Project Status, Week 10
Carl looks at the plate of cookies that Carol brought in warily, and by warily I mean that he doesn’t see them as a delicious treat we all deserve for managing not to kill each other by now, but more as merely another distraction from the very important meeting about this dead-in-the-water project he is attempting to dogsled. I have already stuffed one in my gob (sea-salt chocolate chip, for fuck’s sake — at least we now know what Carol is actually good for) when he asks me for a review.
Anne found out about Slack. She might be going to cry? It’s always hard to tell, her voice always sounds shaky and vaguely insane. I wonder when she’ll find out about the “Anne Sucks” channel.
I’m pretty sure I spit cookie on Amit. He is either willfully ignoring the damp, saliva-coated bits of cookie clinging to his wrinkled-and-not-in-a-sexy-way shirt or ignorant of the dog-slather on the front of his Old Navy button-down oxford and I know it’s from Old Navy because the seams are already unravelling. What a cheap bastard.
Thom chewing cookies with his mouth open (I guess my baby bird metaphor from last week went over his head) and now all I can think about is the beige and brown cement mixer attached to the front of his face. I hold down my gorge because those fucking cookies are amazing. I’d probably dog my own vomit.
Literally spent three minutes discussing “favorite salts” because we are all horrible, elitist assholes. Smoke is literally emitting from Carl’s ears. It looks good on him. Actual steampunk.
Smoked Malden wins by a nose over pink Himalayan, BTW.
Erik wants to raise the same point he has raised for the last eleventy-million meetings about the login button, which is basically that “login” isn’t a real word. By this point we’re having so much fun watching his face turn different shades of angry that it’s like poking a wasp nest.
Convinced that someone is going to die before the meeting ends. Hope it’s me so I don’t have to come back in here next week.
Carol is using her selective memory again, raising the point that “at my old company we did it this way” argument while blithely forgetting to add “but my old company was so profligate and asinine that my old company no longer exists.” But damn, those are some fucking good cookies.
I high-fived Carol. Faux friendship means first cookies!
That reminds me, I really want to pick up another cheap Eames aluminum group executive at the Used Furniture From Companies That Care More About Appearances Than Profits or Employees or Literally Every Start-Up Store.
Erik is pouting. I feel like I should tell him he could go back to his super computer which he probably named Eunice or Crabtree or something and just change the button text and no one would give a flying bloody fuck, but isn’t it better for children to learn things the hard way?
Plus: Funnier watching all the joy leave his body. It’s like deflating the pool toys at the end of summer vacation.
Scott looks calm. That’s the scariest thing in the room at the moment.
Anne offered Stu a mint, but he turned it down because it would make “the cookies taste weird.” Anne should retort, “Perhaps, but the rest of us are going to die of asphyxiation if you open your mouth one more time. Seriously, your breath smells like the bottom of my shoe.”
We’re at week 10 and now there’s a discussion of dumping Angular for React. Facebook jokes commence. “What’s the difference between Facebook and a pile of human feces on a San Francisco sidewalk? The pile of human feces will still be there in five years.” “At least Facebook is more trustworthy than Google!” “How can you tell?” “My dick-pics only end up on Facebook on purpose!”
I’m not sure but I think Amit has to take a piss. Either that or the news that Ops has managed to get the international domains finally working has made him spontaneously cream his jeans. Happy for him.
Amazingly talented group, because we are all managing to keep forming coherent sentences while eyeing that last cookie. We are all Pavlov’s dog right now. Room’s gonna turn into Thunderdome in a second.
Jens is smelling his fingers. He doesn’t seem to do much, but everything he does is interesting-slash-disturbing.
Carl took the last cookie, but he is torturing us by not actually eating it. Fuck you, Carl.
We’re winding down. Scott is staring at me. Really just…staring. At me. I tried making a “isn’t this the lamest excuse for an hour of our collective time” face with a smirk-eyebrow thing, but I’m not sure I conveyed it correctly (might have looked more like “I am so gonna slash the tires on your electric vehicle later”) because his eyes narrowed like a hunter spotting that weird stag-thing from Princess Mononoke.
Holy fuck, Carl just flashed his Apple Watch at us as if it was a status symbol rather than a douche-bag medal. He literally just said, “I can’t wait for the Asana app!” with the same jubilation and anticipation that I look forward to Adventuretime. I hope I didn’t laugh. Fuck you, Carl.