. As I have yet to learn how my employer will choose to actually implement this newly imposed policy, though, I can’t help but believe we haven’t seen the last of telework being a prominent topic on Thursdays. 

2. Bad chicken. It’s not unusual for me to load up the crockpot on a telework day and cook up a dish I can eat multiple meals from over the course of the week. What’s helpful in doing that, though, is when the chicken I’m about to use isn’t something that should have been taken off the shelves a week before I bought it. Look, I absolutely blame the retailer here. There’s absolutely no reason poultry should be anywhere near a consumer a full week after its sell by date. That’s just absolutely shitty staff work. It would be easy to think about taking this rancid mess over to the customer service desk, but ultimately, I’m the one who picked it up, looked it over, and mistook the “9” for a 19. In the spirit of personal responsibility, I’m going to proverbially eat the $11 loss and heave the chicken parts over the fence in hopes some of the local wildlife won’t gag from it the way I did when I opened the package.

3. New meds. As part of the initial treatment for my suspected tachycardia, the doctors prescribed a new pill. I know there are a lot of people who object to being on medication of any kind, but I’m a big believer in better living through chemistry. If my issues can be mitigated with a pill, just tell me when to take it. To some degree that’s what they’ve done. One of the inconvenient side effects, though, is that in addition to driving my pulse down, it’s also got me feeling like my brain is operating at about 70% of normal speed. I’m still perfectly competent and can do everything I could do previously, but thinking it through takes a little longer. Even if we assume for the moment that this little white pill is doing what it’s supposed to be doing, I’m absolutely not a fan. Fortunately, I’m told it’s one of those side effects that should wear off once my body is fully accustomed to its new chemical make up. After a month, I’m still finding that some days are better than others, so file it firmly under “we’ll see.” 

An entirely unplanned month of down time…

Some of you may have noticed that I basically took the entire month of July away from posting here. I didn’t exactly give up writing – my proverbial cup of post it notes and electronic memory aids runneth over. Whether anything will eventually become of those snippets remains to be determined.

When I started off this self-imposed sabbatical, I was wading through a health issue that left me decidedly unmotivated and challenged my ability to string together any kind of coherent paragraph. My attention span for a couple of weeks was just about nil. I doubt I could have written well with either a proverbial or literal gun to my head. Instead of forcing the issue and inevitably being frustrated by the results, I opted to just not.

What I wasn’t going to do here was half ass my way through it. That’s the kind of thing you reserve for writing you have to do – like in the office. It’s not the way you treat a blog you’ve been tinkering around with for well over a decade. If I couldn’t give it a fair shake, I’d much rather just bide my time until I was in a better and more editorially competent head space. 

There are still days when I feel I’ve mostly got cotton between my ears, but I’m happy to say that I do seem to be over the initial hump. I’ll give you a bit more information on that next time, but for now suffice to say that I’m feeling mostly like myself again. More importantly, I feel like the words aren’t a constant struggle to get down on the page.

Back in early July, when I made the decision to take a pause, I was afraid I’d miss the day-to-day rhythm of these posts. I missed the writing to be sure, but it turns out I didn’t miss the self-imposed daily deadlines. Knowing that, I’m taking the daily deadlines off the table for the time being and intentionally scaling back from five posts a week to a more manageable schedule of posting on Monday and Thursday (with the inevitable extra thrown in when the mood or breaking news begs for something more immediate). 

I’ll be keeping What Annoys Jeff This Week? as a regular Thursday feature. Monday’s post will be the usual wide-ranging sort, but hopefully will make use of the extra time to flesh out ideas a little more fully and exert some additional editorial control over the final products. As time and other circumstances allow, I fully expect to bring more days back into the schedule over the coming months. For now, I want to use this as an opportunity to focus on improving quality versus simply hitting quantity goals.

So, as we prepare to slip into August, I’m pleased to be back and eager to begin once again dispensing full-throated snark into the void.

