Nobody listened when I said I'd smelled it on him before. But NOW they're listening!
Robot submarines cruise the depths, doing oceanography. Slocum gliders and other AUVs (autonomous underwater vehicles), like torpedoes with wings, dock in underwater observatories to recharge their batteries and download their data. Finally oceanographers have almost as much data as the meteorologists. Among other things they monitor a deep layer of relatively warm water that flows from the Atlantic into the Arctic. (ALTEX, the Atlantic Layer Tracking EXperiment)
But they are not as good at it as the whales. White beluga whales, living their lives in the open ocean, have been fitted with sensors for recording temperature, salinity and nitrate content, matched with a GPS record and a depth meter. Up and down in the blue world they sport, diving deep into the black realm below, coming back up for air, recording data all the while. Casper the Friendly Ghost, Whitey Ford, The Woman in White, Moby Dick, all the rest: they swim to their own desires, up and down undlessly within their immense territories, fast and supple, continuous and thorough, capable of great depths, pale flickers in the blackest blue, the bluest black. Then back up for air. Our cousins. White whales help us to know this world. The warm layer is attenuating.
It was late Saturday night. Or rather, it had just tipped over into Sunday morning. I was hip-deep in dwarves and mountain trolls, raining pain and hailing hurt in all directions, hoping to unlock more of the map in Guild Wars, when my phone rang. It was the site.
Hmmm, right on a shift change. Valium Wailer never calls me, and neither does The Sleeper. I'll bet whichever it is, they don't have anything good to tell me.
It was Valium Wailer. Follow the bouncing ball:
When Valium Wailer got to the site, instead of finding The Sleeper out of his uniform standing outside ready to thrust the keys, radio and phone into his hands so he can leave, there was nobody.
Peering through the glass of the foyer and into reception, he could see The Sleeper apparently walking in a tight (maybe a meter in diameter) circle. After knocking on the glass and waving for about five minutes, The Sleeper finally noticed him and came to let him in. He gave him the keys and headed off.
Valium Wailer says "The Sleeper, what about the radio and phone? Where are they?"
The Sleeper replies "Oh, they're in there somewhere."
"The Sleeper, are you okay?" asks Valium Wailer.
The Sleeper gives a strange laugh and says "I'm great!" and heads off. But his straight line is marred by an oblique shuffle to the side, and a bit of a stumble down the three steps outside.
Valium Wailer thought the whole episode was weird, but you get used to that with The Sleeper. So in he goes and quickly finds the phone and radio. A minute or so later the phone rings. It's the bike patrol guys, saying they've found The Sleeper in the middle of the road outside practically in front of the building. He's stone drunk and unable to walk. He's currently crawling towards the sidewalk.
That's when Valium Wailer calls me. I call my company as soon as he's done. The bike patrol guys have already called them. Round and round go the calls.
Over the course of twentysix minutes or so, The Sleeper manages to get half a block. He falls down, crawls, holds himself up with trees, loses his glasses. My field manager heads over to check it out and ultimately takes him home.
Quote from him: "I've worked as an F/M for years, and I've never seen a guard that drunk. The only thing I ever saw close to that was on New Year's when a guard had been to a party before his shift, but even he wasn't this bad."
He suspended The Sleeper on the spot, pending him meeting with our operations manager on Monday. And I got to work the sixteen hour shift on Sunday. With about five hours notice. Subtract the hour or so it takes to get to work, and I wasn't going to end up with much sleep. Ah well, a small price to pay for finally getting rid of The Sleeper.
But they are not as good at it as the whales. White beluga whales, living their lives in the open ocean, have been fitted with sensors for recording temperature, salinity and nitrate content, matched with a GPS record and a depth meter. Up and down in the blue world they sport, diving deep into the black realm below, coming back up for air, recording data all the while. Casper the Friendly Ghost, Whitey Ford, The Woman in White, Moby Dick, all the rest: they swim to their own desires, up and down undlessly within their immense territories, fast and supple, continuous and thorough, capable of great depths, pale flickers in the blackest blue, the bluest black. Then back up for air. Our cousins. White whales help us to know this world. The warm layer is attenuating.
It was late Saturday night. Or rather, it had just tipped over into Sunday morning. I was hip-deep in dwarves and mountain trolls, raining pain and hailing hurt in all directions, hoping to unlock more of the map in Guild Wars, when my phone rang. It was the site.
Hmmm, right on a shift change. Valium Wailer never calls me, and neither does The Sleeper. I'll bet whichever it is, they don't have anything good to tell me.
It was Valium Wailer. Follow the bouncing ball:
When Valium Wailer got to the site, instead of finding The Sleeper out of his uniform standing outside ready to thrust the keys, radio and phone into his hands so he can leave, there was nobody.
Peering through the glass of the foyer and into reception, he could see The Sleeper apparently walking in a tight (maybe a meter in diameter) circle. After knocking on the glass and waving for about five minutes, The Sleeper finally noticed him and came to let him in. He gave him the keys and headed off.
Valium Wailer says "The Sleeper, what about the radio and phone? Where are they?"
The Sleeper replies "Oh, they're in there somewhere."
"The Sleeper, are you okay?" asks Valium Wailer.
The Sleeper gives a strange laugh and says "I'm great!" and heads off. But his straight line is marred by an oblique shuffle to the side, and a bit of a stumble down the three steps outside.
Valium Wailer thought the whole episode was weird, but you get used to that with The Sleeper. So in he goes and quickly finds the phone and radio. A minute or so later the phone rings. It's the bike patrol guys, saying they've found The Sleeper in the middle of the road outside practically in front of the building. He's stone drunk and unable to walk. He's currently crawling towards the sidewalk.
That's when Valium Wailer calls me. I call my company as soon as he's done. The bike patrol guys have already called them. Round and round go the calls.
Over the course of twentysix minutes or so, The Sleeper manages to get half a block. He falls down, crawls, holds himself up with trees, loses his glasses. My field manager heads over to check it out and ultimately takes him home.
Quote from him: "I've worked as an F/M for years, and I've never seen a guard that drunk. The only thing I ever saw close to that was on New Year's when a guard had been to a party before his shift, but even he wasn't this bad."
He suspended The Sleeper on the spot, pending him meeting with our operations manager on Monday. And I got to work the sixteen hour shift on Sunday. With about five hours notice. Subtract the hour or so it takes to get to work, and I wasn't going to end up with much sleep. Ah well, a small price to pay for finally getting rid of The Sleeper.
posted by Rimmy at 03:14
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