Geeks R 2 Baaad...
So, I'm Ocean City, Maryland. Involuntarily. Well, I suppose there was some sort of option to refuse, but it didn't seem practical.
My boss decided to take the company to OC for Monday and Tuesday of this week. This may perhaps be his way of giving us a consolation prize; he'd been toying with the idea of sending us all to a Computational Linguistics conference in Sweden this summer; what we do is reasonably describable as Applied Computational Linguistics, and half of our staff is in fact based in Stockholm. So bundling up the US contingent and shipping us over there wasn't entirely off the wall.
Unfortunately, when he worked up the cost of that, it came to more than he could really justify spending. Shortly after that, he announced this little junket to Maryland's Finest Beach Resort (in fact, Maryland's *only* beach resort). As I said, I think maybe he wanted to give us a little consolation prize.
Anyway, after treating us all to dinner this eve, he announced that he was going to go crash, but he'd be happy to drop any of who wanted to stay out at whatever club we felt like. I and five of my co-workers took him up on that offer, and he dropped us off at Secrets nightclub (by popular acclimation, the most likely spot to have some sort of life on an off-season Monday). I wasn't *real* excited about this, but a bit of co-worker bonding via boss-not-present drinking was somewhat better sounding than going to bed.
However, when we went in, an obstacle presented itself: A metal detector. Which everyone, including me, set off. After I emptied my pockets, the doorman noticed my Leatherman, and said "Sir, you can't bring that knife in here." So I ended up going back to the hotel anyway, because apparently my fat, geeky, balding, forty-seven-year-old self is far too dangerous a character to be allowed into a respectable nightclub.
I am *very* thoroughly amused.
My boss decided to take the company to OC for Monday and Tuesday of this week. This may perhaps be his way of giving us a consolation prize; he'd been toying with the idea of sending us all to a Computational Linguistics conference in Sweden this summer; what we do is reasonably describable as Applied Computational Linguistics, and half of our staff is in fact based in Stockholm. So bundling up the US contingent and shipping us over there wasn't entirely off the wall.
Unfortunately, when he worked up the cost of that, it came to more than he could really justify spending. Shortly after that, he announced this little junket to Maryland's Finest Beach Resort (in fact, Maryland's *only* beach resort). As I said, I think maybe he wanted to give us a little consolation prize.
Anyway, after treating us all to dinner this eve, he announced that he was going to go crash, but he'd be happy to drop any of who wanted to stay out at whatever club we felt like. I and five of my co-workers took him up on that offer, and he dropped us off at Secrets nightclub (by popular acclimation, the most likely spot to have some sort of life on an off-season Monday). I wasn't *real* excited about this, but a bit of co-worker bonding via boss-not-present drinking was somewhat better sounding than going to bed.
However, when we went in, an obstacle presented itself: A metal detector. Which everyone, including me, set off. After I emptied my pockets, the doorman noticed my Leatherman, and said "Sir, you can't bring that knife in here." So I ended up going back to the hotel anyway, because apparently my fat, geeky, balding, forty-seven-year-old self is far too dangerous a character to be allowed into a respectable nightclub.
I am *very* thoroughly amused.