Monthly Archives: June 2023

What Annoys Jeff this Week?

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1. AFGE Local 1904. Here we are 39 weeks past the “end of max telework” and the union, such as it is, still hasn’t come through on delivering the new and improved telework agreement. Now, I’m told, the alleged negotiation has gone so far sideways that it’s been sent to binding arbitration. Resolution to that could literally take years. So, we’re going to be grinding along for the foreseeable future with only two days a week like pre-COVID barbarians… as if 30 months of operating nearly exclusively through telework didn’t prove that working from home works. All this is ongoing while hearing stories of other organizations tucked in next door that are offering their people four or five day a week work from home options. I’m sure someone could make the case that there’s enough blame to go around, but since the updated and perfectly acceptable policy for supervisors was published 39 weeks ago, I’m going to continue to go ahead and put every bit of blame on Local 1904 for failing to deliver for their members (and those of us who they “represent” against our will) and for continuing to stand in the way like some bloody great, utterly misguided roadblock. No one’s interest is served by their continued intransigence. The elected “leaders” of AFGE Local 1904 should be embarrassed and ashamed of themselves.

2. Seeking approval. I needed approval on a concept package back on June 7th. That wasn’t my date, randomly pulled from the ether. That was the date echelons higher than reality said they needed it. Being a good staff officer, I did some backwards planning and placed the full package into our fancy automated senior leader review process on the 17th of May. That left 21 days – a full 3 weeks for them to review, object, make changes, or request substitutions. Not surprisingly, three weeks came and went with only radio silence. Two more weeks passed. Now we’re in Day 36 of review and two weeks past the deadline and finally word has trickled down that upon careful review, they want wholesale changes that bare little to no resemblance to what was sent in for perusal. Fine. I’m going to look like a dipshit when I send this along to the people who were expecting it way back in early June. This is the kind of thing that should be dead easy simple, but somehow every year turns into its very own fiasco. I don’t know why I expected this year’s effort to drag things across the finish line to be any different. 

3. Mail order pharmacy. I’ve been getting my meds through mail-order for years. Mostly it works reasonably well. My most recent refill order did not. The website said no, sorry, it can’t be done and referred me over to the 800 “customer service” phone number. I gamely called customer service, to be notified by the automated system that my request had been received and was processing. So now I have one automated system saying a refill is too hard to do and one saying that everything is good to go. It’s hard not to appreciate that level of consistency. The actual human person I was able to talk to after repeatedly screaming “representative” at the phone assured me that they order had been processed and would be in the outgoing mail by the end of the day. It’s supposed to arrive tomorrow, but I’ll believe it when I see it.

Getting pumped…

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Living in town isn’t without its conveniences. Someone else handles the details of getting water to your house and getting waste water away from it. Here in the woods, though, I’m on the hook for making sure those things are happening from day-to-day. 

Incoming water was a major project last year – dealing with sand intrusion and raising the well pump, swapping out the filtration medium (twice), and battling an insect infestation. Today, I’m tackling a bit of preventative maintenance on the outbound side. Of course, by “tackling,” I mean I’m writing a check while someone else pumps down the septic tank and inspects the works. 

Growing up, “drain fields” were exactly that – large open stretches of ground where the drain tile was laid and we were strictly forbidden from planting anything other than grass or driving over with anything heavier than a lawn tractor. The drain field was sacrosanct. As a kind, I remember endless conversations about where, exactly, the boundaries of these fields were located. Here, though, the drain field runs directly out into the woods. According to the paperwork it’s eight feet down and all on the up and up, but I live in a constant state of paranoid that tree roots will invade the system and trigger the mother of all repair and replacement projects.

Of the many random tasks that go into keeping a household running, the triennial pumping of the septic tank is absolutely one of my least favorites, if only because of the nightmare projects it could trigger.  

My way of life shouldn’t be putting any strain at all on a system designed to accommodate a household of 3-5 people… but it’s now 23 years old, which puts it on the low end of the average septic system lifespan.

As my brain thrives in a world of worst case scenarios, I’m always expecting the worst possible news when they pump down the tank. Getting pumped shouldn’t be terror inducing, and yet here we are. 

Georgia on my mind…

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I’m not sure if I’ve written about it here before. If I have, I can only beg your indulgence. You try writing up 4,000+ posts across more than a decade while trying not to cover the same ground too often and see how well it works for you. In any case, it’s a thought that has crept up on me repeatedly in the past few weeks, so I’m giving it voice.

I assume this particular memory keeps cropping up because of the relationship I have with my employer and planning. A few of the same themes keep coming up time and time again. To understand why it has stuck with me, though, maybe I need to take you back to the beginning.

