I carry a Dictaphone in my car so that when brilliant ideas occur to me I can capture them immediately so they do not escape. This ultimately means two things – when I listen to them – they are not so brilliant although they do capture something of a thought process that often leads me down inspiring and creative thought paths, and it also means that when I listen to them I often laugh out loud at what I was thinking at any given time.
Case in point:
One of the client sites I am currently working at takes me about one and a half hours of driving in peak hour traffic. As you can imagine, this gives me plenty of time to watch people in their cars, and come up with more of my brilliant ideas, plan strategies for work challenges, and generally amuse myself at other people’s expense.
About 2 weeks ago, there was a man in front of me in a large, expensive German car that was cleaning his ears out. For at least 20 minutes. I timed him. I could see no evidence of any tissues or a hanky either.
I tried to look away, really I did, but I had to watch the traffic in front of me, and besides, it was like a mesmerising hypnotic thing from which I could not tear my gaze.
He then went on to picking things in his face – presumably pimples. Again – no tissues – just his trousers. And, I should mention, it was with both hands.
Then, to my absolute disgust, he looked up his nose in the rear-view mirror and started picking. I also timed this. Another 20 minutes.
What the hell type of crop can you have going on up there that takes 20 minutes to dig out? And then to top it all off, he started smoothing his hair down. News flash – snot hair is not the thing! Never has been, never will be!
Imagine you have a meeting with this man. He gets out of his car, and strolls up to your office. Shakes your hand, transferring ear wax, pimple goo, and snot. OMG!
Then he committed the ultimate crime. He ate his snot.
Now the joke used to be “what’s the difference between broccoli and snot?”
“Children won’t eat broccoli”
I guess adults won’t eat broccoli either.
After about an hour of this unhygienic adjustment, he looked over the car next to him, and seemed to twig that there was a car next to him, and stopped what he was doing for about 5 minutes, but then carried on.
If the traffic had come to a standstill, I would have issued him with a ticket from the snot police. He definitely wins the Pukeworthy Punk of the day award.
Eeeeeuuuuuuuw is all I have to say about that.
Friday, October 14, 2005
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Which part of NO is unclear?
Long story short, my super ears, or superiors (as they prefer to be described) asked be to take on a whole lot more work. I politely declined, stating objective reasons including realistic time frames, actual time lines, hours of work required to complete tasks, etc, and explaining my current work load as well. Two comapy parntners (very high people on the totem pole) agreed that I could not do justice to the tasks, and we agreed that this was not a viable option.
I met with my counsellor (essentially my yoda or performance mentor as is the structure in our comapny) to help me with a structure for the work I currently have (which was too much before they asked me to take on the more they asked me to), and he again said I had to take on the work that I had got agreement that I did not have to do.
Now, I am not confused - three partners (for whom I am doing work, and to whom I directly report) agree that I do not have to do this work, but a manager within my service line says that I have to do it.
I called him again today to say I wasn't able to do it due to blah blah fishpaste objective factual time reasons, and he just said I have to.
I am truly at a loss of what to do.
How do you argue with a person who doesn't listen to you and won't hear you say no?
I met with my counsellor (essentially my yoda or performance mentor as is the structure in our comapny) to help me with a structure for the work I currently have (which was too much before they asked me to take on the more they asked me to), and he again said I had to take on the work that I had got agreement that I did not have to do.
Now, I am not confused - three partners (for whom I am doing work, and to whom I directly report) agree that I do not have to do this work, but a manager within my service line says that I have to do it.
I called him again today to say I wasn't able to do it due to blah blah fishpaste objective factual time reasons, and he just said I have to.
I am truly at a loss of what to do.
How do you argue with a person who doesn't listen to you and won't hear you say no?
Fank you to meet you!
I do understand that we are a multi-lingual society, and that signs will have to be translated into various languages. I don't have a problem with that. Nor do I have a problem with people who are not mother-tongue speakers making mistakes. I take my hat off to them for speaking a language other than their own (except for news readers - they should be mother tongue speakers). But surely we have enough resources to have people check signs before we post them all over the show?
Here is the latest in a long line of clearly direc translations:
Clock to enter. (Directly translated from the Afrikaans - knock to enter!)
Watch this space for more.
Here is the latest in a long line of clearly direc translations:
Clock to enter. (Directly translated from the Afrikaans - knock to enter!)
Watch this space for more.
Monday, September 26, 2005
She loves me
I have a cat.
Like all animal lovers, I am irrational when it comes to my little pumkpin. She is the best thing on four legs, and I love her to bits.
Long story short, I installed a cat flap in my door that works with a magnet on her collar, so that only she can get in and out. (I was sick and tired of coming home to a place that stank of cat spray and seeing other rude cats sitting on her spot in the sun, on my brother's couch, being all happy).
Only problem is, it is magnetic.
She sticks to her food bowl and tips it over. No problem, she has a ceramic one now.
She picks up things in the garden. No problem, they are treasures for me.
She sticks to the pole of my car port. Very funny. Very very funny.
As all cats like to do, she rubs against the pole, especially when she sees me coming home - and rushes out to greet me. Of course, I don't laugh at her - that would be rude, but it is the funniest sight I have seen in a long time - a little pussy cat trying to release herself from a pole that she is stuck to by her magnetic collar. Har har.
And they say cats can't make you laugh.
Like all animal lovers, I am irrational when it comes to my little pumkpin. She is the best thing on four legs, and I love her to bits.
Long story short, I installed a cat flap in my door that works with a magnet on her collar, so that only she can get in and out. (I was sick and tired of coming home to a place that stank of cat spray and seeing other rude cats sitting on her spot in the sun, on my brother's couch, being all happy).
Only problem is, it is magnetic.
She sticks to her food bowl and tips it over. No problem, she has a ceramic one now.
She picks up things in the garden. No problem, they are treasures for me.
She sticks to the pole of my car port. Very funny. Very very funny.
As all cats like to do, she rubs against the pole, especially when she sees me coming home - and rushes out to greet me. Of course, I don't laugh at her - that would be rude, but it is the funniest sight I have seen in a long time - a little pussy cat trying to release herself from a pole that she is stuck to by her magnetic collar. Har har.
And they say cats can't make you laugh.
What the hell do I know?
We all know that any employer will take as much as they can, and abuse any employee as much as possible, but this is ridiculous.
I am now officially working three people's jobs. Okay, maybe two and a half...
My colleague resigned (twice), the first time because she was OVER-stretched. She stayed because she was promised help. She never got it. She was given even more to do. (And they ding me at performance appraisal time for not learning...)
She then resigned again, this time for good. She explaind carefully, using small words to ensure they inderstood what the situation was.
They asked to take over all her work. I am always up for a stretch, but I am already over capacity, and she was doing the work of two people. She has 10 years of experience in this area, I have 6 months.
On a good day, my self esteem is about 3 out of 10 000.
You figure it out.
I am now officially working three people's jobs. Okay, maybe two and a half...
My colleague resigned (twice), the first time because she was OVER-stretched. She stayed because she was promised help. She never got it. She was given even more to do. (And they ding me at performance appraisal time for not learning...)
She then resigned again, this time for good. She explaind carefully, using small words to ensure they inderstood what the situation was.
They asked to take over all her work. I am always up for a stretch, but I am already over capacity, and she was doing the work of two people. She has 10 years of experience in this area, I have 6 months.
On a good day, my self esteem is about 3 out of 10 000.
You figure it out.
no mow eenglish
today's phrase:
I have got it in my bag. (Hell, I always thought it was: "It's in the bag").
But what do I know. The proof of this one is definately in the pudding... sic. or perhaps - sick
Janis out
I have got it in my bag. (Hell, I always thought it was: "It's in the bag").
But what do I know. The proof of this one is definately in the pudding... sic. or perhaps - sick
Janis out
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
it's not MY responsibility
A few days ago, 5 young lads stole a paddle boat from within an enclosed municipal area in Eastern Johannesburg, and upon taking the boat for a joy ride in the Blauwpan dam, capsized the boat and 2 of them drowned.
You cannot believe the furore that has blown up around this. One radio DJ was heard to comment that although they shouldn’t have stolen the boat, they don’t deserve to be punished by dying.
Indeed, in this case the punishment doesn’t fit the crime. It never does in South Africa (this is another story for another time), and one can only feel enormous amounts of empathy for the families who are left behind at the loss of their sons. They say that the worst thing that can happen is to lose a child. My heart breaks for the parents. But the war cries of the community somehow lessen the empathy and harden my heart towards the mother who speaks out on radio trying to sue the municipality for negligence at leaving the boat in an un-seaworthy (or whatever) condition where it could be used.
First of all, it was in fact locked up in an enclosure behind fences and padlocks. Second, the children did wilfully and with malice break in to that enclosure to steal the boat. That is to take the boat without permission and consent or authorisation even though they all knew that none of the five of them could swim. I mean how thick could you get?
Is the boat yard to blame? I don’t think so. Will this go to trial? I hope not. Should the municipality counter sue? I believe so. Will they? Never in a million years. They dare not because the community wants to blame someone for the loss of a child’s life. They want to blame someone for the dreadful loss – a loss which was avoidable. Not only could it have been avoided, but it should have been avoided. But not by blaming the municipality for having a boat locked up by a dam. Rather let’s point the responsibility back where it belongs – squarely back on the shoulders of the parents. Parents are supposed to teach their children not to steal, not to break in, not to run across busy roads in front of traffic, not to do things that are dangerous, and so on. Parents should accept the responsibility for the lives of their children (and this is children until they become adults and then they are responsible for THEMSELVES) and not keep blaming everything and everyone else for everything that goes wrong.
My child got run over on a highway – let’s sue the driver and the road’s company. NO – teach your children to use the pedestrian crossing and not to run across highways in front of speeding cars.
My child got cancer from cigarettes – let’s sue the cigarette company – NO – read the warning and don’t smoke. Teach your children to take responsibility for what they do.
My child drowned in the deep end – let’s sue the swimming pool – NO YOU look after your children and supervise them and not leave them to their own devices all day and hope that they will magically be all right.
Let’s not perpetuate this folly of assuming that someone else will take the responsibility for everything we do – especially the government. WE ARE ALL responsible for the choices we make, and will have to bear the consequences. WHETHER WE LIKE IT OR NOT.
