"The Great Big Book of Everything"

I've managed to clear enough off my plate this week to have time to initiate our shiny-new QA peep in the mysteries of "my" product. My work of nearly five years. My adopted child. In the crush of a deadline, when I might not even respond to my own name, my ears perk up at the mention of the client name: "Who's talking smack about my baby?" For context: Take how Scotty felt about his ship and add it to how Kirk felt about his crew (minus that one lip-lock with then-Lieutenant Uhura) and you might have some inkling of my attitude.

Poor QA peep.

When instructing, you're not supposed to bludgeon people with information. But in this case, I thought it wisest to let him know what he's in for tomorrow after lunch. So I sent him the list of things I was planning to cover as part of the "You drive; I'll ride shotgun" hands-on tutorial. It's a list of thick blocks of bullet that would choke even the most meeting-hardened PowerPoint veteran. On his way out for the day, he stopped by my desk to warn me that he "hadn't had a chance to finish your Great Big Book of Everything." "Too bad," I retorted with an evil grin. "There'll be a quiz at the end."

Jesting aside--there's no point in letting someone sprint because they aren't aware that they're actually running a marathon. Well, there might be one point in it. But that's another story for another post on another day.