Getting out of town; really

A few weeks ago the department operations person sent me an  email informing me that I was in danger of losing about 15 days of vacation. It’s company policy that you can’t carry over more than a certain number of hours of unused vacation into the new year; if you haven’t taken it, you lose it. They don’t even give you the pay.

Well, I’m not really in the mood to give this outfit fifteen free days, so I blocked off three weeks and started thinking how to use it. It would be way too easy for me to just stay at home all that time, at the end of which all I’d have to show for it would be two new tires on my car.

I’ve not taken a vacation since long before I took this job, so I’d been thinking about doing something, anyhow. But it’s hard for me to do that because I just don’t feel confident about the viability of my job. It was tenuous before, but now it’s clear that my manager is disinclined to restrain two colleagues who—without any supporting evidence—think they can do the job I was moved over to do: set up a sustainable business model that would keep this project on its feet.

I mean—if she’s happy to let them crash about the decks like untethered cannon, okay. But aside from the disrespect I face daily from them, I can’t help but think that sooner or later someone’s going to notice that they’re paying me to do something that these bozos are messing with. (Also, I do not fancy having to go along after them with a broom like the last guy in the elephants’ parade.)

So I don’t really think I’m going to be there very long, and I should be saving all my pennies for the day.

But see above about just spending all the time off at home. That’s not good, either.

So I hauled off and booked a trip to Prague, Berlin and Paris. I’ve never been to either Prague or Berlin, and Paris is always worth a return visit.

It started out okay, but has hit rather a snag here in Prague, where I arrived yesterday afternoon. There’s something wrong with the router serving the wi-fi in my room; it keeps throwing me off, and when it lets me on, it’s about half an arc. If fancied putting up with that crap, I’d have stayed home with Comcast.

I’ve had the concierge in and he claims their IT person is “working” on it—but the IT person is obviously a contracted company, and I don’t think anyone was particularly eager to work on Friday around dinner time.

As a German-born colleague of mine (one who actually knows what he’s doing and also knows enough to not mess with me) says: “Yeah…service in Europe has a WHOLE different meaning.”

This was my supper last night; too tired after the michegoss of Terminal 2F at CDG:

The hotel waiter insisted that Pilsner Urquell here [in Czechia] is different/better than the stuff that goes to the USA, which I have had. My verdict: no. (Don't get me wrong; it was fine. But it tastes exactly the way it does in the States.)

Here’s a pro tip, which I give you for nothing: never book into a hotel that’s hosting not one but two Viking Tour groups. I suspect that the hotel is not particularly fussed about not delivering wi-fi to my room as long as none of the besneakered seniors is having trouble with it in their rooms.

Well, I’ll see what it’s like through today. If it’s not fixed by midday, I’m going to agitate to be moved to a room where the router hasn’t crapped out.

I’ve got eyes on you, Art Nouveau Palace Hotel. Eyes. On. You.