Grow up and face the music. If you want to do what you want, fine. But then don’t moan if you get what’s coming to you. After all, do the crime, to the time.
You cannot believe the furore that has blown up around this. One radio DJ was heard to comment that although they shouldn’t have stolen the boat, they don’t deserve to be punished by dying.
Indeed, in this case the punishment doesn’t fit the crime. It never does in South Africa (this is another story for another time), and one can only feel enormous amounts of empathy for the families who are left behind at the loss of their sons. They say that the worst thing that can happen is to lose a child. My heart breaks for the parents. But the war cries of the community somehow lessen the empathy and harden my heart towards the mother who speaks out on radio trying to sue the municipality for negligence at leaving the boat in an un-seaworthy (or whatever) condition where it could be used.
First of all, it was in fact locked up in an enclosure behind fences and padlocks. Second, the children did wilfully and with malice break in to that enclosure to steal the boat. That is to take the boat without permission and consent or authorisation even though they all knew that none of the five of them could swim. I mean how thick could you get?
Is the boat yard to blame? I don’t think so. Will this go to trial? I hope not. Should the municipality counter sue? I believe so. Will they? Never in a million years. They dare not because the community wants to blame someone for the loss of a child’s life. They want to blame someone for the dreadful loss – a loss which was avoidable. Not only could it have been avoided, but it should have been avoided. But not by blaming the municipality for having a boat locked up by a dam. Rather let’s point the responsibility back where it belongs – squarely back on the shoulders of the parents. Parents are supposed to teach their children not to steal, not to break in, not to run across busy roads in front of traffic, not to do things that are dangerous, and so on. Parents should accept the responsibility for the lives of their children (and this is children until they become adults and then they are responsible for THEMSELVES) and not keep blaming everything and everyone else for everything that goes wrong.
My child got run over on a highway – let’s sue the driver and the road’s company. NO – teach your children to use the pedestrian crossing and not to run across highways in front of speeding cars.
My child got cancer from cigarettes – let’s sue the cigarette company – NO – read the warning and don’t smoke. Teach your children to take responsibility for what they do.
My child drowned in the deep end – let’s sue the swimming pool – NO YOU look after your children and supervise them and not leave them to their own devices all day and hope that they will magically be all right.
Let’s not perpetuate this folly of assuming that someone else will take the responsibility for everything we do – especially the government. WE ARE ALL responsible for the choices we make, and will have to bear the consequences. WHETHER WE LIKE IT OR NOT.
Grow up and face the music. If you want to do what you want, fine. But then don’t moan if you get what’s coming to you. After all, do the crime, to the time.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Rantings of the insecure
I was at dinner last night with a friend, and while we were eating, he held up a dinner plate, and said “pretend it is a mirror: - do you love the person you see in there?”
I am not sure exactly what nerve it was he hit with that comment, but some secret and well-guarded emotion inside me broke open and I started crying. It suddenly struck me that I don’t really like myself very much, even after years of work at self-esteem, and self-nurturing (something which I am still learning how to do). I am very good at finding fault with myself, and can tell you lists of what I have done wrong from moment to moment of practically each day of my life for ever. But I find it difficult to see any good things. I am working at this, and I thought I had made some progress, but after crying in the restaurant and causing a good friend great discomfort, I wonder if I will ever be able to really accept myself and love the person I am.
How people love themselves? How do people who love themselves, treat themselves? How do they act? How do they get to love themselves in the first place? How can we love ourselves when we are all so flawed and ugly on the inside?
I guess this is a “glass half empty” view and not a “glass half full” view. This is the struggle I am facing – how much weight should negative attributes have in comparison to positive ones? For example, if we have two negatives and four positives, do they cancel each other out? What about one really good one with three slightly bad ones? I don’t know. I do know that we all have good and bad things in us – this is what makes us who we are. I guess it is all part of the plan, but I don’t understand. How can I come to terms with the bad stuff in me? How can I accept that I am not, and never will be, perfect? I don’t know.
I don’t know.
I also don’t know where the journey started, or where it will end, but I do know that I like myself a little bit more each day, but it is not yet enough. It is not enough because I still cry at night when I think about who my friends are, and why they are my friends. There are also times when this causes me to sabotage myself, and I am so mean to my friends that I do chase them away. Almost like I challenge them to see if they will stay when I show them how horrible I can be.
I am sorry.
Maybe if I can be nicer to myself, I can be nicer to you – if you have hung around long enough to see any of the good stuff… perhaps I will have friends who have stayed and have taught be love myself. Thanks.
Tick tock
I am not sure exactly what nerve it was he hit with that comment, but some secret and well-guarded emotion inside me broke open and I started crying. It suddenly struck me that I don’t really like myself very much, even after years of work at self-esteem, and self-nurturing (something which I am still learning how to do). I am very good at finding fault with myself, and can tell you lists of what I have done wrong from moment to moment of practically each day of my life for ever. But I find it difficult to see any good things. I am working at this, and I thought I had made some progress, but after crying in the restaurant and causing a good friend great discomfort, I wonder if I will ever be able to really accept myself and love the person I am.
How people love themselves? How do people who love themselves, treat themselves? How do they act? How do they get to love themselves in the first place? How can we love ourselves when we are all so flawed and ugly on the inside?
I guess this is a “glass half empty” view and not a “glass half full” view. This is the struggle I am facing – how much weight should negative attributes have in comparison to positive ones? For example, if we have two negatives and four positives, do they cancel each other out? What about one really good one with three slightly bad ones? I don’t know. I do know that we all have good and bad things in us – this is what makes us who we are. I guess it is all part of the plan, but I don’t understand. How can I come to terms with the bad stuff in me? How can I accept that I am not, and never will be, perfect? I don’t know.
I don’t know.
I also don’t know where the journey started, or where it will end, but I do know that I like myself a little bit more each day, but it is not yet enough. It is not enough because I still cry at night when I think about who my friends are, and why they are my friends. There are also times when this causes me to sabotage myself, and I am so mean to my friends that I do chase them away. Almost like I challenge them to see if they will stay when I show them how horrible I can be.
I am sorry.
Maybe if I can be nicer to myself, I can be nicer to you – if you have hung around long enough to see any of the good stuff… perhaps I will have friends who have stayed and have taught be love myself. Thanks.
Tick tock
Friday, August 05, 2005
Manners in the modern world
I saw something very interesting this morning that got me thinking. On the door of a local taxi - "DO NoT SLAM MY DOOR" sic.
This opens up a whole interesting debate of manners, not the least of which would be road manners. Mini bus taxis in this country are notorius for their lack of road manners, their blatant disregard for the law, and their almost purposeful display of law-breaking in any and all situations. For example, you will be waiting in a queue at a robot (for those who are not familiar with this local term, it is a traffic light) waiting to turn right across the oncoming traffic. There is oncoming traffic, so we are all waiting until such time as there is a gap when the traffic light is green and there are no cars. The taxis will actually drive 200 meters down the wrong side of hte road, literally pushing other cars out of hte way to make the right hand turn. But worst of all, the traffic cops standing on the corner just stand there and DO NOTHING.
Never mind manners, what about the rule of law. When do manners and law cross over? I think that South Africa has a serious problem in this regard, and I find that taxi drivers who actually expect manners to be applied to them are seriously out of touch with reality, or phychotic, or both.
There is a third option, perhaps this driver was the statistical anomoly - that one in ten trillion gazillion that actually obeys the traffic laws, has a road-worthy taxi and does have manners. But i doubt it.
I want to carry a bazooka and blow the bastards away when they push in front of me - relying on the fact that I don't want to scratch my car and will stop on a dime etc etc.
I want the judges to come back - the ones from Judge Dread. I am waiting.
but I am not holding my breath.
This opens up a whole interesting debate of manners, not the least of which would be road manners. Mini bus taxis in this country are notorius for their lack of road manners, their blatant disregard for the law, and their almost purposeful display of law-breaking in any and all situations. For example, you will be waiting in a queue at a robot (for those who are not familiar with this local term, it is a traffic light) waiting to turn right across the oncoming traffic. There is oncoming traffic, so we are all waiting until such time as there is a gap when the traffic light is green and there are no cars. The taxis will actually drive 200 meters down the wrong side of hte road, literally pushing other cars out of hte way to make the right hand turn. But worst of all, the traffic cops standing on the corner just stand there and DO NOTHING.
Never mind manners, what about the rule of law. When do manners and law cross over? I think that South Africa has a serious problem in this regard, and I find that taxi drivers who actually expect manners to be applied to them are seriously out of touch with reality, or phychotic, or both.
There is a third option, perhaps this driver was the statistical anomoly - that one in ten trillion gazillion that actually obeys the traffic laws, has a road-worthy taxi and does have manners. But i doubt it.
I want to carry a bazooka and blow the bastards away when they push in front of me - relying on the fact that I don't want to scratch my car and will stop on a dime etc etc.
I want the judges to come back - the ones from Judge Dread. I am waiting.
but I am not holding my breath.
Friday, July 22, 2005
to bleed or not to bleed
Hi
I am Janis's blood. I regularly get given to other people. I have been donated 43 times, plus a few when they would not take me as I was low on iron. I thought we were supposed to weigh less? Ha ha.
Anyway, they would not take me today as I aparantly have to wait 3 months due to the possibility of developoping Hepetitus. Why? Because my owner had a body piercing. So what this means is ear piercing - or any other body pary ;) - you have to wait for 3 months. Sigh. I thought they were really short on blood. Oh well. At least I did not get a tattoo. If I had I would have had to wait for a whole year. D'oh!
I am Janis's blood. I regularly get given to other people. I have been donated 43 times, plus a few when they would not take me as I was low on iron. I thought we were supposed to weigh less? Ha ha.
Anyway, they would not take me today as I aparantly have to wait 3 months due to the possibility of developoping Hepetitus. Why? Because my owner had a body piercing. So what this means is ear piercing - or any other body pary ;) - you have to wait for 3 months. Sigh. I thought they were really short on blood. Oh well. At least I did not get a tattoo. If I had I would have had to wait for a whole year. D'oh!
