People still bring their broken spreadsheets, with a surprising willingness to weather my scouring disdain. It's like they're bringing me a sick puppy. Fix it, medicine man, fix it. People who really ought to know better.
And fucking dates.
Though this might be a thing of the past, I will have developers and data scientists in a couple of weeks. If only I knew what I was doing. It's all sprints and scrums and frankly, I don't know what. I have a project manager, fortunately. Product development sounds very masculine and steroidal, like a sweaty rugger changing room. Somewhere in the mix there ought to be room for a contemplative snooze. If there isn't, I'm using my boss powers to create one.