It's a rainy spring evening in hell, and someone's in a less-then-rosy mood. I'd thought the rain might pick me up, but it didn't rain long enough, or thunder loud enough, and so here I sit. I'm stuck in an uncomfortable place: mashed between not wanting the week to start, and wishing like all hell that the week were over. (I go home on Friday night.)
Why dread the week that will take me home? It's because I work with consultants. And I'm sick to death of how much they talk (not to mention how little they do). I've heard any number of times, from any number of consultants, that the only way to really reach people is to repeat oneself. "Tell 'em what you're going to tell 'em, tell 'em, and then tell 'em what you told 'em." Certainly not my style, which could probably be summed up as "whisper it to 'em and if they don't hear you it's because they're stupid."
I think once this project is over, I will go to a monastery in France somewhere, for a whole month, to bask in glorious silence.
Labels: droning, pontificating, toll-gating, yapping