Caution - moaning ahead
So there are many selfish people in this world, but the WORST of all of them has got to be most smokers.
Seriosly. I know their sense of smell is shot to hell, but are they also blind? I rejoiced when the no smoking in doors legislation was taken seriously in this country, and was enforced in most places, because I was actually allowed to breathe without gagging, but there is always one who either won't or can't abide by the rules, isn't there?
There is always one self-absorbed, narcissistic, egocentric, selfish, ungenerous, mean, nasty, unkind, callous, uncaring, and thoroughly unpleasant person who just ruins it all for everone.
Let me explain why. Yes, smokers do perhaps PRETEND to go outside, but have you ever noticed how they stand just over the line separating in from out, and also stand right in the entrance. I mean, are the also blind? I know they cannot smell the smoke pouring into the office, but can they not SEE it? Can they not hear the coughing and waving of hands as the voluminous smoke pours into the pristine office space which is now polluted, contaminated, stained, spoiled, ruined, dirtied, fouled, corrupted, and difficult to breathe? (oy, steady on there...)
I hereby put all smokers on notice: "in this place - ye are off the map - here be dragons!" If you want to go kill yourselves slowly with tar and chemicals, please do so where we don't have to see or smell it. It is bad enough that when you walk back into the room you breathe all over us with breath that is bad enough to knock out the entire WWF RAW and Smackdown rosters combined. (This is a story for another time and place)
Get a clue - BE MORE CONSIDERATE you stupid fuckers!
End.
Seriosly. I know their sense of smell is shot to hell, but are they also blind? I rejoiced when the no smoking in doors legislation was taken seriously in this country, and was enforced in most places, because I was actually allowed to breathe without gagging, but there is always one who either won't or can't abide by the rules, isn't there?
There is always one self-absorbed, narcissistic, egocentric, selfish, ungenerous, mean, nasty, unkind, callous, uncaring, and thoroughly unpleasant person who just ruins it all for everone.
Let me explain why. Yes, smokers do perhaps PRETEND to go outside, but have you ever noticed how they stand just over the line separating in from out, and also stand right in the entrance. I mean, are the also blind? I know they cannot smell the smoke pouring into the office, but can they not SEE it? Can they not hear the coughing and waving of hands as the voluminous smoke pours into the pristine office space which is now polluted, contaminated, stained, spoiled, ruined, dirtied, fouled, corrupted, and difficult to breathe? (oy, steady on there...)
I hereby put all smokers on notice: "in this place - ye are off the map - here be dragons!" If you want to go kill yourselves slowly with tar and chemicals, please do so where we don't have to see or smell it. It is bad enough that when you walk back into the room you breathe all over us with breath that is bad enough to knock out the entire WWF RAW and Smackdown rosters combined. (This is a story for another time and place)
Get a clue - BE MORE CONSIDERATE you stupid fuckers!
End.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
more, or perhaps, LESS English
Now we serve Ass Salads in the canteen. Okay, I know people are in a hurry to write the menus, but that is taking it a bit too far.
I also saw some prankster; probably a youthful teen (although that may be an unfair assumption) that had been liberal with a spray can - changing the sign for the Spotted Genet Restaurant to the Spotted Genital Restaurant. Not really sure if I want to eat there anymore.
Please - someone help me learn how to post photos - it is a very funny one.
It's not a motor bike dude
What the hell is up with those scooter things with the rooves on them? Seriously?
I am not a princess
Excuse me, it was not a frog, but a toad living in my garden. So says some propeller head who obviously doesn't have a life or anything better to do with his time than know that frogs probably don;t live in the area, and was able to identify the toad from a brief description. Ha ha.
Also, I discover that being a fragile princess is not always a good thing. Imagine being able to feel a single pea from beneath 12 matresses? WTF? More on that later.
Another thing though, the frog has gone. This means that either my cat has eaten it (and will soon puke it up all over some treasured item of clothing I leave for a nano-second on the floor) or the ladies in my cul-de-sac kissed it and it transformed into their prince.
Some of us never have any luck.
Oh well, back to scrubbing the floors...
Also, I discover that being a fragile princess is not always a good thing. Imagine being able to feel a single pea from beneath 12 matresses? WTF? More on that later.
Another thing though, the frog has gone. This means that either my cat has eaten it (and will soon puke it up all over some treasured item of clothing I leave for a nano-second on the floor) or the ladies in my cul-de-sac kissed it and it transformed into their prince.
Some of us never have any luck.
Oh well, back to scrubbing the floors...
Friday, March 18, 2005
More English Boobs, I mean, Booboos
It never ends. Yesterday a good friend of mine was telling someone about how well we get on. She was overheard making a derogatory remark about me, and the listener asked how long we had known each other. In fact, we have only just met, but have some sort of connection.
My new friend said "Oh, Janis and I have a very good repetoire." Surely she meant rapport? Sigh.
And another one - which was not a joke, despite the hillarity - upon hearing that a mutual friend had pluracy, he asked me if that meant you see double.
Again, I have to ask myself: "How stupid do you have to be to be able to dress yourself and find your way to work every morning?"
The answer, unfortunatly, is that apparantly, it doesn't matter. One look around my office will confirm this sad fact, and if you stay and listen, you will know that I am right. English doesn't live here anymore.
My new friend said "Oh, Janis and I have a very good repetoire." Surely she meant rapport? Sigh.
And another one - which was not a joke, despite the hillarity - upon hearing that a mutual friend had pluracy, he asked me if that meant you see double.
Again, I have to ask myself: "How stupid do you have to be to be able to dress yourself and find your way to work every morning?"
The answer, unfortunatly, is that apparantly, it doesn't matter. One look around my office will confirm this sad fact, and if you stay and listen, you will know that I am right. English doesn't live here anymore.
Friday, March 04, 2005
When your cat laughs at you...
So I started singing lessons recently (I have always loved singing, and want to make the most of the gift I have) and there are several voice training exercises to do every day.
The strangest ones are the sighing, and the one called the siren (yes, it is exactly what you think it is).
The other day I was practising, and my cat came in and looked at me as if I was a piece of strange, mouldy, old cheese. I could swear she almost laughed, meowed at me, and stalked away.
The neighbour’s kids already think I am strange because I play the piano and saxophone from time to time, and I often see them gathering at the gate looking in pointing and laughing, but my cat is supposed to accept me and love me for who I am dammit. I mean, who feeds her after all?
I am not necessarily a wanna-be Diva, but when your cat laughs at you when you sing, it is very discouraging. Besides, the rules for practising specifically say we should practise in a place where we are not hindered by anything such as people who may laugh at us. I think I shall ask her to add cats, dogs, and children too.
Siiiiiiiiiiiiiigh...
The strangest ones are the sighing, and the one called the siren (yes, it is exactly what you think it is).
The other day I was practising, and my cat came in and looked at me as if I was a piece of strange, mouldy, old cheese. I could swear she almost laughed, meowed at me, and stalked away.
The neighbour’s kids already think I am strange because I play the piano and saxophone from time to time, and I often see them gathering at the gate looking in pointing and laughing, but my cat is supposed to accept me and love me for who I am dammit. I mean, who feeds her after all?
I am not necessarily a wanna-be Diva, but when your cat laughs at you when you sing, it is very discouraging. Besides, the rules for practising specifically say we should practise in a place where we are not hindered by anything such as people who may laugh at us. I think I shall ask her to add cats, dogs, and children too.
Siiiiiiiiiiiiiigh...
Thursday, February 24, 2005
We can likes to talk good English!
It always amazes me how badly people talk (or should that be, speak). Now, those people who are not mother tongue English speakers are not the ones I am talking about. Surprisingly, they speak very good English - much better than some of my friends who have never spoken another language in their lives.
Apart from the horrendous over-use of the apostrophe (in cases such as one DVD, many DVD's [aargh!], one PC, many PC's [again, aargh!]) the correct usage of simple spelling and phrases that one would have thought could be mangled are consistently being eroded by everyone around me, and it is driving me crazy!
There are, I will grudgingly admit, some phrases or difficult usages that I can understand may change with use and become accepted in another form, but here are some examples that made me cry with laughter: (I have not figured out how to post photos, so you will have to take my word for the fact that I have seen these)
Apart from the horrendous over-use of the apostrophe (in cases such as one DVD, many DVD's [aargh!], one PC, many PC's [again, aargh!]) the correct usage of simple spelling and phrases that one would have thought could be mangled are consistently being eroded by everyone around me, and it is driving me crazy!
There are, I will grudgingly admit, some phrases or difficult usages that I can understand may change with use and become accepted in another form, but here are some examples that made me cry with laughter: (I have not figured out how to post photos, so you will have to take my word for the fact that I have seen these)
- At the salad station in the canteen: Cold Statoin (Surely since this was printed it could have been spell checked?!?)
- On the gates in the complex next to me, one gate says visitors and the other residence (I almost crashed my car when I read that)
- On the street sign for my road - Eigth road instead of Eighth Road
Apart from signs, I also hear mangled expressions such as those listed below:
- Oh, for crying out loud in a bucket (!?!)
- The proof is in the pudding (really? I always thought it was in the eating)
- She is the epiphany of organisation (surely you mean epitome)
Maybe I am becoming an old fart, but I hate to see the poor language tortured so much. Oh well, nothing much I can do about it.
Y'all have a good day now y'hear. (He he)
Saturday, February 19, 2005
Running and rolling
Today I saw something that reminded me how much I love living where I do. I live in an area of town where there is an interesting mixture of open land and business, townhouses and free hold houses.
There are still sheep around the corner from me, and lots of plots for horses as well. I have also seen wild rabbits, some sort of wild dog which looked like a jackal, owls, frogs, and squirrels (or perhaps a mongoose or two).
Today (along the road past the prison) the traffic came to a complete stand still for a few seconds while a family of ducks hurtled across the road. The last little one was trying to cross so quickly that it rolled and fell across the road in a particularly frantic way. The parents waited until they were across and then continued on. This is not really so uncommon. I have seen the same thing by the river when we all came to a screeching halt for a large and beautiful legevaan (large type of amphibius lizard I think, which I cannot spell).
I am encouraged that we still do this in Africa, and it pleases me that we still have so many wild things living around here.
