- I had my last day at my company
- I submitted my pre-employment forms
- This all became real when I sold our 105-pound plasma tv (a weight that's not exactly conducive to moving)
I recognize there were many signs before now that indicated this was all "real". Flying to DC to interview, going through the medical and security clearances, signing the appointment offer saying I agree to join, and scheduling the movers. But when I sold my baby...er, the plasma, that did it.
Another sign: I'm officially in between jobs. Surreal. Exciting. There are a great many words that apply. It was hard to leave everyone, but we think the experience will be worth the change. I'll also find ways to keep in touch with everyone, like this website.
I don't have many administrative updates this week; I had a few questions on the pre-employment forms that got answered late last week so I turned them in this week. As it turns out, I only had to turn in 15 of the 23 forms at this point. Nice.
It's just two weeks before starting orientation. As a reminder of the overall schedule:
2011-Dec-16: Construction Engineer vacancy announcement closed
2012-Apr-19: Passed Oral Assessment
2012-Jun-12: Notified that I was added to The Register
2012-Jul-13: Received official appointment offer e-mail
2012-Aug-22: Submitted pre-employment forms
2012-Aug-28-30: UAB and HHE packing
2012-Sep-1-4: Drive from Denver to DC (Note to State security: don't worry, I won't post stuff like this in the future. I believe I'm anonymous enough at this point that it doesn't matter. Then again, I believe a lot of things...)
2012-Sep-10: First day of orientation
At this point in the process, we're entirely focused on moving. This hasn't been an ordinary move for us as we're downsizing dramatically: we're expecting to live in about 1/3 of our current space. Good thing we like each other.
The packers will be here Tuesday through Thursday and we're not exactly sure what we're in for. We're trying to create three piles: travel/car stuff, UAB (short term shipping), and HHE (long term storage). We've read various bits of advice for improving the experience, such as tagging items with different-colored sticky notes, buying donuts, and offering massages. We're just so mired in the minutia now that it's hard to see the forest. It seems a bit wrong that I'm looking forward to an 1800-mile drive as a vacation (although now that I think about it, we did almost exactly the same thing in Ireland a few years ago) (although now that I think about that, the 1800 miles in Ireland was over two weeks, not four days). For some examples of this week's logistical items:
- Encrypted our external hard drives and USB drives (yeah, I know - my techie friends will be very disappointed in me for not doing this sooner)
- Reviewed our files and shredding many boxes of old records
- Sold and gave away many more items, requiring varying amounts of effort
In the haze and haste of our packing extravaganza, my wife pointed out tonight's thought-provoking/accidental centerpiece for dinner:
For my final retrospective on the top practical jokes in my 15 years at my current company:
1 - The Box. The same deviously-minded co-worker I referred to last week quickly developed a reputation as a practical joker with a variety of tricks: graphite-coated vaseline on eyeglasses and phone earpieces, decorating unsuspecting people's motorcycles, and various other ideas. This was early in our company's life, when were were about 10 people total. He engaged one of our bosses who worked in the office next to his and the war of jokes went back-and-forth.
In reviewing this early history with a different co-worker close to the situation, I recently discovered an unusual twist: I may have triggered a significant step in the evolution. I noticed that the practical joker happened to have a skylight over his desk, and that he wedged a piece of foam board in the skylight opening to reduce the amount of light in his area. For reasons I can't quite explain, I decided to remove the board, pour all of the hole punch paper dots I could find on top of the board, and very carefully wedge it back in place. He blamed the ensuing mess on the boss he'd been battling with, and evidently it prompted a major retaliatory strike. Oopsies.
He ended up developing the Little Boy of the exchange: a certain type of box rigged with a modified rat trap and internal platform that could "deliver a payload". It was ingenious. He described the extensive testing required to get the right tension for the trigger mechanism. After selecting a payload, he carefully applied labels to the box addressed to our boss to make it look like it was from a contractor. He picked a perfectly random day to set it on his desk after the mail had arrived. I was in an office one door away when he opened it.
The sound was incredible. Not the boss' moaning, which was very satisfying in itself. My jaw dropped as I heard the sound of the hundreds if not thousands of tiny bird seeds bouncing on the plastic desk chair mat. No vacuum was powerful enough to clean them all. We moved offices years later and our boss was still finding bird seed _in books_ in the bookshelf behind his desk. I discussed payload options later with my co-worker, and we agreed he was right to not use toner. After The Box, peace was achieved.
Fast forward several years to an office holiday party. I started a white elephant gift exchange that we've continued for, well, 15 years now. My co-worker suggested that he resurrect The Box, and evidently we didn't think the worst thing that could happen was all that bad. We'd grown to over 20 people but we still felt like we knew everyone well enough that the joke would be appreciated no matter who opened it. We had no way of controlling who would pick a given present, so my co-worker prepared the box, wrapped it, and set it with the rest of the gifts. Most of the office participated, so we sat down for the gift exchange and a name was drawn at random to start it as usual. When we realized the first name was the same boss who'd received the bird seed box years ago, the three of us that knew about the box went into high alert. The boss got up, walked over to the stash of about 20 boxes...and picked The Box. I barely contained myself as he unwrapped the box, set it in front of him, and opened it. Once again it launched its payload, which this time was a combination of bird seed and paper hole punches. It ran into his lap and down his shirt. Everyone howled with laughter, it was unbelievable: the odds seemed so vanishingly small, yet it obviously was possible. It was a very proud moment for The Box maker.
This goes down as the top practical joke for me because of not only the history and the incredible odds of the same boss picking first and choosing The Box, but because of the impressive legacy: every time anyone in our office who was there opens any box, they do so very, very carefully.
(This post written while listening to The Cure Fascination Street.)
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