Monday, January 12, 2009

I'm short-bus special

So I've been trying to figure out where I fall on the Data/Capri-Sun Intelligence Scale (with Data being super-smart and Capri-Sun being drinkable with a tiny straw).*

When I hang out with Devon and his friends and they talk about tech stuff, I feel like I have neurological damage. One time, when John, Devon and I were at a bar in Jersey, my eyes rolled into the back of my head, and I drooled a little into my Sam Adams Octoberfest. One of the benefits of being quiet most of the time is that you can have a 'tard seizure** and no one notices. I recognize the vocabulary and sentence structure as English, but the sentences have no meaning. Like "Window run bright and slow to tomorrow."

I have these seizures often.

Then, just when I think I'm too retarded** to be allowed out in public, I'm forced into a meeting to learn how to use the office phones. Yes, they are training us how to use phones. Next week, we are getting swank new phones with back-lit screens and 28 different ring tones. (They still can't figure out how to get us caller ID, which is sad, because if I had caller ID, I might answer my phone once in awhile.) At the training, half of my co-workers complained that the phones were too complicated. Soft keys are, apparently, too new-fangled for the average cube monkey.

I suppose I can see the problem. Soft keys require a certain psychological flexibility. One minute this key means "call forward," and the next it means "transfer call to a nonexistent extension where caller will listen to pre-recorded music for 20 minutes, then be cut off." It's like dream interpretation. One minute that "naked at the office" dream symbolizes vulnerability, and the next it means you're a sick pervert who shouldn't be allowed near elementary schools.

The lesson in all this is to always carry a beer to catch your 'tard drool. **

* I lost faith in IQ testing when everyone I knew claimed to have an IQ of at least 140.
** I know. People aren't allowed to use this word anymore. Sorry. ***
*** I'm not really sorry.


  1. I have found that special inner "happy place" where I can go when john and Devon start talking "technobabble." Its a nice place. Nobody judges me here.

  2. Welcome back! Hope you enjoyed the rest of the trip.

  3. I have a few fun games I like to play when the geeks have one of their many moments..

    1. Try to interpret their technobabble as racist/sexist/classist/ethnocentric and join the conversation in an attempt to encourage this type of thinking. For bonus points involve strangers in the conversation.

    "I know.. fuck the Navajo and their goddamn open source nipple massage."

    2. Write down a sentence for later use and try to insert it into the conversation in a week or two in the form of a question. Bonus points if John actually answers the question and doesn't stare at you like you're crazy.

    3. Have married women hit on you. Bonus points if Devon notices..

  4. Scott, Scott, Scott.

    Now, the thing to do when they go geek-babble is to turn to someone else at the table and talk about something equally esoteric in your own realm. Failing that, holld a conversation with yourself. Scott and I have done this when surrounded by lawyers speaking law-babble. Sometimes it even gets them to stop and include us back in the conversation. Alternatively, I like option #3.

    Devon won't notice, though.

  5. I like the idea of talking to myself. This has possibilities...

  6. I also feel as though I suffer from Tard Drool when around them during technobabble periods. Of course, I get law babble revenge, so it's pretty sweet to me.

    Do you have editor babble revenge??

  7. Sadly, no. My job revolves around turning babble (law babble, med babble, tech babble) into English normal mortals can understand. The worst I can do is insist all written communication be done in AP style.