I also have a large frog living in my pond. That is very cool too.
I used to have many more birds in my garden before I got a cat who cathes them for me as presents on a regular basis...
I wonder how many wild things you have in your garden?
There are still sheep around the corner from me, and lots of plots for horses as well. I have also seen wild rabbits, some sort of wild dog which looked like a jackal, owls, frogs, and squirrels (or perhaps a mongoose or two).
Today (along the road past the prison) the traffic came to a complete stand still for a few seconds while a family of ducks hurtled across the road. The last little one was trying to cross so quickly that it rolled and fell across the road in a particularly frantic way. The parents waited until they were across and then continued on. This is not really so uncommon. I have seen the same thing by the river when we all came to a screeching halt for a large and beautiful legevaan (large type of amphibius lizard I think, which I cannot spell).
I am encouraged that we still do this in Africa, and it pleases me that we still have so many wild things living around here.
I also have a large frog living in my pond. That is very cool too.
I used to have many more birds in my garden before I got a cat who cathes them for me as presents on a regular basis...
I wonder how many wild things you have in your garden?
Friday, February 18, 2005
When hell pretends to freeze over
So the guy from the place called me back and told me that the cheque was ready (about four hours late). Quite impressive actually! so I arrange with a friend to go fetch the cheque (in case they change their mind), first thing on Friday morning. I called the man back and confirmed the address, as well as all the details, and he once again agreed.
Again, I am not surprised, he called me back at 9:30 to let me know that he had misspelled my name on the cheque and it was not ready to be collected at all. he had to redraw the cheque, and redo the whole signature process.
Never mind warm fuzzy ears, now there is black smoke and lightning billowing out of them.
And to top it all, as if I am not feeling bad enough about making such a STUPID mistake, they have levied me with a refund charge.
I take it back - the banks and institutions like the SABS TV License department are the only ones make any money around here.
It kinda makes me question why I am a good citizen and pay my license at all...
Again, I am not surprised, he called me back at 9:30 to let me know that he had misspelled my name on the cheque and it was not ready to be collected at all. he had to redraw the cheque, and redo the whole signature process.
Never mind warm fuzzy ears, now there is black smoke and lightning billowing out of them.
And to top it all, as if I am not feeling bad enough about making such a STUPID mistake, they have levied me with a refund charge.
I take it back - the banks and institutions like the SABS TV License department are the only ones make any money around here.
It kinda makes me question why I am a good citizen and pay my license at all...
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Warm fuzzy ears
Why is it that when you want to call a nameless, faceless corporation's call centre to get your money back, or get some help of some sort that you have to wait until your ears feel as if they have been in under a very large man on a bus ride from Cape to Cairo? I think that the sooner we can invent a phone that cools your ears the better.
I have been trying to get my money back from the TV license department for more than a month now - I stupidly paid my car installment to them instead of another beneficiary on my internet banking (yes, okay, my stupid error, sigh!), and they claim that every stage of theprocess takes an incrementally longer period of time to progress.
For example, when I phoned, and told them what I had done, the lady (whose name I shall not publish here) said I had to wait 7 days until the money reflected in their system, after which I had to send a fax with all my details and proof and then wait a further 7 days for the fax to reflect on their system. !?!
After that I would have to wait 15 days and call back to speak to someone in the accounts department.
Not.
I sent the fax on the same day, and called ont he same day, and have kept calling every two days until I have at last found a gentleman (who the accounts department put me through to because they could see that I was not going to give up) who seems to know exactly what is potting. A good sign.. Yaay.
Today, is exactly 20 days after the start of the debacle, and although the man was quite helpful, he denied the time periods and laughed at the fact that I had waited so long. (How rude.)
Now between you and me - the only people who make any money here are the bloddy banks because it goes out of my bank IMMEDIATELY, and I am certain it goes into the beneficiary within 2 working days...
Never mind.
He said he would call me back in 10 minutes.
Let's see when hell will freeze over ...
I have been trying to get my money back from the TV license department for more than a month now - I stupidly paid my car installment to them instead of another beneficiary on my internet banking (yes, okay, my stupid error, sigh!), and they claim that every stage of theprocess takes an incrementally longer period of time to progress.
For example, when I phoned, and told them what I had done, the lady (whose name I shall not publish here) said I had to wait 7 days until the money reflected in their system, after which I had to send a fax with all my details and proof and then wait a further 7 days for the fax to reflect on their system. !?!
After that I would have to wait 15 days and call back to speak to someone in the accounts department.
Not.
I sent the fax on the same day, and called ont he same day, and have kept calling every two days until I have at last found a gentleman (who the accounts department put me through to because they could see that I was not going to give up) who seems to know exactly what is potting. A good sign.. Yaay.
Today, is exactly 20 days after the start of the debacle, and although the man was quite helpful, he denied the time periods and laughed at the fact that I had waited so long. (How rude.)
Now between you and me - the only people who make any money here are the bloddy banks because it goes out of my bank IMMEDIATELY, and I am certain it goes into the beneficiary within 2 working days...
Never mind.
He said he would call me back in 10 minutes.
Let's see when hell will freeze over ...
Friday, January 21, 2005
Undermining the client – again
*Written 6 May 2003 during a project visit down a coal mine. (One of my colleagues co-wrote this article with me)
Coal (we wish it was diamonds) on the soles of our shoes
How often do we work on a client engagement, and truly step into “their shoes”?
Understanding the impact of a new system or structure, or defining an employee’s new responsibilities is a difficult and risky deliverable to achieve. Especially when performed without exploring a “day in the life” of a client employee…
With this in mind, a few members of our team attended an excursion of the “under world” of Khutala Colliery. It was difficult to establish who was more excited - the mine manager and his team of guides (Mine Overseers), or us!
What indemnity did I sign?
Once introduced to all the safety regulations and instructions, and made to sign various forms saying that we have been shown, and understood all the regulations and process, as well as safety and escape information - an aspect taken very seriously by all mine employees - I am sure a few of us, were feeling a little less gung-ho about what can go wrong underground. It was probably also not the best time to find out that coal mines (next to asbestos mines) are the most dangerous in the world.
Underground Fashion
Gearing up for the trip of 60meters below surface (a mere ditch, compared to the depths of gold mines) involved donning a veritable suit of armour comprising the trendy and comfortable overall (with its strategically placed slits on either side!), woollen socks, gloves, gum boots, and then the infamous hard-hat and lamp… Oh, and of course the temporary life pack that houses breathing equipment, to be used for up to 40 minutes during an underground emergency – (yes, very comforting!).
Getting technical
I certainly had a naïve understanding of the expanse of a coal mine, and was surprised at the kilometres travelled to reach the coal-face. It was also unsettling to imagine how normal structures such as highways, buildings, and massive power stations were sitting snugly above us. This is possible due to the clever placement of the blocks where they leave the coal pillars to hold up the ground above. This results in approximately 42% of the coal being left in the ground.
Flame-proof vehicles?!?
We were taken to two of the seventeen Coal extraction sites, through various hanging walls with big signs that read NO NON-FLAME PROOF VEHICLES PAST THIS POINT – so the bakkie in which we were transported had to wait behind. Safety is certainly taken very seriously, and all the vehicles are modified to ensure that they do not cause sparks that may ignite the mine, necessitating the use of the personal safety equipment, and rushing in a non-orderly fashion for the nearest safety bay!
Each site is independently equipped with its own Continuous Miner or XXX multi-million rand machines that drive rotating teeth through the coal, breaking off coal ‘chunks’, to be scooped up onto a shuttle car, a large tractor like truck that carries the coal from the CM to the conveyor belt. Both the Continuous Miner and the Shuttle Car move small slight distances, cutting coal off in planned-out squares – a very impressive thing to watch, from a vantage point which few will have the opportunity to view the cutting – getting faces splashed with coal dust and water from the teeth of the huge machines. The operators of these large, noisy and energy consuming monsters crafted perfectly sculptured square pillars out of a coal seam, and are able to produce XX tonnes per shift – equating to a turn over of RXXX. Not bad for a morning’s work.
Client acceptance equals getting down and dirty
Contrary to what you may expect, the air is clean, fresh and moist, and the environment cool, with little or no dust in the air – in adherence of the health regulations whereby mines have to comply with a minimum dust level underground. In order to achieve this; fine mists of water are showered on the coal being mined, as well as the already mined areas. Consequently, the challenge lay in avoiding the piles of soggy black dust lying in the lifeless knee-deep pools of black water. At one point we were gingerly contemplating a large pond, and our guides defaced our squeaky clean consultant appearance, fearing that one of us would leave the adventure looking ‘un-touched’. Unlike “normal” mud, this black coal mud was difficult to wash off. Our first clue should have been when the GM told our guides to bring us back clean – a curious comment that we only understood when we were soaked from head to foot with a wall of freezing coal sludge sent by the feet of our guides…Luckily, there were soap bars and shampoo waiting for us in the change rooms.
Once we had recovered from the cold, and were all washed and clean again, we could laugh about the experience. All in all, it was very interesting, and we were all glad to have been to see it. The adherence to safety is extraordinary, and the maxim Safety First, Production After holds true.
Coal (we wish it was diamonds) on the soles of our shoes
How often do we work on a client engagement, and truly step into “their shoes”?
Understanding the impact of a new system or structure, or defining an employee’s new responsibilities is a difficult and risky deliverable to achieve. Especially when performed without exploring a “day in the life” of a client employee…
With this in mind, a few members of our team attended an excursion of the “under world” of Khutala Colliery. It was difficult to establish who was more excited - the mine manager and his team of guides (Mine Overseers), or us!
What indemnity did I sign?
Once introduced to all the safety regulations and instructions, and made to sign various forms saying that we have been shown, and understood all the regulations and process, as well as safety and escape information - an aspect taken very seriously by all mine employees - I am sure a few of us, were feeling a little less gung-ho about what can go wrong underground. It was probably also not the best time to find out that coal mines (next to asbestos mines) are the most dangerous in the world.
Underground Fashion
Gearing up for the trip of 60meters below surface (a mere ditch, compared to the depths of gold mines) involved donning a veritable suit of armour comprising the trendy and comfortable overall (with its strategically placed slits on either side!), woollen socks, gloves, gum boots, and then the infamous hard-hat and lamp… Oh, and of course the temporary life pack that houses breathing equipment, to be used for up to 40 minutes during an underground emergency – (yes, very comforting!).