Temporary pause…

If you’re going to write a lot, reading a lot just comes with the territory. It follows that since I’ve written a lot of blog posts, I’ve also read a lot of them written by other people. I’ve been enchanted by a number of blogs over the years. The single most frustrating thing about many of them is sometimes they sort of stop without any rhyme or reason. The stories these people tell just end. It’s deeply unsatisfying and I can’t help but wonder what series of events led someone who may have been so committed to posting regularly for years to suddenly stop.

This isn’t a post to say I’m suddenly stopping. It is, however, a post to say I’m going to take a (hopefully) brief pause. Maybe a week or two. Maybe a little longer.

My intent is to get back at it as soon as I’m feeling like I can give the written word the kind of attention I’ve always believed it deserves. The effort is worth a lot more mental horsepower than I’m currently feeling able to put in. So yeah, I’m giving it a temporary rest.

Not to worry, though. My notes pages are already filling up with dribs and drabs that will be the kernels of future posts. Given the state of the world and the inevitably of bumping up against human stupidity, I’m sure I’ll feel the undeniable urge to rage about something sooner rather than later. I’d just like to be able to do it when I’ve got a little less brain fog and a lot more ability to focus on fine details. 

In the meantime, you’ve got almost 4,000 old posts ranging all the way back to 2006 sitting here, so don’t be afraid to dig around the archives a little. Some of what’s buried there are real gems.

What Annoys Jeff this Week?

1. AFGE Local 1904. Here we are 39 weeks past the “end of max telework” and the union, such as it is, still hasn’t come through on delivering the new and improved telework agreement. Now, I’m told, the alleged negotiation has gone so far sideways that it’s been sent to binding arbitration. Resolution to that could literally take years. So, we’re going to be grinding along for the foreseeable future with only two days a week like pre-COVID barbarians… as if 30 months of operating nearly exclusively through telework didn’t prove that working from home works. All this is ongoing while hearing stories of other organizations tucked in next door that are offering their people four or five day a week work from home options. I’m sure someone could make the case that there’s enough blame to go around, but since the updated and perfectly acceptable policy for supervisors was published 39 weeks ago, I’m going to continue to go ahead and put every bit of blame on Local 1904 for failing to deliver for their members (and those of us who they “represent” against our will) and for continuing to stand in the way like some bloody great, utterly misguided roadblock. No one’s interest is served by their continued intransigence. The elected “leaders” of AFGE Local 1904 should be embarrassed and ashamed of themselves.

2. Seeking approval. I needed approval on a concept package back on June 7th. That wasn’t my date, randomly pulled from the ether. That was the date echelons higher than reality said they needed it. Being a good staff officer, I did some backwards planning and placed the full package into our fancy automated senior leader review process on the 17th of May. That left 21 days – a full 3 weeks for them to review, object, make changes, or request substitutions. Not surprisingly, three weeks came and went with only radio silence. Two more weeks passed. Now we’re in Day 36 of review and two weeks past the deadline and finally word has trickled down that upon careful review, they want wholesale changes that bare little to no resemblance to what was sent in for perusal. Fine. I’m going to look like a dipshit when I send this along to the people who were expecting it way back in early June. This is the kind of thing that should be dead easy simple, but somehow every year turns into its very own fiasco. I don’t know why I expected this year’s effort to drag things across the finish line to be any different. 

3. Mail order pharmacy. I’ve been getting my meds through mail-order for years. Mostly it works reasonably well. My most recent refill order did not. The website said no, sorry, it can’t be done and referred me over to the 800 “customer service” phone number. I gamely called customer service, to be notified by the automated system that my request had been received and was processing. So now I have one automated system saying a refill is too hard to do and one saying that everything is good to go. It’s hard not to appreciate that level of consistency. The actual human person I was able to talk to after repeatedly screaming “representative” at the phone assured me that they order had been processed and would be in the outgoing mail by the end of the day. It’s supposed to arrive tomorrow, but I’ll believe it when I see it.

Getting pumped…

Living in town isn’t without its conveniences. Someone else handles the details of getting water to your house and getting waste water away from it. Here in the woods, though, I’m on the hook for making sure those things are happening from day-to-day. 

