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Oddness. And I can't feel my arms.
15 years ago
General
Ok, so had an interesting day today. I work in the weights and measures group at a large aviation firm, which means predicting weights and CGs, making sure suppliers don't overshoot their targets, and so forth. It's a lot of computer models and spreadsheets for the most part, not much grunt work. Until today.
I get a message just after lunch that some externally supplied pneumatic valves have arrived out at the plant, four full ship-sets (that means you have enough of each valve to build four airplanes), and the request comes through to go out and actually put them on a scale to make sure the supplier met their targets. Trips out to the factory to actually weigh parts aren't unusual for me. I actually kind of like it out there, feels so much more alive than an office block with all of us eggheads at computers, the sounds of rivet guns, forklifts, and the smell of hydraulic fluid.
Ok, now I'm just waxing philosophy. Continuing.
Anyway, I note back that I can take care of those valves. I grab the spec sheet for the components and the scale and hoof it out to the plant. I find the valves all crated up in a neat little stack, let the staff know who I am and what I'm doing, and then get to work. Little do I know what I'm getting into.
After opening the first crate, I find out just how big these valves are. It takes most of my oomph to haul the first one out of it's box, pull the plastic wrap off of it, remove the shipping caps, and wrestle it onto the scale. I then do all of that in reverse to get it back into it's box. I then REPEAT the process for the other two valves in the ship set. I then repeat ALL of that for the next three ship sets. It takes me an hour or so and ends with a total of twelve valves weighed, and by the time I get the last one put back in it's box and put back away, I feel like I've just spent a day at the gym. At least I got some good data out of it, even if the experience has turned my arms to jello.
So I finish my day and come home. Pick up the mail. There's a letter stamped with the IRS seal. Immediately, I wince. I was very careful in filing my own taxes this year, re-did all the math twice, had my dad look over all of it, before mailing it in, expecting a modest refund. I open the envelope.
Inside is a paragraph of bureaucratic blah-blah-blah, but I finally get to the point about half a page in. To paraphrase, it reads, "The IRS has reviewed your income tax filing and noted you are eligible for the 'Making Work Pay' credit which you did not file for. Accordingly, we have included the credit with your refund." It turns out they added $400 to my refund for, simply put, having a steady job.
I'm wondering if I've been warped to some parallel universe where the IRS isn't supposedly some bottom-line bureaucracy hidden away in a faceless office building somewhere.
Oh, and yesterday was my birthday. Survived another year. Went out for a nice dinner and had a couple glasses of VERY good wine. Which is saying something, coming from me, given that my vintner's pallet consists of being able to tell the difference between a red and a white.
I get a message just after lunch that some externally supplied pneumatic valves have arrived out at the plant, four full ship-sets (that means you have enough of each valve to build four airplanes), and the request comes through to go out and actually put them on a scale to make sure the supplier met their targets. Trips out to the factory to actually weigh parts aren't unusual for me. I actually kind of like it out there, feels so much more alive than an office block with all of us eggheads at computers, the sounds of rivet guns, forklifts, and the smell of hydraulic fluid.
Ok, now I'm just waxing philosophy. Continuing.
Anyway, I note back that I can take care of those valves. I grab the spec sheet for the components and the scale and hoof it out to the plant. I find the valves all crated up in a neat little stack, let the staff know who I am and what I'm doing, and then get to work. Little do I know what I'm getting into.
After opening the first crate, I find out just how big these valves are. It takes most of my oomph to haul the first one out of it's box, pull the plastic wrap off of it, remove the shipping caps, and wrestle it onto the scale. I then do all of that in reverse to get it back into it's box. I then REPEAT the process for the other two valves in the ship set. I then repeat ALL of that for the next three ship sets. It takes me an hour or so and ends with a total of twelve valves weighed, and by the time I get the last one put back in it's box and put back away, I feel like I've just spent a day at the gym. At least I got some good data out of it, even if the experience has turned my arms to jello.
So I finish my day and come home. Pick up the mail. There's a letter stamped with the IRS seal. Immediately, I wince. I was very careful in filing my own taxes this year, re-did all the math twice, had my dad look over all of it, before mailing it in, expecting a modest refund. I open the envelope.
Inside is a paragraph of bureaucratic blah-blah-blah, but I finally get to the point about half a page in. To paraphrase, it reads, "The IRS has reviewed your income tax filing and noted you are eligible for the 'Making Work Pay' credit which you did not file for. Accordingly, we have included the credit with your refund." It turns out they added $400 to my refund for, simply put, having a steady job.
I'm wondering if I've been warped to some parallel universe where the IRS isn't supposedly some bottom-line bureaucracy hidden away in a faceless office building somewhere.
Oh, and yesterday was my birthday. Survived another year. Went out for a nice dinner and had a couple glasses of VERY good wine. Which is saying something, coming from me, given that my vintner's pallet consists of being able to tell the difference between a red and a white.
And at this point, just having a job is considered well off. We've come to that.