Getting technical
I certainly had a naïve understanding of the expanse of a coal mine, and was surprised at the kilometres travelled to reach the coal-face. It was also unsettling to imagine how normal structures such as highways, buildings, and massive power stations were sitting snugly above us. This is possible due to the clever placement of the blocks where they leave the coal pillars to hold up the ground above. This results in approximately 42% of the coal being left in the ground.
Flame-proof vehicles?!?
We were taken to two of the seventeen Coal extraction sites, through various hanging walls with big signs that read NO NON-FLAME PROOF VEHICLES PAST THIS POINT – so the bakkie in which we were transported had to wait behind. Safety is certainly taken very seriously, and all the vehicles are modified to ensure that they do not cause sparks that may ignite the mine, necessitating the use of the personal safety equipment, and rushing in a non-orderly fashion for the nearest safety bay!
Each site is independently equipped with its own Continuous Miner or XXX multi-million rand machines that drive rotating teeth through the coal, breaking off coal ‘chunks’, to be scooped up onto a shuttle car, a large tractor like truck that carries the coal from the CM to the conveyor belt. Both the Continuous Miner and the Shuttle Car move small slight distances, cutting coal off in planned-out squares – a very impressive thing to watch, from a vantage point which few will have the opportunity to view the cutting – getting faces splashed with coal dust and water from the teeth of the huge machines. The operators of these large, noisy and energy consuming monsters crafted perfectly sculptured square pillars out of a coal seam, and are able to produce XX tonnes per shift – equating to a turn over of RXXX. Not bad for a morning’s work.
Client acceptance equals getting down and dirty
Contrary to what you may expect, the air is clean, fresh and moist, and the environment cool, with little or no dust in the air – in adherence of the health regulations whereby mines have to comply with a minimum dust level underground. In order to achieve this; fine mists of water are showered on the coal being mined, as well as the already mined areas. Consequently, the challenge lay in avoiding the piles of soggy black dust lying in the lifeless knee-deep pools of black water. At one point we were gingerly contemplating a large pond, and our guides defaced our squeaky clean consultant appearance, fearing that one of us would leave the adventure looking ‘un-touched’. Unlike “normal” mud, this black coal mud was difficult to wash off. Our first clue should have been when the GM told our guides to bring us back clean – a curious comment that we only understood when we were soaked from head to foot with a wall of freezing coal sludge sent by the feet of our guides…Luckily, there were soap bars and shampoo waiting for us in the change rooms.
Once we had recovered from the cold, and were all washed and clean again, we could laugh about the experience. All in all, it was very interesting, and we were all glad to have been to see it. The adherence to safety is extraordinary, and the maxim Safety First, Production After holds true.
The great Tubatse Drive-by smelting
*Written 9 July 2003 during the project - on a visit to a Chrome smelter.
Chrome Sex
What do Chrome Sex, Vibrators, big iron balls, and condoms have in common? Well, more than you may think, but not in the way you may think… Chrome Sex, I mean Six is a heavy dust that is produced as a result of slag – a waste by-product of smelted chrome.
We discovered this when we went on a tour at the Tubatse Works – one of the chrome mines in South Africa - nestling in the Steelpoort Valley. It is also the eleventh and last site to go live with the GSAP project at BHPBilliton.
Rules is rules
So we managed to arrange a tour for all the trainers who were keen to see what actually happens on a chrome plant - in other words, they wanted to see if what they had trained the 10 000 people was correct.
The day of the tour came, and we all went and waited like children for a school trip. We were guided by a Plant Maintenance Super User who is obviously very proud of Tubatse, and his job. He whisked us around the plant in a kombi answering most of our questions, and showing us some very interesting things along the way. He answered most of the questions that were straight forward, and but was a bit slippery on some relating to Rand values, exact tonnages, profit margin, and who owns the mineral rights. Also, was very vague around the slag dumps that were different colours…
On the day of the tour we were reminded about the rules:
· No cameras
· No cameras
· No cameras
· No tape recorders
· Oh yes, comfy shoes, clothes, and safety or sun glasses
Kinda makes you think they want to hide something ‘eh?
In fact, the no camera rule applies specifically for safety reasons – all photos must be “sanitised” before they are available for public consumption in order to promote correct use of safety equipment etc. Or so they say. Luckily I am not a conspiracy theorist.
Personal safety equipment was not issued to us, and nor did we have to attend a safety briefing as we were not actually going to be walking anywhere. We were driven around the smelter like guests of honour – negating the need for a PPE (personal protective equipment) or any other safety requirements. One of our colleagues was pregnant at the time, and they were quite hesitant to have her along in case the heat from the furnace caused her any problems.
Safety is definitely a big priority at the plant.
Heavy Metal
We piled into the kombi and our tour began. We were not allowed to open any windows without wearing glasses (unless you sat on the side where the window pane was broken), and were told to be on the look out for trucks carrying heavy metal. This is neither the music, nor the web programme, but a truck hauling red hot metal which is to be dumped. We did drive behind one, and it looked as if the truck itself were glowing. I think you could get quite a nasty burn from that!
Lucas Potgieter et al
We started at the train track where the piles of raw material are brought in. Lucas Potgieter brings the chrome in his big green and gold trucks (now there is a drug reference!?!) to the site where they are sorted and stacked in huge piles in the day bunkers. Contrary to popular belief Lucas is not an actual person but a trucking company that delivers the chrome to the smelter once it has been dug out of the ground. Those of you who have driven out to Tubatse will know the ones – they are the big trucks that drop the chrome onto our windscreens causing those irritating little pocks and cracks.
Day bunkers
The day bunkers are separate piles of ingredients that are used in the smelter. They include things like Chinese Coking Coal, Chrome, Quartz, and other secret piles of indistinguishable stuff. Also, at this stage, I would like to mention that we were not given a satisfactory answer as to why it is called a smelter and not a melter, but that is a story for another time.
Baking cookies
The smelter sends a “call” to the day bunkers causing a plate (called a vibrator) to vibrate under the relevant bunker causing the material to hop along onto a conveyor belt leading the stuff to a container. This container is some sort of enormous scale which weighs the ingredient and stops the vibrations when the required amount is in the container. The material is then conveyored into the smelter, and the next ingredient is called, and so on. When all the ingredients are there, the smelter then smelts the mixture and through some magical process I still don’t understand, chrome and slag come out the other end.
The technical details that I was able to gather include that the mixture is heated between 1700 and 2000 degrees in really big pots (see – this is really technical). There are two types of heating containers – pots and ladles. Evidently, the ladles are used for higher quality chrome product, and are treated more carefully, and looked after better than the pots. We saw a bunch of pots sitting on their heads out in the sun, packed on top of each other, and generally lying about, whereas the ladles were neatly stacked under a shelter. I still don’t really understand the difference between them, but the ladles are used to make chrome ingots which are large as a front loader
Chrome Dome
The big pots get a layer of chrome in them, and are regularly turned upside down and tapped to get the layer inside out. This is called the Hiawatha procedure. Not really.
The mixture in the pots (which is what we saw) is a red hot mixture of molten ferrochrome and slag. It is ferrous because of the high iron content in the chrome.
Also, strangely enough, although the slag floats at the top of the pot, it is always the first thing that comes out of the hole at the bottom of the pot. The slag is a waste-product, and unfortunately cannot be used for anything except building aggregate or as a concrete binder. Somehow the link between Chrome Six and slag was not covered, so we didn’t ask. The rest of the pot is about 21 tonnes of ferrochrome which is usually 43% pure chrome.
Back to the beginning again
Once the chrome has been melted (sorry, smelted), it is an even shiny black. But here’s the thing – once they have taken the small bits and made them big, they then crush them into small bits again. I wonder if that is what our guide meant when he said that it was a pity that they did not add any value, and that the product was only made more valuable once it was sold to someone else. Seriously, they are crushed and passed through a sieve and sold as dust, power, chunks, or rocks.
Apart from size, the chrome they sell is also classified by silicon content. The less the silicon, the harder it is to crush, but the more valuable.
This crushed chrome is stored again in other day bunkers, and then sent by train to wherever they are to be shipped or sold.
The slag is further refined in a chrome recovery process. Again, I am not clear on the technical details, but the chrome that comes out of this process is “shot” into a container which forms small, medium, or large chrome balls which look exactly the same as ironies – those metal marbles we all used to play with way back when.
The slag is then sent to a slag pile where it is stored and eventually sealed in concrete to avoid any contamination, even though they say there is no contamination from it. Erin Brokovic may disagree.
Other interesting facts
The way the pots work is to have that the mixture is melted by three electrodes arcing off each other and not the pot. The only problem with that was if the power goes off. If there is a loss of power, and consequently heat, it becomes difficult to get the electrodes out of the pot, and almost impossible to get the arcs going again.
In order to avoid this situation as much as possible – they have an agreement with Eskom. They have to let them know when they have planned power outages. I guess that you can negotiate this if you too pay R16 million each month.
Concrete feet – kapish?
The plant is busy reprocessing the old slag dumps to reclaim the final chrome from them, and in this process they have found all sorts of interesting things. They have found old cars, junk, and even skeletons. Well, maybe not skeletons, but when we asked if they found any bodies the tour guide answered with a comments about the next part of the tour, and a vague mumble about not being able to “prove those problems with the unions in those days”. I wonder if Jimmy Hoffa ever visited South Africa?
Did you know?
The greatest competition facing plants like Tubatse is reclaimable chrome scrap yards who currently hold 42% of the market.
Wave me goodbye
Our tour guide made a final wistful comment – that he was sad that they don’t actually add any value to the chrome, but that they sell the chrome to Japan who sell it back to us as stainless steel.
On the way out we were all counted again to make sure that we were all present and accounted for, given a condom, and asked to drive safely. Perhaps they should put an age restriction on this tour!
The Tubatse plant produces mostly product for export, and it is also the most profitable mine in the BHPBilliton group.
Chrome Sex
What do Chrome Sex, Vibrators, big iron balls, and condoms have in common? Well, more than you may think, but not in the way you may think… Chrome Sex, I mean Six is a heavy dust that is produced as a result of slag – a waste by-product of smelted chrome.
