Fear the Crab

My fourth year of participation in the AUW charity softball tournament saw better success than last year, as the UH System Darksiders won its third championship in four years. If I had to peg one reason for the turnaround, it was the effort of our outfielders taking away the opposing teams’ big hitters.
Continued ~

Two weeks ago The Office participated in the annual AUW Softball Tournament. Normally I’m jazzed to report about this event, but I needed some time to get over this year’s poor performance. Unlike the last two years, we were eliminated in two games thanks to some shoddy defense, and while our bats were “okay” we couldn’t stop the other teams from scoring.

Continued ~

This morning at The Office, I went to the cafeteria to get breakfast.  It’s an average routine for when I neglect to bring oatmeal or my squishy bowl set, and I had a few dollars squirreled away for such occasions.

Upon receipt of my breakfast special (eggs, bacon, potatoes), I noticed that only one register was in operation, and it was at the espresso bar.  Fair enough, it’s happened before, and all it means is that I will be waiting behind people eager for their fix.

The order in front of me got mixed up in the space between the clerk and the customer, as a mocha shake was created with regular chocolate instead of white as was ordered.  Why the customer elected not to observe the preparation of her drink could be attributed to a lack of attention or caring, but she chose the moment the clerk handed her the shake to question its contents.

All that did was create a slight delay as the clerk had to make the correct mocha shake.  I figured, it’s no big deal for me; I’m only at work.  Yet in the midst of this new preparatory adventure, the clerk asked if anyone in line wanted the mistaken order.

Heck, I’ll take it. Ordinarily I’m a regular coffee guy; black, and nothing funny in it. I don’t mind an occasional espresso, and I do prefer a mocha to a caffe latte (except I’ve grown to hate when baristas feels they have to get all fancy and add stupid cinnamon/chocolate art designs in the foam). I told the clerk to pass it my way, and he seemed grateful enough to charge me half-off. Score!  Bonus!

Smug with my new and cheaply-acquired drink, I made the journey back to The Office. I took a sip with each 5th step, not out of any adherence to a set cadence, but just because that’s how long it took to savor and swallow.

I opened the door to the main hallway with my near-frozen fingers (it’s hard to hold onto a cold shake). I keyed in my security code to The Office door. I turned the handle to open the door, so that I could sit at my desk, eat my breakfast special of eggs, bacon and potatoes, and drink my mocha shake with regular chocolate instead of white.

And as the handle turned enough to open the door, I dropped the fucking shake.

I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this, but I have been using a titanium spork at work to assist in the consumption of comestibles. I first heard about this thing via ThinkGeek and felt that it would serve me well in The Office environment. In a stroke of pure genius and total lack of work on my part, I managed to secure myself a titanium spork as a gift (along with a squishy bowl set, which I also use at The Office).

I use the spork practically every day. I pack a home lunch and drop that utility-ous utensil in the box, give it a quick spritz of dish soap to rinse off after lunch, and bring it home for a proper scrub at night. It’s very handy.

Sometimes I don’t bring lunch from home. I still bring my lunch box, because it has my squishy bowls and I use them for my breakfast of championship oatmeal. Those days that I don’t bring home lunch, I generally try to find something to eat from places around The Office, and in a passing fit of environmentalism, I opt out of the plastic forks in favor of my metallic culinary weapon.

Such was the case yesterday. Since I had to go to the bank, I stopped by a plate lunch place (located in the Biomedical Building… relevant?) and secured me some herb-roasted chicken. As mentioned, I took no utensils and resolved to use the spork. I’m doing my part to reduce my carbon footprint! Despite the fact that the lunch came in a styrofoam container and that my feet are kinda small.

Fast forward past a fantastic serving of fowl, and the rest of the day is frapturously dull. So dull that I can make up words like frapturous, because it rhymes with craptastic.

I go home, open up my lunch box so that I can wash my bits, and I realize that I FUCKING LEFT THE SPORK IN THE PLATE LUNCH CONTAINER. The container that I threw out in the large garbage cans outside The Office building, that I now distinctly remember having no other such garbage so as to land directly at the bottom. The bottom of which undoubtedly has filled up since I dumped my container after lunch and only realized the spork was missing after dinner.

