by Cathy Faye Rudolph
haven't noticed yet that there's a run in my pantyhose.
I have, however, noticed that the login has gone through, and that my desktop is drawn. With lots of red flags next to lots of conferences.
I put down the clotheshanger, and drape the blouse over the back of the chair. Then I cinch my bathrobe belt a bit tighter, step over James, who decided to sleep on the floor next to my desk last night, and sit down in front of my computer.
First, my private mail. Account stuff from Berkeley, a number of "how do I do this?" messages, and one or two messages from friends. An irate message from a BMUG member, who believes that the role of a BBS volunteer should include acting as his personal social/message/files secretary, on the grounds that it's so much "easier" for the volunteer, whereas the BMUG member would actually have to spend a couple of minutes looking for the file, or posting the message. I message back, trying to tactfully explain why the volunteers don't have time to post private messages or gather files for each BMUG member.
My pressed skirt falls off the back of the swivel chair, and I retrieve it, hanging it over with the blouse.
Next, the new requests for validation. The number of "overnight" request messages in the conference can sometimes number as many as ten, but there are only six this morning.
My pile of outstanding bills tips over, and they slide off onto the floor and behind my book of quotations and the Webster's Dictionary with the damaged binding.
I check each validation request. One is for a membership that's expired. Another one is clearly for another user group BBS, not here. Two are in the database, and I validate them. Of the two remaining, one challenges me to justify why he should join BMUG-at least, that's the charitable interpretation of the rant. Another one insists that I send her literature about BMUG, a membership application, and a disk of sample files from the BBS. I write messages as seems appropriate.
Thomas comes in. Seems he can't live without his Sonic the Hedgehog comic book. I find it under his bed, and come back to the computer.
There have been some merchandise or membership orders overnight. One order has no merchandise selected. I write a message asking the sender to elaborate on his choice. Another message is from a BMUG member who has decided that she wants the Expo special price for BMUG membership, even though she bought her membership two months before Expo. She's demanding a credit for the difference. I send her a note referring her to Berkeley, and a separate note to Berkeley apprising them of the situation.
Next the new logins. Sometimes twenty, maybe thirty, if I haven't checked since early the previous evening. Maybe 50% are nuisance or insufficient info logins, occasionally with obscenities where the address info goes. I delete each of those, then move the rest to a holding area.
James, who has since woken up, and toodled off downstairs, comes back to tell Mommy that he's "gone pee." Mommy can see that the pee is not "gone," and that she needs to put one more soggy pair of Power Rangers pants into the wash.
I haven't gotten yet to the Help Desk, and I know there will be more validation requests, and lots more new logins by noon. But I log off, putting off the one-by-one cleanup of the trial accounts, 200 of them for the week, for later in the day, maybe Saturday at the rate things are going.
I notice that I have a run in my pantyhose.
from And Another Thing... © 1994, 1995 Cathy Faye Rudolph.
Contents © 1994, 1995 Wayward Fluffy Publications.
Last revised: August 16, 1995 by Wayward Fluffy Publications.