We discovered this when we went on a tour at the Tubatse Works – one of the chrome mines in South Africa - nestling in the Steelpoort Valley. It is also the eleventh and last site to go live with the GSAP project at BHPBilliton.
Rules is rules
So we managed to arrange a tour for all the trainers who were keen to see what actually happens on a chrome plant - in other words, they wanted to see if what they had trained the 10 000 people was correct.
The day of the tour came, and we all went and waited like children for a school trip. We were guided by a Plant Maintenance Super User who is obviously very proud of Tubatse, and his job. He whisked us around the plant in a kombi answering most of our questions, and showing us some very interesting things along the way. He answered most of the questions that were straight forward, and but was a bit slippery on some relating to Rand values, exact tonnages, profit margin, and who owns the mineral rights. Also, was very vague around the slag dumps that were different colours…
On the day of the tour we were reminded about the rules:
· No cameras
· No cameras
· No cameras
· No tape recorders
· Oh yes, comfy shoes, clothes, and safety or sun glasses
Kinda makes you think they want to hide something ‘eh?
In fact, the no camera rule applies specifically for safety reasons – all photos must be “sanitised” before they are available for public consumption in order to promote correct use of safety equipment etc. Or so they say. Luckily I am not a conspiracy theorist.
Personal safety equipment was not issued to us, and nor did we have to attend a safety briefing as we were not actually going to be walking anywhere. We were driven around the smelter like guests of honour – negating the need for a PPE (personal protective equipment) or any other safety requirements. One of our colleagues was pregnant at the time, and they were quite hesitant to have her along in case the heat from the furnace caused her any problems.
Safety is definitely a big priority at the plant.
Heavy Metal
We piled into the kombi and our tour began. We were not allowed to open any windows without wearing glasses (unless you sat on the side where the window pane was broken), and were told to be on the look out for trucks carrying heavy metal. This is neither the music, nor the web programme, but a truck hauling red hot metal which is to be dumped. We did drive behind one, and it looked as if the truck itself were glowing. I think you could get quite a nasty burn from that!
Lucas Potgieter et al
We started at the train track where the piles of raw material are brought in. Lucas Potgieter brings the chrome in his big green and gold trucks (now there is a drug reference!?!) to the site where they are sorted and stacked in huge piles in the day bunkers. Contrary to popular belief Lucas is not an actual person but a trucking company that delivers the chrome to the smelter once it has been dug out of the ground. Those of you who have driven out to Tubatse will know the ones – they are the big trucks that drop the chrome onto our windscreens causing those irritating little pocks and cracks.
Day bunkers
The day bunkers are separate piles of ingredients that are used in the smelter. They include things like Chinese Coking Coal, Chrome, Quartz, and other secret piles of indistinguishable stuff. Also, at this stage, I would like to mention that we were not given a satisfactory answer as to why it is called a smelter and not a melter, but that is a story for another time.
Baking cookies
The smelter sends a “call” to the day bunkers causing a plate (called a vibrator) to vibrate under the relevant bunker causing the material to hop along onto a conveyor belt leading the stuff to a container. This container is some sort of enormous scale which weighs the ingredient and stops the vibrations when the required amount is in the container. The material is then conveyored into the smelter, and the next ingredient is called, and so on. When all the ingredients are there, the smelter then smelts the mixture and through some magical process I still don’t understand, chrome and slag come out the other end.
The technical details that I was able to gather include that the mixture is heated between 1700 and 2000 degrees in really big pots (see – this is really technical). There are two types of heating containers – pots and ladles. Evidently, the ladles are used for higher quality chrome product, and are treated more carefully, and looked after better than the pots. We saw a bunch of pots sitting on their heads out in the sun, packed on top of each other, and generally lying about, whereas the ladles were neatly stacked under a shelter. I still don’t really understand the difference between them, but the ladles are used to make chrome ingots which are large as a front loader
Chrome Dome
The big pots get a layer of chrome in them, and are regularly turned upside down and tapped to get the layer inside out. This is called the Hiawatha procedure. Not really.
The mixture in the pots (which is what we saw) is a red hot mixture of molten ferrochrome and slag. It is ferrous because of the high iron content in the chrome.
Also, strangely enough, although the slag floats at the top of the pot, it is always the first thing that comes out of the hole at the bottom of the pot. The slag is a waste-product, and unfortunately cannot be used for anything except building aggregate or as a concrete binder. Somehow the link between Chrome Six and slag was not covered, so we didn’t ask. The rest of the pot is about 21 tonnes of ferrochrome which is usually 43% pure chrome.
Back to the beginning again
Once the chrome has been melted (sorry, smelted), it is an even shiny black. But here’s the thing – once they have taken the small bits and made them big, they then crush them into small bits again. I wonder if that is what our guide meant when he said that it was a pity that they did not add any value, and that the product was only made more valuable once it was sold to someone else. Seriously, they are crushed and passed through a sieve and sold as dust, power, chunks, or rocks.
Apart from size, the chrome they sell is also classified by silicon content. The less the silicon, the harder it is to crush, but the more valuable.
This crushed chrome is stored again in other day bunkers, and then sent by train to wherever they are to be shipped or sold.
The slag is further refined in a chrome recovery process. Again, I am not clear on the technical details, but the chrome that comes out of this process is “shot” into a container which forms small, medium, or large chrome balls which look exactly the same as ironies – those metal marbles we all used to play with way back when.
The slag is then sent to a slag pile where it is stored and eventually sealed in concrete to avoid any contamination, even though they say there is no contamination from it. Erin Brokovic may disagree.
Other interesting facts
The way the pots work is to have that the mixture is melted by three electrodes arcing off each other and not the pot. The only problem with that was if the power goes off. If there is a loss of power, and consequently heat, it becomes difficult to get the electrodes out of the pot, and almost impossible to get the arcs going again.
In order to avoid this situation as much as possible – they have an agreement with Eskom. They have to let them know when they have planned power outages. I guess that you can negotiate this if you too pay R16 million each month.
Concrete feet – kapish?
The plant is busy reprocessing the old slag dumps to reclaim the final chrome from them, and in this process they have found all sorts of interesting things. They have found old cars, junk, and even skeletons. Well, maybe not skeletons, but when we asked if they found any bodies the tour guide answered with a comments about the next part of the tour, and a vague mumble about not being able to “prove those problems with the unions in those days”. I wonder if Jimmy Hoffa ever visited South Africa?
Did you know?
The greatest competition facing plants like Tubatse is reclaimable chrome scrap yards who currently hold 42% of the market.
Wave me goodbye
Our tour guide made a final wistful comment – that he was sad that they don’t actually add any value to the chrome, but that they sell the chrome to Japan who sell it back to us as stainless steel.
On the way out we were all counted again to make sure that we were all present and accounted for, given a condom, and asked to drive safely. Perhaps they should put an age restriction on this tour!
The Tubatse plant produces mostly product for export, and it is also the most profitable mine in the BHPBilliton group.
Project update - integration
*Written 13 January 2004 during the integration of Deloitte Consulting and the greater Deloitte and Touch inclidung legacy Human Capital Corporation
It is 35 days (give or take a few) to the green dot sale at CNA, I mean the launch of the new Deloitte brand, and people have been seen wearing their green paraphernalia in order to promote the brand. There has even been toy-toying to get the launch here faster. Certain people were even lobbed with green apples in an attempt to get the green dot imprinted upon as many of us as possible.
Apart from the green ribbons, last month you would have noticed that people were also wearing their war medals in various colours – you know, red, white, pink, green… The red one is for AIDS awareness, the white was for awareness of anti violence against women and children, the pink was for breast cancer awareness, and I can’t remember what the green one was for… ha ha.
For those of us who wore the ribbons – the rewards were many. For example, Pieter Dirk Uys would have handed you a condom and pink chocolate to highlight the topic of his talk – AIDS awareness. After using words that caused some to blush, and giving honest and frank feedback, statistics, and opinions, the entire audience was rolling in the aisles while being educated about various preventive measures which I won’t discuss here due to censorship.
Another successful venture between the newly joined groups who comprise the new Humans (Human Capital) saw the delivery of several presents, activity packs, and bags of treats to some AIDS orphans. We had a record number of people contributing from all the Humans, and the little guys had a fantastic time. The jury is still out on whether Santa, the mermaid, the fairy, and the various other dressed up people had more fun than the kids or not.
Now days, while we are waiting for the move to building 17, the beach is filling up quickly. The choice spots are taken quickly, and booked for the duration of some secret and undefined time period until each warrior goes back to battle. If you are not here before stupid o’clock in the morning, you also won’t get a parking.
All I know is Darth Mona will not be around to herd the jedis anymore. We will miss her, as she has been a fantastic villain. May the force be with you!
It is 35 days (give or take a few) to the green dot sale at CNA, I mean the launch of the new Deloitte brand, and people have been seen wearing their green paraphernalia in order to promote the brand. There has even been toy-toying to get the launch here faster. Certain people were even lobbed with green apples in an attempt to get the green dot imprinted upon as many of us as possible.
Apart from the green ribbons, last month you would have noticed that people were also wearing their war medals in various colours – you know, red, white, pink, green… The red one is for AIDS awareness, the white was for awareness of anti violence against women and children, the pink was for breast cancer awareness, and I can’t remember what the green one was for… ha ha.
For those of us who wore the ribbons – the rewards were many. For example, Pieter Dirk Uys would have handed you a condom and pink chocolate to highlight the topic of his talk – AIDS awareness. After using words that caused some to blush, and giving honest and frank feedback, statistics, and opinions, the entire audience was rolling in the aisles while being educated about various preventive measures which I won’t discuss here due to censorship.
Another successful venture between the newly joined groups who comprise the new Humans (Human Capital) saw the delivery of several presents, activity packs, and bags of treats to some AIDS orphans. We had a record number of people contributing from all the Humans, and the little guys had a fantastic time. The jury is still out on whether Santa, the mermaid, the fairy, and the various other dressed up people had more fun than the kids or not.