I figure, well hey, it’s only nine (8.99) dollars, plus shipping and handling. Yeah, it was a gift, but shift happens sometimes. On the other hand, it was 9 freakin’ dollars (plus s&h) and it was a freakin’ gift! Shift!

As if I didn’t have anything better to do, I stayed up late fretting about it.

This early morning I arrive at work, and it’s raining. I have my raincoat and lunchbox (sans spork) and I’m splashing through puddles as I make my way from the parking structure to The Office. I arrive at the building and stop at the garbage can. The garbage can that I threw away my food in. The garbage can that has been filled with other food containers since I left yesterday.

It’s still dark, as it is not yet time for the sun to wake. And it’s raining. Hard. I peek into the can (it has no lid) and see that yes, it is now halfway full. As I suspected, yes, there are food containers, likely filled with leftovers that invariably attract my #1 nemesis (see tags for a clue). And yes, I can see the corner of the container that I threw out from where I stand, pale white styrofoam gleaming in the baleful orange glow of outdoor hallway lights.

Huh. You know, I could reach in there and get it. The can, can be considered halfway empty, right? And the spork was a gift, right? So what if there are dozens of other plates and containers in the way. So what if I have to navigate past all that rotten food and who-knows-what in open bags. So what if, assuming I do pull out the container I used, there is another “occupant” inside when I open it.

I stand there, over the garbage can, pondering my decision. I stand there in my black raincoat, large hood over my head, backpack on my shoulders, lunch box in my hand. I stand there in the dark, rain and wind falling around me, utterly alone since no one with any semblance of sensibility is up at this forsaken hour.

“Lo, how the mighty have fallen,” a witness might think. “Lo, how the dying throes of a weakened economy force State employees to forage for food.” Well, fuck it. I dropped my lunch box to the ground, and dove into that can with as much courage as I could muster.

Apparently it wasn’t much courage, because I ended up just sticking one sleeve-rolled-up arm in there and tugged at the barest piece of styrofoam real estate with my thumb and forefinger. My other fingers were trying as hard as possible to stay away from the germ-ridden filth. My chin was parked on my shoulder blade in an attempt to avoid possible backsplash from.. well, anything.

But it was okay! And my hand was already making the OK sign! I pulled out that lunch container, gave it a quick shake to dislodge any residue, and popped the lid open before my rational mind could interrupt.

Voila! Spork! Disregarding any previous attempts to remain sanitized, I snatched my precious out from the grasp of day-old rice and chicken fat, and dumped the container back into the can. I went inside The Office to the break room sink and gave it a quick rubbing down with dish soap and water, then I microwaved a mug of water and dropped the business end of the spork into it, where it has been soaking since I started this post.

I think maybe it’s okay now. It’s time for oatmeal, and I’m hungry.

One year after the events in this post, the UH Systems Darksiders took the field once again for the AUW softball tournament.  Almost the same rules as last year, with three-inning games, 10-run mercy rule, and 20-minute time limit.  This year, all teams were required to field a minimum of two women.  Some of us believe our team was responsible for this rule change, since last year we only had one woman, and she didn’t play all the games.

Maile came with me this year.  I think she’s my good luck charm.  At the stadium, we found a sticker on her jacket, with a number the same as on my team shirt.  We don’t know where she picked it up from as it was on her back, but we thought it was a strange and rather interesting coincidence.

Played against HCC in our first game. We won after three innings by a small margin, perhaps no more than a couple of runs.

Played against UH Manoa in the second.  This was another game won after three innings, but the we had to play from behind and rally in our last at-bat.  I was particularly lucky in this one; at bat, with two outs and runners on first and third, I lined to the third baseman.  I figured I was done, but the ball squirted out of his glove, I reached on an error, and the winning run scored.

Played against WCC in our third game.  This was a brutal game that lasted the full twenty minutes.  Thankfully we were ahead by a few runs at that point, but this game was another lucky break since we were on the field trying to stop their contact hitters.

Single!

