Sunday, December 18, 2005


Who Guards the Guardians?

Who watches the watchers? And who keeps us safe from those who are (foolishly) entrusted with our safety?

Dunno, but after last night's little office invasion by our so-called security force, I'm working with several pieces of furniture in front of the door. Sure, if we have a fire nobody will be able to rescue me, but seeing we've had two very upsetting incidents of people being where they shouldn't be (my fucking workspace, not theirs -- my workspace in which I am required to leave the bathroom door open so that I can respond to any alarms) in the last two weeks, and we've never had a fire, I'm willing to take my chances.

Reconsidering my husband's suggestion of a handgun (seriously).

I don't blog a whole lot about work, so 'nuff said, but I think you can tell I had a bad night. Heads are going to roll.

Gun sounds good. 22, 45, one of those (357, maybe)

I'm with you on this!
I wonder how they expect an open bathroom door to speed your response to an alarm? What, you're supposed to cut off mid stream and run out with your pants around your ankles?!
Time to bring back the words ending in 'lopes and beagles. And trumpets.
Required to leave the bathroom door open? That's just icky.
Oh, man. Oh, maaaaan. I can't believe they did it to you, too. We'll have to chat about this not in public internet space. Oy.
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