Now days, while we are waiting for the move to building 17, the beach is filling up quickly. The choice spots are taken quickly, and booked for the duration of some secret and undefined time period until each warrior goes back to battle. If you are not here before stupid o’clock in the morning, you also won’t get a parking.
All I know is Darth Mona will not be around to herd the jedis anymore. We will miss her, as she has been a fantastic villain. May the force be with you!
Interview with a beach bum (project update)
*Written 17 November 2003 as a project update while I was unassigned and waiting for my next project.
De Beers - A diamond is for forever, but the project is for a few days
After days and days on the beach, and yet somehow, still without a tan, I was finally reassigned to a project – the De Beers project – along with about 112 other project team members from the Deloitte Consulting Alliance. I arrived on the Monday, and by Friday, the wheels had already come off. It was one of those “been there, done that, and didn’t want the t-shirt” experiences.
There are currently only a few who understand what it means to have been “back in Nam”, and at the end of this project, there should have been hordes more, unfortunately, that was not to happen. The Director of Operations issued a brief just recently, detailing in suitably vague terms, the reasons for stopping the project. Small parts of the project are to continue, and the scope is still to be defined, but essentially, of the 112 consultants, 56 left the project by the end of the next week, leaving a very few of us at the site to continue.
Used to this type of change from all quarters, the DCA consultants simply put their Aries paraphernalia on the pile with their Braxton stuff, and carried on about their business.
The Anaconda
As a final goodbye and team unbuilding exercise, we all went and had a braai at a place in Gold Reef City. Of course, a few of us went and rode the Anaconda first. Not a quiet ride! I found that as I got off the ride to walk away down the exit path, my legs were wobbly. Perhaps I am getting a bit old, but it was still great fun. Certain people who were with us did not want to go on it, claiming they had been before. Perhaps if I had gone before I would also have chosen not to go, but then again, who knows?
Some teams organised a “ready, steady, stop” lunch, where they met to plan where they would be going after the De Beers work, or to commiserate about their upcoming lack of utilisation.
Who do you know?
As far as team work goes, all’s fair in love and war. And going onto other projects. People were asking each other which projects they were likely to go onto, and most said they did not know, even though the rumours had already started to circulate about who was going where. Now is the time to see who knows who, who will be the first onto other projects after all saying they were also not able to find billable work anywhere. Watch this space…
Trading cards
Not only do we have collector’s items of Aries shirts, pens, and note pads (unfortunately no diamonds), but we also have an additional access card which will be obsolete within one month. At De Beers, the security is incredibly well streamlined, and our access cards even have different coloured backgrounds depending on the nature of the work we do. Yellow was for the Aries project, but it will now be disbanded, and the Fast Track project which will go ahead will be renamed something else.
Of course, the consultants will probably be given more t-shirts and pens, and the cycle will continue once again. Let’s hope they don’t ask for the coffee mugs back…
Bets are doing the rounds for the new project name, but no names have been leaked yet.
The economics of projects
In my opinion, you can tell how well funded a project is by looking at three basic elements:
1. Where do the consultants sit (I have actually worked in a basement 4 floors underground before),
2. What type of chairs do they sit on, and
3. Is there hot chocolate freely available?
De Beers scores very highly on these criteria.
One of the sad things about leaving the De Beers project will be the fact that every office has windows, due to the setup and layout of the physical building. I’ll never forget this project because we all got to sit by a window and breathe real air, not the canned type.
A close second was the chairs. Normally we get the chairs that no one else wants that have been lying around for years (except at Billiton where we had the best chairs I have ever seen on a project), and scientific studies show that is one of the reasons most consultants have bad backs. It’s true.
Thirdly – not only was there hot chocolate available at the coffee stations, but water coolers, Milo, and even different flavours of herbal tea. They even have quilted double ply toilette paper here. I can honestly say I have never seen that before on a project of any kind, not even back at the beach.
The only thing that would have made this the richest project in the history of the world would be if there were full-colour printed training manuals. Time will tell on the last point, but I am not holding my breath.
Counting your eggs before they turn into chickens
In fact, there is a meeting going on at this very moment that will determine whether the DCA consultants stay on at all, and then we will all leave for the distant shores of the beach.
As ever, the life of a consultant is a changeable one. Remember that email that went around a few years back: you know you are a consultant when you have sat at the same desk for 2 years and worked for 7 different companies? Well, the reverse is also true. You know you are a true consultant when you have worked for DC at least a year during which you have sat at no less than 10 different desks, and have never stayed anywhere long enough to set up a pile of junk that had to be cleared out when you left.
Last one in the water is a rotten egg…
De Beers - A diamond is for forever, but the project is for a few days
After days and days on the beach, and yet somehow, still without a tan, I was finally reassigned to a project – the De Beers project – along with about 112 other project team members from the Deloitte Consulting Alliance. I arrived on the Monday, and by Friday, the wheels had already come off. It was one of those “been there, done that, and didn’t want the t-shirt” experiences.
There are currently only a few who understand what it means to have been “back in Nam”, and at the end of this project, there should have been hordes more, unfortunately, that was not to happen. The Director of Operations issued a brief just recently, detailing in suitably vague terms, the reasons for stopping the project. Small parts of the project are to continue, and the scope is still to be defined, but essentially, of the 112 consultants, 56 left the project by the end of the next week, leaving a very few of us at the site to continue.
Used to this type of change from all quarters, the DCA consultants simply put their Aries paraphernalia on the pile with their Braxton stuff, and carried on about their business.
The Anaconda
As a final goodbye and team unbuilding exercise, we all went and had a braai at a place in Gold Reef City. Of course, a few of us went and rode the Anaconda first. Not a quiet ride! I found that as I got off the ride to walk away down the exit path, my legs were wobbly. Perhaps I am getting a bit old, but it was still great fun. Certain people who were with us did not want to go on it, claiming they had been before. Perhaps if I had gone before I would also have chosen not to go, but then again, who knows?
Some teams organised a “ready, steady, stop” lunch, where they met to plan where they would be going after the De Beers work, or to commiserate about their upcoming lack of utilisation.
Who do you know?
As far as team work goes, all’s fair in love and war. And going onto other projects. People were asking each other which projects they were likely to go onto, and most said they did not know, even though the rumours had already started to circulate about who was going where. Now is the time to see who knows who, who will be the first onto other projects after all saying they were also not able to find billable work anywhere. Watch this space…
Trading cards
Not only do we have collector’s items of Aries shirts, pens, and note pads (unfortunately no diamonds), but we also have an additional access card which will be obsolete within one month. At De Beers, the security is incredibly well streamlined, and our access cards even have different coloured backgrounds depending on the nature of the work we do. Yellow was for the Aries project, but it will now be disbanded, and the Fast Track project which will go ahead will be renamed something else.
Of course, the consultants will probably be given more t-shirts and pens, and the cycle will continue once again. Let’s hope they don’t ask for the coffee mugs back…
Bets are doing the rounds for the new project name, but no names have been leaked yet.
The economics of projects
In my opinion, you can tell how well funded a project is by looking at three basic elements:
1. Where do the consultants sit (I have actually worked in a basement 4 floors underground before),
2. What type of chairs do they sit on, and
3. Is there hot chocolate freely available?
De Beers scores very highly on these criteria.
One of the sad things about leaving the De Beers project will be the fact that every office has windows, due to the setup and layout of the physical building. I’ll never forget this project because we all got to sit by a window and breathe real air, not the canned type.
A close second was the chairs. Normally we get the chairs that no one else wants that have been lying around for years (except at Billiton where we had the best chairs I have ever seen on a project), and scientific studies show that is one of the reasons most consultants have bad backs. It’s true.
Thirdly – not only was there hot chocolate available at the coffee stations, but water coolers, Milo, and even different flavours of herbal tea. They even have quilted double ply toilette paper here. I can honestly say I have never seen that before on a project of any kind, not even back at the beach.
The only thing that would have made this the richest project in the history of the world would be if there were full-colour printed training manuals. Time will tell on the last point, but I am not holding my breath.
Counting your eggs before they turn into chickens
In fact, there is a meeting going on at this very moment that will determine whether the DCA consultants stay on at all, and then we will all leave for the distant shores of the beach.
As ever, the life of a consultant is a changeable one. Remember that email that went around a few years back: you know you are a consultant when you have sat at the same desk for 2 years and worked for 7 different companies? Well, the reverse is also true. You know you are a true consultant when you have worked for DC at least a year during which you have sat at no less than 10 different desks, and have never stayed anywhere long enough to set up a pile of junk that had to be cleared out when you left.
Last one in the water is a rotten egg…
Company name change to Braxton
*This was written during time of change when Deloitte Consulting was going to not reintegrate with Deloitte and Touch, but was rather going to rebrand to Braxton.
With apologies to Master Card
Name change from Deloitte Consulting to Braxton - $400 mil
Reintegration with Deloitte - $700 mil
The green dot – Priceless!
With apologies to Master Card
Name change from Deloitte Consulting to Braxton - $400 mil
Reintegration with Deloitte - $700 mil
The green dot – Priceless!
Episode IV: A New Hope
*Written 18 August 2003 for an inhouse publication at a time of change - with the reintegration of the two comapines which had separated some time ago.
A long time ago in a galaxy far away…
It is a dark time for the Rebellion – the dreaded Empire, having split from the Rebels, are making a move to reintegrate the Rebel Alliance into the Empire. Negotiations continue amidst fighting about who will lead, and which weapons to use. Meanwhile, on a planet in the outer rim, news of the reintegration is just arriving. A lone Jedi narrates the story from her point of view.
There is a mysterious place that exists in legend, but I had never seen it – until now. Sporadically inhabited by those giants among men – the Deloitte-Consulting-soon-to-become-Braxton-soon-to-become-Deloitte-and-Touch consultants, this place seems to exist more as a state of mind than in an actual physical location. Of course, the place I am talking about is “The Beach”. As rumours of this place surface, other rumours also begin about a merge of the Alliance and the Empire.
Hearsay or heresy?
Like any good adventure, a fearless leader (unshaven and eccentric) and a team of unlikely heroes set out on an expensive, but funded, mission to find this mysterious place, and demystify the facts.
It all started, as any good adventure story does, with the rumours of the place, and a dirty, and possibly very old piece of paper that may or may not be a map.