Our three straight wins put us in the championship game.  Unlike last year, we would only need to beat the opposing team once to secure the victory.

Our opponent from the loser’s bracket was our first match-up, HCC.  They did what we did last year; fought their way through to earn a spot in the last game.  They definitely were looking for the upset, but did they have the legs?

We lost the first game on a controversial call.  Bottom of the third, down by one, two outs, bases loaded, I was up to bat.  I hit a weak grounder to the shortstop, and out of the corner of my eye I could see that the fielder wanted to get the force at second, but the baseman wasn’t there.  I hoped that delay would ensure that I beat out the throw.  It did!  My foot fell on the base, followed by the ball in the glove.

Unfortunately, the umpire didn’t see it that way.  I think he was just trying to make things interesting.  Besides, I had made a few mistakes whilst playing first (couldn’t stop some errant throws on the force-outs), and I think those undoubtedly put us in that position in the first place, so there was no reason to argue the call.  We had one more game.

Our team woke up in the second game.  We gave up four runs in the top of the first and only managed to score one during our at-bat.  However, in the second, our defense made no mistakes, and our bats came alive to score nine.  That’s how it would end after three as we held on and got the last remaining outs to secure the win.

Final game

As a team, we’re now back-to-back champions.  I heard through the grapevine that a lot of teams this year were pretty sore about losing to us, and had stepped up their practices to keep pace.  Now that we’ve won our second tournament, I’m pretty certain all the other teams will be gunning for us.

Or they’ll change the rules again.

Champions

I plan to join a fast-pitch softball league this fall.  I have never played fastpitch softball, only slow pitch where it’s a more leisurely underhand toss.  Oh sure, I played baseball, but I was never really good at that.  Come to think of it, I was never really good at the slow-pitch league, either.  Ah well.

I had always intended to play in a softball league, but the only question was which one.  I asked my dad for references to the leagues he used to play in, which were all of the slow-pitch variety.  The league usually played on weekday evenings, which would be perfect for my schedule.  I already had the equipment and the experience so I would be able to fit right in without requiring any training (except, of course, for bettering my swing).

My co-worker at The Office said his team is continually looking for players, but the league is fast-pitch.  Joining that league would mean that, while I might be familiar with the concepts, I would be starting from scratch and adjust to the different dimensions of the diamond, the speed of the pitch, and the change to the bat swing.

Fast-pitch softball requires a lighter bat, so that you can bring it around quicker.  This means that a batter relies on speed to make contact with the ball, since reaction time is significantly reduced.  The fact that the pitcher stands quite close to home means even less time to register the ball.  Essentially I have to become a slap-hitter, someone who just gets the ball into play and hope my speed and short base paths win me an infield single.

Slow-pitch softball is pretty much the opposite.  A batter relies on power to try and get the ball into the outfield.  With enough time to judge the ball’s trajectory, the only question remaining is how good the hand-eye coordination is and how powerful the bat is brought to contact.  In such games, sometimes a heavier bat can help, because the extra weight can translate into an increase of kinetic energy once contact is made.

The one thing that solidified my decision to join the fast-pitch league was the probability of seeing some playing time.  The slow-pitch team my dad used to play for is pretty much established; the current players have solidified their positions and as a result newcomers have to be really good in order to earn starter status.  My dad told me he got a position as a pitcher, because there weren’t too many at the time.  Even then, he didn’t really play much when he was in the league, usually brought in towards the end with the starter got tired.  Some days, he had a beer in the first inning because he knew he wasn’t going to be playing.

My dad really joined the league for the social gathering, and that’s primarily the reason I am looking for a league to play in as well.  I just would like a bit more activity under my belt than just the rear-end reheating of leveled sitting surfaces.

Anyway, I decided that I needed to get a new bat, so I got a very light Easton-brand fastpitch bat.  I also purchased some all-important protection.

This league begins play in early August, which is only a week away; I hope I am ready by then.

* * *

EDIT:  Major sadness!  Turns out that I am required to be a resident of the area in order to play.  The league does allow exemptions, but to qualify for an exemption I have to be of a certain age, which I am not.  Aw, man.

