Beware the Pilot Light

My good friend Jasen (hereafter in the blog referred to as Mr. Andersen, in order to create a Matrix-esque feel,) and I took a road trip up to Baltimore this past weekend. On the journey up, we discussed how Mr. Andersen left his brand-new apartment by finally turning the gas on to his stove, immediately followed by a prayer that when we return the next day, the complex hasn't disappeared in a massive fireball due to a certain gas leak. He's only been there for two weeks. You don't want to be the one who allows all your neighbors' possessions to get the Cajun treatment. Yeah, definitely don't be that guy.

Moral of the story: Never turn your back on the potential for catastrophe.

While I may not have left any situations in the past few days with a physical possibility of irreversible destruction, it appears that my weekend was greeted with an electronic firestorm. Leaving the office for the weekend is not without its customary routine of closing shop. Some things are done so that Monday won't start on a sour note: you straighten the papers on your desk, empty what remains in your water bottle, put all 700 highlighters back into the utensil cup. Some things are done to free your conscience: return phone calls to annoying vendors, schedule meetings for next week, answer any urgent e-mail in the inbox. Last week was no exception. Took care of it all, packed by bag, and Hellooooooo, weekend.

Or so I thought.

Now one of the nice things about having an apartment is that all of your posessions are condensed. We have a room that serves as a living room, den, and study, all wrapped into one. One such benefit is that my home computer, Attica, rests in the room I spend 80% of my time in. Therefore, it supports my addiction of being an e-mail junkie. If I have chosen the desk chair as my TV-watching spot, you better believe I'll surf on over to my inbox, even if I'm not expecting anything. Sometimes, it's a blessing. This time, 'twas a curse.

Waiting at home for my meat-free (Thanks, Lent) Pizza Hut pizza and watching TV was rudely interrupted by one such visit to the e-mail watering hole. It appears that what I thought had been closed ripped itself open again. The e-mail subject: Period 13 Charges for Sublease. The number of new e-mails with such a subject: 12.

Uh oh. The pilot light just flickered.

What I thought I had tied up neatly with two e-mails earlier in the day had steamrolled out of control to the point where I'm going to have to do everything (including let my pizza get cold) to rectify the situation. It seems that one of the recipients did not fully understand what was going to happen with a quarter-million dollar variance, and now I need to do my best to explain it. A few limitations. First, my e-mail at home doesn't let me instantly know when I have new e-mail. Second, my only other form of communication is my cell, and I don't know where it is.

Pilot light sparks a tiny fire.

So, I start to read the e-mails, and I see that this isn't going to be a situation where I can tell them him "I will walk you through this on Monday." Why? Well, first off three people are copied on this thread. And then, as the questioning intensifies and one grows more impatient with me not responding, he began to copy my old boss, who doesn't have anything to do with it. Then my new boss gets copied four e-mails later. And then one of the e-mails is from this guy's boss, asking me to call her. (Cell phone still missing.)

Tiny fire roars into a worrisome ball of flame.

It's so hard to fix a problem like this when you don't have your resources and files in front of you. All I've got in front of me is a lonely pizza. What variance is this guy talking about?!? If it were a big deal, I would have addressed it by now? Ok, time to start my flurry of responses. Wait for it...wait for it...AH! E-mail number 13. This is when I realize this guy is reading the data wrong. This is also when I realize that he and his boss probably have been calling my work phone for the last hour, wondering why I'm ignoring them.

Ball of flame rages and spreads to other inboxes.

This is how you put out a fire of this magnitude. First, the cordial "You're wrong, dummy" e-mail. Carefully explain where the oversight was, and offer a full explanation of how variances are handled. Second, run as fast as you can to your car and search frantically for your cell phone. Third, find the cell phone, call the guy's boss and explain the delay in response. Fourth, call your old boss and your new boss and tell them everything is under control. Fifth, call Pizza Hut, and get a new pizza. Yours is cold.

I would have been better off sitting on the couch.