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...