That's it, this thing called work is reaching critical point. OK, so having a hangover didn't help matters, but I wasn't achieving anything, so I left before 3pm. Everything at work was fucking up, and nobody seemed able to help me out. Then, driving home, the phone calls began.
By the time I was nearing home we were on phone call number four. Preparations for a weekend run to fix a few account problems were not going swimmingly. I understood the nature of the problem, but didn't know the solution. I finally asked my colleague not to run the problematic program that weekend. Then I turned off my mobile and wandered round a mall.
This is the next call I received, which I let the voicemail deal with. What he's trying to tell me, in 41 seconds, is that he's deleted two characters from a form, as I suggested in our previous call. Why I needed to be told all this minutiae I do not know. I'm supposed to be the recent graduate, the novice, the kid, the intern, the newbie. They're supposed to be the experts, the old guys, the highly-paid contractors, the seniors, passing their experience on to me. This sucks. No doubt the shit'll hit the fan on Monday and it'll be me who gets the blame.
I hope you're hurrying up with those new designs for my life...