I was sitting on my couch today, working. I was trying to figure out why certain data isn’t moving from this one database to this other database like it’s supposed to… trying to figure out a way to trigger a harmless update that would cause the records to get pulled into blah blah stored procedure so that the records would make there way up and around to the desired spot. I was really focused. I glanced out the storm door, and I saw my brother-in-law pulling up in his jeep. He came to the door with a mass of bloody meat in his hands. It is not deer season yet.
This event kind of rattled me. I am not a country boy. I am not a city boy either. It’s worse than either of those: I am a suburb boy. There were woods around the neighborhood I grew up in, and I was constantly in them. But every night I went home to meat from a grocery store and air conditioning and clean sheets. I wasn’t wimpy, I played all sports, but I was a kind of poser boy when it came to ‘woodsmanship.’ All I had was a bb gun, as far as that goes.
I am not overly queasy about blood. I am not against hunting due to some kind of principle. I am not against country livin. But, when the data is going bad and lots of fuckers are emailing and skyping me and pulling me into meetings and calls and blah blah blah work crap is going on, it rattles me a little bit when a mass of poached, bloody meat is hauled into my home, and blood and mud are tracked all over the place. The dude meant well and I love him, but goddddaaammmm.