We had all, about 30 of us, just arrived at what was then called Fort Lee on the outskirts of historic Petersburg, Virginia. By just arrived, I mean I still had boxes stacked everywhere in my apartment and the ink wasn’t yet dry on my in-processing paperwork. I’d been an employee for less than a week and the powers that be announced on Wednesday or maybe Thursday of that first week that on Saturday morning, we’d all be loading up on a tour bus and using our three-day weekend to take a group road trip.

Destination: Savannah, Georgia.

It was a well intentioned notion – taking this group of fresh new logisticians in training to observe first hand the load out of the famed 3rd Infantry Division as they prepared their equipment to leave by rail and sea in route to the then new “second Gulf War.” Folk wisdom will tell you that timing is everything. Maybe “everything” is an exaggeration, but it’s important. How I know it’s important is that while we were driving down from Virginia, the transports loaded with a division’s worth of equipment had cleared port and were out to sea. The marshalling yard was empty. The railhead was empty. The port was empty. The mighty ROROs the bosses so badly wanted us to see had sailed at first light.

With nothing else to do, we were granted a DONSA – a day of no specified activities – in beautiful Savannah. Leadership extracted a promise that we would all solemnly swear to get ourselves back to the motel before departure time the next morning. So, we did what a bunch of early 20-somethings do when cut loose in a strange town and headed for the downtown entertainment district. I have no idea how many bars we hopped in and out of. I do remember there was a carriage ride and later in the evening a booze laden ghost tour in a hearse.

I have no idea how we got back to the motel. There’s a very vague memory of an over capacity taxi, but it’s… fuzzy. The motel, well, is probably worthy of a story all its own. Seedy doesn’t even begin to describe some of the business being transacted there in the dead of night.

In retrospect, it was great fun and games – or what passes for great fun and games when you’re 24. Back then, it was a guy who had just eaten the cost to move himself to Petersburg, hadn’t been paid in six weeks, and was desperately afraid every swipe of his credit card was going to be one swipe too much. That early winter of 2003 was the closest I’ve ever come to slipping sideways into default. It was horrifying and just a little exhilarating. File that under things you do when you’re too young to know better.

Anyway, I just assume it’s that early experience that’s left me deeply distrustful of whatever best laid plans this great green machine comes up with.

Jorah gets into the act…

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Jorah had a vet appointment last Wednesday to get after what I assumed was an ear infection. The good and bad news is that my diagnosis was correct and there was nothing more serious underlying his endless scratching and head shakes. I haven’t entirely ruled out it all being self-inflicted because he may have been tired of staying home while the cats got to take all the field trips.

Winston was perennially bothered by ear infections – just one of the many fun bits of life with a bulldog. Maggie was, fortunately, not prone to them. It had been a while since the last time I had to go through a treatment regimen. I was expecting to come home with drops that would require me to wrestle Jorah to the ground twice a day to administer. I was decidedly happy to learn that the state of the art in treatment has progressed since I was treating Winston. 

Instead of a two week course of drops, the vet applied a single, long-lasting medication and called for a recheck in two weeks if needed. Assuming it works, I’m prepared to call this a brilliant evolution in veterinary medicine.

We also came home with a short course of prednisone. Honestly, I’d forgotten about the joys of prednisone. Most of the side effects have been minimal – except for the one where Jorah drinks water like he’s determined to drain the well. What goes in, of course, must come out. The amount of time we’re spending just hanging out in the yard is a lot more like having a puppy back in the house than I’m comfortable with.

Fortunately, we’re already well into the course of treatment where he’s being weaned off the prednisone. I really hope this is a one off and not the herald of something that’s going to be a regular feature. Maybe by the time the weekend rolls around the household will be back into its regular rhythm… because this temporary new one kind of sucks.

The end off the cuff budgeting…

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I’ve never been much of a budgeter. That’s not to say I don’t keep an eye on cash flow and know more or less what’s coming in and what’s going out. However, sitting down and putting together a real pen and ink budget has all the appeal of a back alley root canal.

Having said that, I couldn’t help but notice that the spate of vet bills coming through these last four months has put more than a little bit of strain on my mental accounting. In fact, keeping the accounts balanced put me in a highly unusual (and disagreeable) position of either needing to sell assets or take on debt to float the bills until inflow caught up with outflow.

I’m a collector by nature, so the process of acquiring things has always come easy. I’m less comfortable when the time comes to sell some of those things off – even if I picked them up originally with a vague plan that someday I may need to convert them to cash if I ever found myself pinched. I know many people enjoy that side of the process as much as they do acquiring things in the first place. Not me. I tend to acquire and then hold on grimly.

With the current, almost punitive rate of interest on consumer borrowing, though, letting a few things go was the lesser of two evils. Maybe it’s only lesser because I know full well I’ll end up buying them back whenever the opportunity presents itself in the future.