I think my dad starts his radiation therapy sometime in mid-August.  As far as I’m concerned, that’s the best time to begin.  I should be done with my high-priority project at The Office at the end of August, when the Fall semester starts; actually, I’m supposed to be done, no ifs ands or buts.  Or else it’s my butt.  There’s not a lot of room for delays when the Chancellor wants this thing up and running.

Anyway.  The reason I figure it’s a good time is because conceivably, the first couple of weeks of therapy are the easiest for my dad, and he won’t need much help.  After that he might start seeing the side-effects, notably the exhaustion.  If I’m done with my project by then, I should have enough free time to run whatever errands he needs, or take him to the hospital.

I’ve been accumulating some extra hours, too, so I will see if I can turn those in for leaving early on other days.  I’d rather have the ability to take off from work than earn a bit more money from overtime.

Hopefully I will not be put on any further time-sensitive projects so soon after this recent one.  I’m sure if I mention the situation to my boss and boss-boss, they can allocate “resources” to accomodate (read, us workers).

* * *

I’ve been having a hard time sleeping, lately.  Can’t seem to relax in bed, can’t seem to get comfortable.  Sometimes if I focus on them, I discover that parts of my body, particularly my neck and jaw, are very tense and it takes some effort to try and release that tension.  It seems oxymoronic, in a way, that I have to physically and mentally force my body to relax.

Typically I’ll retire at 2100 hours, but I won’t actually fall asleep until 2200.  Then I’ll wake up around 0100 or 0200, shift a bit, wake up at 0300/0400, and fall back asleep until my alarm hits.  At 0500.

Last night I didn’t sleep until 2300, because some fool up the street had their outside-dryer running.  Nothing ruins rest like the sound of metal buttons clack-clacking away in the inner drum of a humming machine.

Inevitably in the US, and I’m sure it occurs with as much frequency in other countries, people want to know where you work. What do you do, how much do you get paid? Oh wow that’s very interesting.

Less well-discussed is whether or not you enjoy your work. The common thread is that people in the US aren’t supposed to enjoy work. We’re not supposed to like what we do, it can’t be fun. And if, by some sick twist of fate it does happen to be fun, we’re not supposed to admit it.

Even LESS well-discussed is what your workplace looks like. Which is what I’m going to do now.

My desk

This is my little hidey-hole. It’s tucked away in the corner of a large communal work area, a place where consultants and students sit and work behind me and to my left. Note the door to the right; its placement is not accidental.

My backpack and sunglasses rest on a portable 3-drawer locking file cabinet, but I don’t typically put things of importance inside because it’s really light and someone could walk out of the office with it. Now it just serves as a shelf. My lunchbox sits on the floor because there’s no room on the shelf. You can’t see my umbrella, though.

On the desk are my tools of the trade: headphones, coffee mug, notepads, and photographic reminder of why I work. Dual monitors for a Windows machine, keyboard and optical mouse, and telephone are used less-often (I’m a State worker, after all). A mirror, to see who is behind me.

I have two calendars, one given by the university, another purchased personally. Mine has a wolf on it. The shelf above me holds meaningless materials, spare parts, and school newspapers full of coupons.

Back to the door. It leads to the snack room, refrigerator, and coffee machine.

The snack room

The Silicon Valley poster on the door is horribly out of the date.  Someone made little post-it stickers with “GONE” written on them, and now it is a daily puzzle-solving activity to try and find out which businesses are no longer in business.

You would think that with the amount of traffic in and out of the snack area, or community printer, that I would be constantly bothered. However, note that the door is open, it is continually left open, and if you reference its position relative to my workstation, you will notice that it helps to cover my back and secrete me away from the hustle and bustle. Yea, often the secretaries forget I’m at work and don’t bring me my paychecks.

Despite the non-usage of my file cabinet, I am not without storage. To my left, past an empty station, is my overhead compartment.

Overhead storage

A closed version is to the left; it’s not mine. The computers below aren’t mine, either, because their main purpose is to collect dust. Truly an aspiration for all State employees.