I (* names and places have been changed to protect the innocent) first heard about The Beach long ago when I took my first assignment with DC. It all seemed straight forward enough – I arrived on the first day, was introduced to some of the commanders, given my weapon, rapidly shown how to use it, and immediately sent out into the field. One of the commanders made brief mention of the fact that there was a beach where people may go from time to time when they were between assignments, but that it never happened, so the newbies – including me – just assumed that it did not really exist.
The rumours persisted, however, and I started to ask questions about this place. No one I knew had actually ever seen it, or knew anyone first hand who had been there. Like all good urban legends, however, the fame of the place grew in its telling. No Learning person who had seen it had ever come back alive – making it an irresistible challenge. Finally, one day I came across a scrumpled piece of paper on the floor that looked very old, and was very dirty. This obviously led me to the conclusion that it was authentic. I could also make out strange numbers on the paper that seemed to be map coordinates. Or prices of a lunch, but it works better if you read them as coordinates. Anyway, I vowed that I would neither sleep nor eat until I had discovered the secrets of The Beach. After a nap and nice toasted cheese sarmie, I set about looking for a project sponsor to give me a large budget and a mandate to get a crew together…
Heroes and Villains
Another device that must come into play in any successful adventure is the appearance of heroes and villains. Of course, the heroes must be larger than life, and the villains must be particularly evil and malicious. In this case, however, the villains are not altogether evil, and the heroes are not particularly special.
Our first villain is a lady by the name of Darth Mona, who coordinates the space port at Mos Eisley. She leads the scurvy gang responsible for deciding which operatives are assigned to which jobs, as well as sending out bounty hunters when required to help “clean up” previous jobs.
There is a loosely-held theory that she takes bribes, although to date, no successful bribe has ever been given. Our scouts are hopeful, nonetheless. Not even the dreaded Jedi mind tricks seem to work on her… (The force is strong in this one.)
There are all sorts of elaborate alarms for detecting her presence as she walks the corridors of The Beach looking for fresh operatives to send to war. From the little intelligence I have been able to gather regarding the sub-culture that has developed among those on The Beach, the first skill one needs to develop is to avoid detection. Historically, those who have been spotted by her were never seen again, and although there are rumours spread around The Beach about those operatives being seen on other assignments, these can neither be confirmed nor denied.
I was working on a secret mission off world at the place code-named BHPBilliton, and after several months of successful work, most of the team was recommissioned and sent elsewhere. Except for me. The dreaded time had come. Would I be sent to The Beach? Would I know where to find it? Would I ever find my way back onto a mission? Would my fear lead me irrevocably to the dark side?
Mission: Impossible
For my first day of reassignment to The Beach, I went back to the head quarters where it all began. And I watched and waited... It became apparent to me there were many people on The Beach, and they seemed to breeze in and out, coming and going, being billable and not being billable. Then I started to see a pattern emerge…
It was obvious to me that one had to choose a place to sit – no trivial task. There are essentially two places to sit – upstairs or downstairs, and after months and months of empirical observation, I can state categorically that the differences between the two places are air quality, and noise factor.
The downstairs has good quality air – suitable for most life forms to breathe and thrive, whereas the upstairs air seems a bit hotter. Or perhaps the air there is not hot air, but in fact rare air. Either way, this may explain why only super-evolved operatives live up there, and why the rest of us live downstairs.
As far as the noise factor goes – this is dependent upon the day of the week, the time of the day, the proximity to the beverage and food vending machines, and the names of the operatives sitting there. Certain operatives have faulty voice modulators, and exceed the decibel limit which is laid down for our guidance. The remedy to this situation is to scout out all possible locations on The Beach (the downstairs beach) and set up a base camp as soon as you have found a suitable spot. Once claimed, the spot is yours for the day. Although there is some rule about the survival of the fittest and no individual spots, I have noticed a trend whereby certain operatives like to stay in the same location for days on end – seeming not to move to new places at all, whereas other operatives (possibly those under cover) seem to sit in a different place each day.
Rumours are starting to get around that not only is there a Beach for the Rebel Alliance, but that there is one that belongs to the Empire too! Several groups of operatives have been sent on missions to discover the truth of these allegations, and thus far, only one base has been found which was the original base of the Rebel Alliance, but seemed to have been abandoned for some time.
With the impending destruction of the Death Star, the Rebels and those loyal to the Empire will have to learn to inhabit the same beach, and reintegrate their weapons systems. If experience is anything to go by, there will be a lot of alcohol involved. After a few arguments to see whose light sabre is bigger, I have no doubt that peace and freedom will be restored to the galaxy once again. Yoda would be proud.
A long time ago in a galaxy far away…
It is a dark time for the Rebellion – the dreaded Empire, having split from the Rebels, are making a move to reintegrate the Rebel Alliance into the Empire. Negotiations continue amidst fighting about who will lead, and which weapons to use. Meanwhile, on a planet in the outer rim, news of the reintegration is just arriving. A lone Jedi narrates the story from her point of view.
There is a mysterious place that exists in legend, but I had never seen it – until now. Sporadically inhabited by those giants among men – the Deloitte-Consulting-soon-to-become-Braxton-soon-to-become-Deloitte-and-Touch consultants, this place seems to exist more as a state of mind than in an actual physical location. Of course, the place I am talking about is “The Beach”. As rumours of this place surface, other rumours also begin about a merge of the Alliance and the Empire.
Hearsay or heresy?
Like any good adventure, a fearless leader (unshaven and eccentric) and a team of unlikely heroes set out on an expensive, but funded, mission to find this mysterious place, and demystify the facts.
It all started, as any good adventure story does, with the rumours of the place, and a dirty, and possibly very old piece of paper that may or may not be a map.
I (* names and places have been changed to protect the innocent) first heard about The Beach long ago when I took my first assignment with DC. It all seemed straight forward enough – I arrived on the first day, was introduced to some of the commanders, given my weapon, rapidly shown how to use it, and immediately sent out into the field. One of the commanders made brief mention of the fact that there was a beach where people may go from time to time when they were between assignments, but that it never happened, so the newbies – including me – just assumed that it did not really exist.
The rumours persisted, however, and I started to ask questions about this place. No one I knew had actually ever seen it, or knew anyone first hand who had been there. Like all good urban legends, however, the fame of the place grew in its telling. No Learning person who had seen it had ever come back alive – making it an irresistible challenge. Finally, one day I came across a scrumpled piece of paper on the floor that looked very old, and was very dirty. This obviously led me to the conclusion that it was authentic. I could also make out strange numbers on the paper that seemed to be map coordinates. Or prices of a lunch, but it works better if you read them as coordinates. Anyway, I vowed that I would neither sleep nor eat until I had discovered the secrets of The Beach. After a nap and nice toasted cheese sarmie, I set about looking for a project sponsor to give me a large budget and a mandate to get a crew together…
Heroes and Villains
Another device that must come into play in any successful adventure is the appearance of heroes and villains. Of course, the heroes must be larger than life, and the villains must be particularly evil and malicious. In this case, however, the villains are not altogether evil, and the heroes are not particularly special.
Our first villain is a lady by the name of Darth Mona, who coordinates the space port at Mos Eisley. She leads the scurvy gang responsible for deciding which operatives are assigned to which jobs, as well as sending out bounty hunters when required to help “clean up” previous jobs.
There is a loosely-held theory that she takes bribes, although to date, no successful bribe has ever been given. Our scouts are hopeful, nonetheless. Not even the dreaded Jedi mind tricks seem to work on her… (The force is strong in this one.)
There are all sorts of elaborate alarms for detecting her presence as she walks the corridors of The Beach looking for fresh operatives to send to war. From the little intelligence I have been able to gather regarding the sub-culture that has developed among those on The Beach, the first skill one needs to develop is to avoid detection. Historically, those who have been spotted by her were never seen again, and although there are rumours spread around The Beach about those operatives being seen on other assignments, these can neither be confirmed nor denied.
I was working on a secret mission off world at the place code-named BHPBilliton, and after several months of successful work, most of the team was recommissioned and sent elsewhere. Except for me. The dreaded time had come. Would I be sent to The Beach? Would I know where to find it? Would I ever find my way back onto a mission? Would my fear lead me irrevocably to the dark side?
Mission: Impossible
For my first day of reassignment to The Beach, I went back to the head quarters where it all began. And I watched and waited... It became apparent to me there were many people on The Beach, and they seemed to breeze in and out, coming and going, being billable and not being billable. Then I started to see a pattern emerge…
It was obvious to me that one had to choose a place to sit – no trivial task. There are essentially two places to sit – upstairs or downstairs, and after months and months of empirical observation, I can state categorically that the differences between the two places are air quality, and noise factor.
The downstairs has good quality air – suitable for most life forms to breathe and thrive, whereas the upstairs air seems a bit hotter. Or perhaps the air there is not hot air, but in fact rare air. Either way, this may explain why only super-evolved operatives live up there, and why the rest of us live downstairs.
As far as the noise factor goes – this is dependent upon the day of the week, the time of the day, the proximity to the beverage and food vending machines, and the names of the operatives sitting there. Certain operatives have faulty voice modulators, and exceed the decibel limit which is laid down for our guidance. The remedy to this situation is to scout out all possible locations on The Beach (the downstairs beach) and set up a base camp as soon as you have found a suitable spot. Once claimed, the spot is yours for the day. Although there is some rule about the survival of the fittest and no individual spots, I have noticed a trend whereby certain operatives like to stay in the same location for days on end – seeming not to move to new places at all, whereas other operatives (possibly those under cover) seem to sit in a different place each day.
Rumours are starting to get around that not only is there a Beach for the Rebel Alliance, but that there is one that belongs to the Empire too! Several groups of operatives have been sent on missions to discover the truth of these allegations, and thus far, only one base has been found which was the original base of the Rebel Alliance, but seemed to have been abandoned for some time.
With the impending destruction of the Death Star, the Rebels and those loyal to the Empire will have to learn to inhabit the same beach, and reintegrate their weapons systems. If experience is anything to go by, there will be a lot of alcohol involved. After a few arguments to see whose light sabre is bigger, I have no doubt that peace and freedom will be restored to the galaxy once again. Yoda would be proud.
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