The point of all that is to say I’m finally coming around to the idea of putting a bit more academic rigor into my household budgeting process. The personal finance gurus would probably disagree, but step one is funding a much more robust “self-insurance” account for future veterinary expenses – the one thing I can find that consistently blasts gaping holes in my operating budget. After that, everything else just sort of takes care of itself… or at least that’s what the numbers seem to be telling me.

What Annoys Jeff this Week?

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1. AFGE Local 1904. Here we are 38 weeks past the “end of max telework” and the union, such as it is, still hasn’t come through on delivering the new and improved telework agreement. Now, I’m told, the alleged negotiation has gone so far sideways that it’s been sent to binding arbitration. Resolution to that could literally take years. So, we’re going to be grinding along for the foreseeable future with only two days a week like pre-COVID barbarians… as if 30 months of operating nearly exclusively through telework didn’t prove that working from home works. All this is ongoing while hearing stories of other organizations tucked in next door that are offering their people four or five day a week work from home options. It’s truly a delight working for the sick man of the enterprise. I’m sure someone could make the case that there’s enough blame to go around, but since the updated and perfectly acceptable policy for supervisors was published 38 weeks ago, I’m going to continue to go ahead and put every bit of blame on Local 1904 for failing to deliver for their members (and those of us who they “represent” against our will) and for continuing to stand in the way like some bloody great, utterly misguided roadblock. No one’s interest is served by their continued intransigence. The elected “leaders” of AFGE Local 1904 should be embarrassed and ashamed of themselves.

2. Reddit moderators. The recent Reddit blackout is stupid and a pain in the ass. In what was essentially a hissy fit launched because Reddit wants to make it more expensive for 3rd party vendors to use the ecosystem, the real impact wasn’t felt so much by Reddit’s executive suite as it was by normal users who use the site for entertainment, information, or just to piss away their free time. It might be a Big Deal ™ for the mods, but I suspect for most people using Reddit day to day, it’s more of a so what. It has the same flavor of the protests that disrupt highways or otherwise inconvenience people who are just trying to get through the day. I can’t believe it’s the sort of approach that ever wins adherents to your side. Then again, I rarely find myself wanting to side with those who are trying to make a point by being just one step removed from tantrum throwing toddlers.

3. The wreck of the Titan. The word “experimental” is right there in the description of what the Titan is (was?). I know that among the wealthy and not so wealthy, there’s been decided move towards “extreme tourism” recently. Everyone wants that surge of adrenalin. I don’t find it appealing – particularly when they whole craft looks like something me and my three high school best friends could have cobbled together in the back yard over summer vacation. The media can’t help themselves from being entirely enchanted with this story. At best it should have been a one day story under the headline, “People who should have known better did something stupid and are now experiencing the natural consequences of their actions.”

The summer motivation trough… 

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This time of year is not a good one for job-related motivation. June is bookended with good times – the week off I take for my birthday and the week off I take in conjunction with Independence Day. Over a span of six weeks, it creates two motivational high points and a corresponding four week motivational trough. Now they’ve thrown in a new federal holiday right between the two. All else between those two points is me trying my hardest to at least present the illusion of giving a damn… or at least enough of a damn not to draw unnecessary managerial attention.

I do a reasonable job of tying up loose ends before walking away for my early June holiday. Then I come back and find it hard to mentally justify ramping up any new efforts, knowing that in a couple of weeks, I’ll be in the middle of another 9 days out of sight and hopefully out of mind.  Throw a spanking new holiday when a bunch of other people are taking time off and making it hard to get anything accomplished and the opportunity to do much in the way of great new work is pretty minimal. 

I won’t go so far as to say I plan it that way, but it is a happy coincidence.

After Independence Day, we’re in the long march towards the fall holidays. That, of course, is demotivational in a completely different way.  As a professional bureaucrat, truly the cycles of the year have a savage beauty all their own.

Firing my vet…

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To put the bottom line up front, I’m going to have to fire my current vet.

Given how often I find myself in need of veterinary services, I feel like that’s a statement that probably deserves some follow up. The fact is, I like my current vet. They’ve got a beautiful new facility. The docs and staff are consistently good to work with during appointments.

Unfortunately, it’s getting those appointments in the first palace that’s causing the trouble. I called yesterday afternoon, wanting to get an appointment for Jorah. He’s got a lot of the classic signs of an ear infection. It’s one of those things that’s not going to trigger a high speed run to the emergency vet, but that should get treated sooner rather than later. After I explained his symptoms, the receptionist offered me a choice of appointments on July 9th or 11th. I’m sorry. What? I’m sure some people will let their animals linger, in pain and possibly getting worse for the better part of three weeks for an appointment, but I’m not one of them.

They didn’t offer the option of a drop off appointment or even ask if I wanted to get on the cancellation list.

I’m not putting their name on blast here, because I know the veterinary industry is currently under a phenomenal amount of pressure and doing it while perennially understaffed. Although I understand the overall issue, that’s not going to get in the way of me using every resource I can bring to bear to get Jorah, Anya, Cordelia, or George the treatment they need in a timely manner.