Inside my storage bin are books I no longer read, a box of envelopes I hardly need, a multitude of pens, rulers, and office supplies I never use, and some business cards I don’t hand out. I also have a few paper plates for the occasional snack, and a glass plate for re-usability. Whatever else is in there, I probably put in a couple of years ago and never touched again.

Back to work, I guess.

Played softball on Friday. It was a mostly-informal tournament between some of the UH campuses and the Aloha United Way. 3-innings, slow pitch, 20-minute games or 10-run mercy rule. Your own teammate pitches to you. I played on the “Systems” team which included administrative, professional, and technical staff. Schedule of events were as follows:

* First game against the Aloha United Way team. We won that game thanks to the 10-run mercy rule.

* After about twenty minutes of rest, played against UH Manoa B (there were two Manoa teams). We lost that one because of the 20 minute rule and couldn’t score enough runs in time. That put us in the loser’s bracket.

* In loser’s bracket, an hour later, we played AUW again. Also again, we won by mercy rule.

* Another long wait until our next game against UH West Oahu. Won game after 20-minute rule.

* Not too much of a wait this time, and our opponent became Windward Community College. Won game by mercy rule.

* Suddenly we had to play another game, this time against the team that beat us, UH Manoa B. This time we won by 20-minute time out.

* Now, thanks to winning, we were in the championship and had to face unbeaten Kapiolani Community College. Another consecutive game without rest, and this time there would be no mercy rule nor a 20-minute game. It’s the championship and we would have to grind it out until three innings. I don’t know how long the game was, but we ended up winning with a final score of 21-3.

* Because we were from the loser’s bracket, in order to be considered the champion we had to play KCC again. Another consecutive game, our fourth in a row, and like before there would be no mercy and no time, just straight 3 innings. By this point, we were exhausted, and our batting slowed considerably. However, thanks to some great defense we managed to pull off the win by a score of 7-4.

Actually, defense was the basic key towards our success, but that knowledge came after a series of harsh lessons. After the first game, we got a bit complacent and any time someone got a hit, they’d jog around the field. That came back to harm us because we didn’t score as often as we could have, and learned a painful lesson about the 20-minute rule. When the other team scored ahead of us, we ran out of time to catch up and ended with a loss.

Later, as I was scouting the other teams, I noticed that some teams would field an extra infielder or outfielder. We only had the 4 basic infielders and 4 outfielders, plus 1 catcher. I brought this up to our “manager” (who was basically one of the VPs who volunteered), and he found out from the officials that we could field up to 10 players, so it was legal.

Finally that brings me to defense. We played in a baseball stadium, with the fence 325 feet from home. However, the bases were set at softball field dimensions of 60 feet. This meant that if a ball was hit past the outfielders, the batter would be rounding third by the time the ball was reached. Our players understood that it was better to keep any hits in front, even if it meant a single or double. This allowed us to keep the other team from scoring big runs.

Still, we had some skilled players. Most of us had previous experience in baseball or softball, so it wasn’t difficult to communicate effectively during play. It’s a lot easier when all you have to do is shout “Two!” to a shortstop and he knows that he should throw to second base.

This is why I say defense was key. Sure, our batters could knock some home runs (see rule about keeping ball in front; other team didn’t do that), and we started running hard to get extra bases, but it was our defense that enabled us to win by mercy rule or keep the other team from scoring. Our team had multiple double-plays (the only other team to turn a double play had just one), and we were the only team to tag someone out at home.

So we won the championship and was rewarded with UH football and volleyball tickets. I scored me some volleyball tickets for November, so I plan to attend as I have never been to one.

Killed a roach in the office. Freakin’ thing was under my desk, though I suspect it came from elsewhere because I remember last week when it was reported at someone else’s cubicle. I did manage to kill the roach, but now I’m totally skeeved. I had to gather it up in a cardboard box (that’s how big it was!) and carry it outside to the dumpster.

I hate hate hate roaches. I loathe and abhor and just plain don’t like ’em.

Now I don’t feel like working. Plus I couldn’t sleep last night, so I only managed to squeeze in 4 hours in these hot and humid evenings.