Sunday, February 22, 2004
World of Concrete - Day 4 - The Final Encounter
The beginning of day 4 was quite relaxed. It was a half day, so spirits were high as we set out to breakfast. The Orlando morning air was filled with a pleasant cottony fog and the end of the World of Concrete was within sight.
Of course, I was terribly hungover; so maybe there wasn't actually fog. The copious amounts of coffee I consumed did little to increase my awareness. I forgot my badge, pen, and capacity for thought in the hotel room (which I believe I have unintentionally changed from a non-smoking to a smoking room). I had to retrieve a new badge in order to enter the building. This was a blessing in disguise as it allowed me to smoke two cigarettes in route.
An air of restlessness permeated the conference floor. Each "Exhibitor" (whom I will, for the sake of brevity, hereby refer to as "Person who stands around at a booth"), including myself, was constantly staring at the nearest time-telling device available, lusting for the end. Everyone talked more quickly than necessary, sputtering out silly nonsense about how their competitors suck and how much larger and more impressive their booth would be next year.
The operators of Super Light Gun next to us were having a heyday taking out the passerby, but today the Rays of Death did not reach our booth. The were quite afraid of my boss. It could have been the numerous times he shouted his rage for all to hear: " I'm gonna take fucking wire cutters and cut every fucking cable on that piece of shit machine!" Or when, red faced, shaking, and with spit flying in all directions he would proclaim: "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU! I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU!" Usually this type of demonstration would be followed by the pounding of his fist furiously on the table, which would cause all of the video projection cameras to go into standby mode, papers to launch out of the booth, and myself and the perspective software buyers to hide as best we could.
But not today. Today the "People who stand around in a booth" from the booth directly behind us came to chat. For a long time. They make some sort of "radio transmitters" which I believe are for embedding into "Laborers" so that the foreman may have complete control of their every bodily function. Because we make software he assumed that we had intimate knowledge of every branch of science and proceeded to go into extreme detail of the inner workings of the Radio Mind Control Devices. My boss and co-worker, neither of which has any knowledge of anything even slightly related to science (such as software and computers) stared blankly as he shoveled unknowables down their throats. I quickly exited to smoke a cigarette.
I had another opportunity to use my stock response to the statement "I don't know anything about these here computer things" on this day. My boss took the liberty of doing it for me, however. "Don't worry, he doesn't know anything about computers either, " he said while pointing to me. This was immediately after introducing me as the Programmer. I'm not sure what to think about that.
The conference was scheduled to end at 1:00 pm, and in order to keep customers from being smashed by giant machines or decapitated by retracting robot arms all "People who stand at booths" were ordered to wait until 1:30 before trying to disassemble their structures and escape. However - the moment 1:00 hit and the glorious announcement was made over the loudspeaker: "The conference is now closed"; at this precise moment, every single piece of machinery in the unfathomably vast structure that housed the World of Concrete came to life in a magnificently terrifying roar.
I had been standing in the aisle, a mere 5 feet from the treads of what had been a statue of a Tank/Shovel/Destructo-mobile and was now a living, breathing (exhaling clouds of diesel fumes), giant yellow monster. I dove for the booth and frantically began to gather my precious computer (from which the content of ironlemon spews forth) and any thing else I could carry. My boss and coworker were similarly engaged. Luckily for us we had little to carry and were able to begin running within seconds.
The air quickly became choked with diesel fumes from the hundreds of screaming steel death-beasts trying to get at us. My coworker stumbled and dropped some equipment. "Leave it behind!" yelled my boss. Fear gripped my soul. "Is this the end?" I though. Images of my limbs being sliced to pieces and thick wet concrete pouring down my throat overrided my blurry diesel fume/hangover vision. "The World of Concrete conference is now complete. Please exit the building, " a calm female voice chanted over the loudspeaker. Suddenly a bright light speared my eyes. "The Evil Super Light Robot!" I screamed as my vision and consciousness started to disappear.
But alas, it was the light of the sun that blinded me. My boss had found the emergency exit and led us out safely. If we hadn't had a World of Concrete veteran like him with us I don't know what we would have done.
Many others had anticipated the violence inside before us - long unorganized lines of honking cars blocked our escape. Fortunately for us, and unfortunately for the rest of humanity, my boss has no respect for other life. He drove around the cars while screaming obscenities. We traveled at full speed directly to the airport.