Incoming water was a major project last year – dealing with sand intrusion and raising the well pump, swapping out the filtration medium (twice), and battling an insect infestation. Today, I’m tackling a bit of preventative maintenance on the outbound side. Of course, by “tackling,” I mean I’m writing a check while someone else pumps down the septic tank and inspects the works. 

Growing up, “drain fields” were exactly that – large open stretches of ground where the drain tile was laid and we were strictly forbidden from planting anything other than grass or driving over with anything heavier than a lawn tractor. The drain field was sacrosanct. As a kind, I remember endless conversations about where, exactly, the boundaries of these fields were located. Here, though, the drain field runs directly out into the woods. According to the paperwork it’s eight feet down and all on the up and up, but I live in a constant state of paranoid that tree roots will invade the system and trigger the mother of all repair and replacement projects.

Of the many random tasks that go into keeping a household running, the triennial pumping of the septic tank is absolutely one of my least favorites, if only because of the nightmare projects it could trigger.  

My way of life shouldn’t be putting any strain at all on a system designed to accommodate a household of 3-5 people… but it’s now 23 years old, which puts it on the low end of the average septic system lifespan.

As my brain thrives in a world of worst case scenarios, I’m always expecting the worst possible news when they pump down the tank. Getting pumped shouldn’t be terror inducing, and yet here we are. 

Georgia on my mind…

I’m not sure if I’ve written about it here before. If I have, I can only beg your indulgence. You try writing up 4,000+ posts across more than a decade while trying not to cover the same ground too often and see how well it works for you. In any case, it’s a thought that has crept up on me repeatedly in the past few weeks, so I’m giving it voice.

I assume this particular memory keeps cropping up because of the relationship I have with my employer and planning. A few of the same themes keep coming up time and time again. To understand why it has stuck with me, though, maybe I need to take you back to the beginning.

We had all, about 30 of us, just arrived at what was then called Fort Lee on the outskirts of historic Petersburg, Virginia. By just arrived, I mean I still had boxes stacked everywhere in my apartment and the ink wasn’t yet dry on my in-processing paperwork. I’d been an employee for less than a week and the powers that be announced on Wednesday or maybe Thursday of that first week that on Saturday morning, we’d all be loading up on a tour bus and using our three-day weekend to take a group road trip.

Destination: Savannah, Georgia.

It was a well intentioned notion – taking this group of fresh new logisticians in training to observe first hand the load out of the famed 3rd Infantry Division as they prepared their equipment to leave by rail and sea in route to the then new “second Gulf War.” Folk wisdom will tell you that timing is everything. Maybe “everything” is an exaggeration, but it’s important. How I know it’s important is that while we were driving down from Virginia, the transports loaded with a division’s worth of equipment had cleared port and were out to sea. The marshalling yard was empty. The railhead was empty. The port was empty. The mighty ROROs the bosses so badly wanted us to see had sailed at first light.

With nothing else to do, we were granted a DONSA – a day of no specified activities – in beautiful Savannah. Leadership extracted a promise that we would all solemnly swear to get ourselves back to the motel before departure time the next morning. So, we did what a bunch of early 20-somethings do when cut loose in a strange town and headed for the downtown entertainment district. I have no idea how many bars we hopped in and out of. I do remember there was a carriage ride and later in the evening a booze laden ghost tour in a hearse.

I have no idea how we got back to the motel. There’s a very vague memory of an over capacity taxi, but it’s… fuzzy. The motel, well, is probably worthy of a story all its own. Seedy doesn’t even begin to describe some of the business being transacted there in the dead of night.

In retrospect, it was great fun and games – or what passes for great fun and games when you’re 24. Back then, it was a guy who had just eaten the cost to move himself to Petersburg, hadn’t been paid in six weeks, and was desperately afraid every swipe of his credit card was going to be one swipe too much. That early winter of 2003 was the closest I’ve ever come to slipping sideways into default. It was horrifying and just a little exhilarating. File that under things you do when you’re too young to know better.

Anyway, I just assume it’s that early experience that’s left me deeply distrustful of whatever best laid plans this great green machine comes up with.