Zombie swordfish

The swordfish, deader than a doornail on Friday, remains, inexplicably, alive. It is ALIVE! as the Frankenstein movies will tell you. Told we would be done by 6 pm Friday, I went drinking at 3:45 (seemed like the thing to do at the time). Folks worked until 11 that night. OK, now we're done.

No. People were called in from 8 to 8 Saturday. Did nothing, but that stopped no one. OK, now we're done.

No. Called in for 8 to 8 again Sunday. And did nothing. We are now at 24 hours of doing nothing because somebody is afraid to pull the trigger and fire the temps. Why? Because this project is so fucked up they know they are going to need help fixing it. Am I lying? No, but They are. So after a weekend of doing nothing, are we done?

No. Back in Monday, still doing nothing. Surely, that has to be it. How many times can the swordfish walk the walk of the dead? We must be finished, right?

No. Despite one-fourth of the folks on the project calling in sick Monday, not to mention however many simply moved on to other gigs, the call went out to return Tuesday. And finally, at 2:30 Tuesday afternoon, there is something to do. At least until 6, which surely must be the end of the line, right?

No. The zombie swordfish lives. Supposed to be back again tomorrow. Work to do? Who knows? Last day? Who knows? Will I be there? Who knows. Stay tuned, same Bat time, same Bat station.