Six hours later I arrived back at home where I was immediately crucified by reality.
Of course, I was terribly hungover; so maybe there wasn't actually fog. The copious amounts of coffee I consumed did little to increase my awareness. I forgot my badge, pen, and capacity for thought in the hotel room (which I believe I have unintentionally changed from a non-smoking to a smoking room). I had to retrieve a new badge in order to enter the building. This was a blessing in disguise as it allowed me to smoke two cigarettes in route.
An air of restlessness permeated the conference floor. Each "Exhibitor" (whom I will, for the sake of brevity, hereby refer to as "Person who stands around at a booth"), including myself, was constantly staring at the nearest time-telling device available, lusting for the end. Everyone talked more quickly than necessary, sputtering out silly nonsense about how their competitors suck and how much larger and more impressive their booth would be next year.
The operators of Super Light Gun next to us were having a heyday taking out the passerby, but today the Rays of Death did not reach our booth. The were quite afraid of my boss. It could have been the numerous times he shouted his rage for all to hear: " I'm gonna take fucking wire cutters and cut every fucking cable on that piece of shit machine!" Or when, red faced, shaking, and with spit flying in all directions he would proclaim: "I'M GOING TO KILL YOU! I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU!" Usually this type of demonstration would be followed by the pounding of his fist furiously on the table, which would cause all of the video projection cameras to go into standby mode, papers to launch out of the booth, and myself and the perspective software buyers to hide as best we could.
But not today. Today the "People who stand around in a booth" from the booth directly behind us came to chat. For a long time. They make some sort of "radio transmitters" which I believe are for embedding into "Laborers" so that the foreman may have complete control of their every bodily function. Because we make software he assumed that we had intimate knowledge of every branch of science and proceeded to go into extreme detail of the inner workings of the Radio Mind Control Devices. My boss and co-worker, neither of which has any knowledge of anything even slightly related to science (such as software and computers) stared blankly as he shoveled unknowables down their throats. I quickly exited to smoke a cigarette.
I had another opportunity to use my stock response to the statement "I don't know anything about these here computer things" on this day. My boss took the liberty of doing it for me, however. "Don't worry, he doesn't know anything about computers either, " he said while pointing to me. This was immediately after introducing me as the Programmer. I'm not sure what to think about that.
The conference was scheduled to end at 1:00 pm, and in order to keep customers from being smashed by giant machines or decapitated by retracting robot arms all "People who stand at booths" were ordered to wait until 1:30 before trying to disassemble their structures and escape. However - the moment 1:00 hit and the glorious announcement was made over the loudspeaker: "The conference is now closed"; at this precise moment, every single piece of machinery in the unfathomably vast structure that housed the World of Concrete came to life in a magnificently terrifying roar.
I had been standing in the aisle, a mere 5 feet from the treads of what had been a statue of a Tank/Shovel/Destructo-mobile and was now a living, breathing (exhaling clouds of diesel fumes), giant yellow monster. I dove for the booth and frantically began to gather my precious computer (from which the content of ironlemon spews forth) and any thing else I could carry. My boss and coworker were similarly engaged. Luckily for us we had little to carry and were able to begin running within seconds.
The air quickly became choked with diesel fumes from the hundreds of screaming steel death-beasts trying to get at us. My coworker stumbled and dropped some equipment. "Leave it behind!" yelled my boss. Fear gripped my soul. "Is this the end?" I though. Images of my limbs being sliced to pieces and thick wet concrete pouring down my throat overrided my blurry diesel fume/hangover vision. "The World of Concrete conference is now complete. Please exit the building, " a calm female voice chanted over the loudspeaker. Suddenly a bright light speared my eyes. "The Evil Super Light Robot!" I screamed as my vision and consciousness started to disappear.
But alas, it was the light of the sun that blinded me. My boss had found the emergency exit and led us out safely. If we hadn't had a World of Concrete veteran like him with us I don't know what we would have done.
Many others had anticipated the violence inside before us - long unorganized lines of honking cars blocked our escape. Fortunately for us, and unfortunately for the rest of humanity, my boss has no respect for other life. He drove around the cars while screaming obscenities. We traveled at full speed directly to the airport.
Six hours later I arrived back at home where I was immediately crucified by reality.
