Daily Bloggery 2009-004-17: Tier 7 and the Munchkin Invasion

1. Health: SGL 102. Dressing change later.

2. WoW: Great night. Did Vault of Archevon and got my Tier 7 shaman pants to drop -- er, I looted a set of T7 pants in the instance. I'm getting closer and closer to getting fully epiced out. I'm just three emblems of heroism short of buying an epic necklace. Speaking of epic, also (with Gwenny's help -- thanks again, love!) got an epic flying training and mount. Gems and an armor patch on the pants -- Jenni, YOU ROCK and are MADE OF WIN! -- flesh out the gear. Next, dual spec and healbot gear. Did Wintergrasp twice, with our usual win-loss record.

3. Work: Yesterday was "National Take Your Kids To Work Day." I have extremely mixed feelings about this annual event. What happens is that the parents of young kids come into the office and Mom and / or Dad get to escort the munchkins around to fun stuff like Playing Video Games and Having Lunch in the Cafeteria instead of doing their damned jobs. So, because my kid is old enough to have her own job (and soon a kid too), I get to pull the dead-ass weight of these no loaders all day while they have family fun. Yes, kids need to know that work is going to be a part of their lives . . . to see that Mom and Dad do something useful (debatable in the case of managers, of course) for a living . . . but at what amounts to a day of free babysitting where the parents get to skate out -- AND GET PAID FOR IT!
When I was a wee lad of tender years, Dad took me to work, too. Sure, Mom was relieved of having to worry about me on those days. But I went to work with Dad to help him do his job, not to enable him to show off their little trophy kids to the company as career-enhancement status symbols (or, "Don't fire my lazy ass, I have a family!!" insurance). I pulled stock, helped him stock shelves, learned to recognize product, to endure occasional ennui, and more about the back end operations of butcher shops and delis than I ever really wanted to know. I also learned lessons that only a Dad can teach a boy. As I got older and knew how to read, I was able to pull product by name and do the stocking while Dad sold new product to the butchers and deli merchants. And at the end of the day Dad gave me a modest amount of gelt too. Later, when Dad owened a Dairy Queen drive in restaurant, I worked there slinging burgers and making banana splits -- I can still make a mean ice cream cone on a soft serve machine, 35 years later . . . .