The Company contracted another new guy about a week ago, a general applications developer to work on my team. He's an eccentric fellow in his early thirties, a college football fanatic, and unlike almost everybody else on the team short of myself, doesn't have a wife or kids.
The new guy and I discovered that he used to work with a guy who was the twin brother of another guy that I used to work with, somehow, and we kicked off a fairly smooth start. The plan, at least from what I've been hearing, is that he'd be taking over the SSIS development and that I would move forward with services-oriented development.
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The Client sponsored a holiday luncheon for the local IT department at a fancy hotel in Town Center. The new guy and I hitched a ride with the chick consultant from San Francisco, and we convened with the rest of the team in a banquet room, tables draped in cloth with the napkins fanned out on our plates and three forks of varying sizes for each plate.
Lunch was a buffet table with two kinds of poultry, ham, leg of lamb, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, something with spinach in it, varying pastas and vegetable plates, and stromboli, the last of which seemed oddly out of place to me. Dessert was pumpkin pie, pecan pie, and key lime pie.
After the meal, the department bigwigs took over the microphone and went through their hoo-rahs, giving a run-down of status reports, praising some of the progress that had taken place through the year, and eventually trying to reassure everybody that despite the economic downturn, we were good and stable for the year ahead.
Following the speeches, most of the consultants hightailed their way back to the office. These are the folks that, you can tell, are addicted to their work -- the kind of people that have a hard time keeping a good work and life balance. I feel pretty bad for these folks, sometimes. Events like these are sponsored for by the big company dime. Even as a contractor, these hours are billable. I don't care if my work doesn't get finished on time; I like to kick back and enjoy the moments any chance I get.
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A game of white elephant kicked off at the end of lunch for those who had signed up to participate. I did not, but I stuck around to see the presents.
Our team director, who had been sitting up front and center socializing with the bigwigs, scurried to the back to the table I had been sitting, giggling. He confided that he'd wrapped up the most inane gift for the game: a Chia Pet in the shape of Shrek's head.
Coincidentally, the gift ended up in the hands of one of our business analysts, a very timid girly girl who had not been apart of the conversation when the team director told about his gift. She sat down right next to him with the box and a pout, complaining about how ugly the head was. We laughed while he bit his tongue.
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The infrastructures lead and I joked about playing hookie at the bar next door, but ultimately returned to the office to finish the workday.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Vroom Vroom!
I made my first big purchase last night: a brand new 2009 Civic EX, complete with leather trim.
I muled over the car I wanted for the past few months, prioritizing price and gas efficiency, as I think most Americans are doing these days. The plan was to make the purchase at the year-end to catch clearance deals, but small, gas efficient cars are in high demand and nobody's offering any deals worth waiting. And 2008 models are only going for a few hundred bucks cheaper than their 2009 counterparts.
I had my decisions narrowed down to the Honda Accord, Volkswagen Jetta, and the Honda Civic, in order of most to least desired. The Accord and Jetta topped my list really because they were competitively priced for their features and fuel efficiency and because they were sedans (the Civic comes in a sedan flavor too, but they are just really ugly with four doors). Ultimately, the cheaper pricetag on the Civic won over, and, really, nobody ever rides in my backseat anyway.
I went across town to get it because the particular dealer was the one that offered the model and color I wanted at the best price after shopping at half a dozen dealers.
The sales manager that assisted me was a Vietnamese cat seemingly in his mid-thirties that still sported a skin-close fade and spiked top. He spoke to me colloquially with vulgar language and slang, as if I were his friend, but we both knew all I wanted was a cheap car, and all he wanted was my money.
Most of my negotiations had been exchanged via e-mail -- I refused to speak over the phone or visit dealers in person without a solidified pricetag because I hate being placed on the spot by salespeople -- so the visit was pretty bullshit-free. I told him what I wanted and the price that had been presented to me, and we went straight to the paperwork.
Financing the car was a whole different ballpark.