In any case, I do want to voice my appreciation for Middletown Veterinary Hospital for getting Jorah scheduled for an appointment – as a new patient – in less than 48 hours from the time I called. They’re the place that did Cordy’s spay last week since my current vet of record was scheduling those out into August and September.

Based on the sum total of experiences getting this menagerie of mine vetted over the last few months, the only logical thing to do is start the process of getting the three furry ones transferred over to Middletown while I’m there tomorrow. Getting all their files transferred will be a hassle. It’s going to add 20 minutes to every trip to the vet. Unfortunately, it can’t be helped. The vet I’m firing was awfully promising, but all the promise in the world is wasted when it takes the better part of a month to get basic care.

An exercise in creative writing…

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I haven’t put together what you might call a “normal resume” in well over two decades now. I think of the normal resume, geared towards a private sector employer as something short and punchy – definitely not longer than one or two pages. The federal resume, containing obsessive detail about every job you’ve ever had, by contrast, seems to run on forever.

According to my extensive personal files, the last time I updated my federal resume was in 2017. That must have been the last time I was feeling especially angsty and aggrieved – because that’s almost always the catalyst for spending the time to bring things up to date. Dumping the last six years of job related activities into it brought mine up to seven pages. It’s not the longest I’ve ever seen, since past me had helpfully edited down a lot of my early work history to the bone. By the time I’m done tweaking this version, I’ll be perilously close to spilling over onto the 8th page.

Resume length doesn’t particularly matter when it comes to federal work. The objective isn’t really to impress any individual hiring manager so much as it’s to build a document so full of key words that the computer that scans the files won’t have a choice but to proclaim you highly qualified and insert your resume into the pile that eventually makes its way to the selecting official. It’s akin to the difference between being a sniper and blasting away with a shotgun, where “close enough” is good enough.

In any case, I’m using some of my down time to pretty this mess up with an eye towards finding out if I still have the knowledge, skills, and abilities to beat the computer in case I ever need to pull that trigger. If nothing else, blowing the dust off is a good academic exercise. I’ll never tell a lie – especially on paper – but it’s surely the next door neighbor of creative writing.

What Annoys Jeff this Week?

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1. AFGE Local 1904. Here we are 37 weeks past the “end of max telework” and the union, such as it is, still hasn’t come through on delivering the new and improved telework agreement. Now, I’m told, the alleged negotiation has gone so far sideways that it’s been sent to binding arbitration. Resolution to that could literally take years. So, we’re going to be grinding along for the foreseeable future with only two days a week like pre-COVID barbarians… as if 30 months of operating nearly exclusively through telework didn’t prove that working from home works. All this is ongoing while hearing stories of other organizations tucked in next door that are offering their people four or five day a week work from home options. It’s truly a delight working for the sick man of the enterprise. I’m sure someone could make the case that there’s enough blame to go around, but since the updated and perfectly acceptable policy for supervisors was published 37 weeks ago, I’m going to continue to go ahead and put every bit of blame on Local 1904 for failing to deliver for their members (and those of us who they “represent” against our will) and for continuing to stand in the way like some bloody great, utterly misguided roadblock. No one’s interest is served by their continued intransigence. The elected “leaders” of AFGE Local 1904 should be embarrassed and ashamed of themselves.

2. Laundry. Now that I’ve given in and paid off someone else to do most of the regular housekeeping, I find that laundry is the next highest on the list of things that annoy me around the house. The constant stream of wash, fold, put away, repeat is maddening… and that’s just for one person. I can get away with doing it once a week – or even every 10 or 11 days if pressed – and that feels altogether too frequent. I’d be ready to jam pointy sticks in people’s eyes if laundry day expanded to something that happened several times a week.

3. Party planning. I don’t like party planning, but it’s been dropped into my lap often enough now that I have a system. For big parties, those with lots of outside inputs or involving many moving parts (perhaps requiring circus tents and booking live music), I generally start planning six months in advance. Because I’ve done it often enough, I also have a solid core of mostly reliable team members assisting. As the last team to attempt putting this together is unable or unwilling to do so, here we are, four months out and there’s barely the most ephemeral outline of what the goal of this party might be – no idea what topics anyone wants to talk about (or who will be in charge of putting each of those topic together), no determination of which people will be invited to have a seat at the table (and no, you can’t invite an organization, you have to invite a person from that organization), and as best I can tell, there’s nothing even approaching a team of sufficient size and scope to pull everything together in the time allotted. I can provide advice, recommendations, and guidance, but I am not a decision maker. Until someone who is a decision maker decides to give a damn, we are where we are – nowhere. Consider this a pointed reminder, perhaps even a warning, that as we draw nearer to October, I’m not in any way going to consider a months-long lack of urgency on the part of others to suddenly become my emergency.