It's April 1st. The temperature dropped to 15F last night and it is supposed to drop to 17F tonight. Snow and ice pellets are in the forecast for the next week. This is some kind of cosmic joke. In that spirit, and with all due apologies to William Shakespeare ("Spinning Billy" as he will now be known) I present the following vignette.
Richard, the Third Cubicle on the Left
(A Winter's Tale)
Scene 1: A cluttered cubicle. RICHARD hunches over a computer keyboard
Now is the winter of our discontent
Stretched into summer by this sunless murk;
And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house
Have dumped their snow and left us buried.
Now are our brows bound with luxurious fleece,
Our itching arms gummed up with emollients,
Our December snows changed to April sleeting,
Our dreadful March with sub-zero weather.
Grim-visaged winter has stalled his polar front,
And now, while mounting fuel bills
Blight the souls of fearful homeowners,
He labors grimly 'gainst your windshield scraper
To the distant rumbling of a plow.
But I, that am not shaped for winter sports
Nor made to ski like a glamorous looking ass;
I, that am rudely stamped, and lack dexterity
To shred before wandering back to the lift;
I, that am curtailed of fair vacation,
Cheated of beach time by dissembling HR,
Breakfast unfinished, sent before my time
Into this freezing world, scarce half wrapped up,
And that so lame and unfashionable,
That teens snark at me as I halt by them—
Why I, with weak pipes about to freeze,
Have no delight to pass away the time,
Unless to see my shadow in the sunlamp
And descant upon the cold enormity.
And therefore, since I cannot prove a loafer
To entertain myself upon southern fairways,
I am determined to prove a slacker
And use up all my sick days.
Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous,
By drunken office parties, emails, and tweets,
To set my supervisor and HR
In deadly hate the one against the other;
And if HR be as skewed and unjust,
As I am subtle, false, and treacherous,
This day should the schedule be totally screwed up
About a BCC which says that we
from HR's errors have an extra FTE.
Dive, thoughts, down to my soul—here Lumbergh comes.
If you are curious, here is the original text.
Oh, and if you are unfamiliar with Lumburgh, here he is.