Y’know, it never occurred to me before writing this post, but couldn’t you just beat the Hulk by calming him down? Y’know- a bunny, some scented candles, a coupon for one free massage at the mall?
“Don’t make me angry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m- oh hey, a puppy!”
But then you could make him hulk out again in like 30 seconds just making him use the Microsoft Office Suite. Oh hey, guess what made me angrier than I’ve been in years?
I lost a file.
This particular file was 5 pages long. It was a word for word transcription- with time stamps- of about 3 hours of video interviews.
My machine crashed about four times in 90 minutes, causing me to lose a lot of work. Repeatedly.
What should have taken maybe four hours took closer to eight. And I started saving the file after every line I wrote.
This was such a depressing sequence of events that IT agreed to give me a new laptop, on the spot.
I saved the finished doc in three places, emailed it to myself, and backed up my entire hard drive.
I booted up the new machine, spent five minutes setting preferences, then downloaded the file from my email.
It was corrupted.
I frantically checked the version I backed up on my hard drive. Corrupted.
There are a number of ways you can reconstruct files you’ve recently worked on. I know a few of these, and people I work with know many more. All of them rely your IT department NOT formatting the laptop these files were created on moments after you got a new machine.
In a thrilling twist, there was a moment where we thought the files might have been backed up on the company server…until IT discovered that my computer hadn’t been backing itself up.
Why? Because fuck me, that’s why.
In addition to the above please note that I was so sick I had been sent home from the office at the demand of my coworkers, meaning that I couldn’t even start re-transcribing this thing till the next day, meaning it was now impossible to finish the script in time for the deadline.
Taking all that into account, punching the floor repeatedly while yelling about the injustice of the universe is a fairly measured response.
So there I am, screaming epithets and pounding the carpet with my fists, and in runs my dog. I mean runs. I’ve had a few dogs in the past, and the most they’ll do if you start to act this way is slowly sidle out of the room like “Damn, it must suck to be a human. Opposable thumbs ain’t worth the stress.”
Nope. Mia runs in and head-butts me. Then sits in front of me. Then head-butts me. Then sits next to me. Repeatedly.
Even after I asked The Wife to take her away for a minute so I could calm down, she kept running back into the room and head-butting me, then sitting down. Like “Dude, come on. I got what you need! Just try it. Pet me! I swear you’ll feel better like right away!”
And finally, after about half an hour, I did.
Damned if she wasn’t right.