The finance manager that worked with me was a Hispanic cat in a power suit with greased back hair like a modern-day Ricky Ricardo. He tried to sell me an atrocious rate of 9% and slapped all sorts of bullshit insurances and warranties onto the bottom line.
I negotiated with the guy for four hours and walked out of his office three times, ultimately telling him, "Nine percent, really? I'm hemorrhaging money at that rate! I'm sorry, but if this is how you make your money, you're going to have to wait for some shmuck who doesn't understand money to walk through these doors. I have a steady job, a great paycheck, zero debt, and zero obligations. I'm your perfect customer. I could walk into any bank right now and they would throw loans at me at fractions of what you're offering me. If you don't want my money, man, someone else will take it."
In the end, he succumbed to a more reasonable rate. To be honest, the rate almost felt like robbery in my favor, and I'd almost feel bad if these people weren't car dealers -- and if I weren't signing away a huge chunk of money. It was almost midnight by the time I drove off the lot, and that might've had something to do with it. That, or it's really true what they're saying about all these car dealers having trouble unloading inventory.
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The morning after driving the new car home, my old car, as if in an act of jealousy, crapped out. The rear passenger tire blew out, and one of the spark plugs just suddenly went dud.
I muled over the car I wanted for the past few months, prioritizing price and gas efficiency, as I think most Americans are doing these days. The plan was to make the purchase at the year-end to catch clearance deals, but small, gas efficient cars are in high demand and nobody's offering any deals worth waiting. And 2008 models are only going for a few hundred bucks cheaper than their 2009 counterparts.
I had my decisions narrowed down to the Honda Accord, Volkswagen Jetta, and the Honda Civic, in order of most to least desired. The Accord and Jetta topped my list really because they were competitively priced for their features and fuel efficiency and because they were sedans (the Civic comes in a sedan flavor too, but they are just really ugly with four doors). Ultimately, the cheaper pricetag on the Civic won over, and, really, nobody ever rides in my backseat anyway.
I went across town to get it because the particular dealer was the one that offered the model and color I wanted at the best price after shopping at half a dozen dealers.
The sales manager that assisted me was a Vietnamese cat seemingly in his mid-thirties that still sported a skin-close fade and spiked top. He spoke to me colloquially with vulgar language and slang, as if I were his friend, but we both knew all I wanted was a cheap car, and all he wanted was my money.
Most of my negotiations had been exchanged via e-mail -- I refused to speak over the phone or visit dealers in person without a solidified pricetag because I hate being placed on the spot by salespeople -- so the visit was pretty bullshit-free. I told him what I wanted and the price that had been presented to me, and we went straight to the paperwork.
Financing the car was a whole different ballpark.
The finance manager that worked with me was a Hispanic cat in a power suit with greased back hair like a modern-day Ricky Ricardo. He tried to sell me an atrocious rate of 9% and slapped all sorts of bullshit insurances and warranties onto the bottom line.
I negotiated with the guy for four hours and walked out of his office three times, ultimately telling him, "Nine percent, really? I'm hemorrhaging money at that rate! I'm sorry, but if this is how you make your money, you're going to have to wait for some shmuck who doesn't understand money to walk through these doors. I have a steady job, a great paycheck, zero debt, and zero obligations. I'm your perfect customer. I could walk into any bank right now and they would throw loans at me at fractions of what you're offering me. If you don't want my money, man, someone else will take it."
In the end, he succumbed to a more reasonable rate. To be honest, the rate almost felt like robbery in my favor, and I'd almost feel bad if these people weren't car dealers -- and if I weren't signing away a huge chunk of money. It was almost midnight by the time I drove off the lot, and that might've had something to do with it. That, or it's really true what they're saying about all these car dealers having trouble unloading inventory.
-
The morning after driving the new car home, my old car, as if in an act of jealousy, crapped out. The rear passenger tire blew out, and one of the spark plugs just suddenly went dud.
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