Deb and I work within ten minutes of each other and 35 minutes mean time from home, so commuting together makes sense. This also leads to odd rambles at the ends of long days.
ME: “So now the auditors tell us we have to find a new storage site for our off-site backups. Some place that’s ‘not too close’ to the office. Apparently Charles’ basement is too close.”
DEB: “What disaster are you supposed to be recovering from that will wipe out your office and the neighborhood where Charles lives? Because if we’re talking a meteor I think we have bigger problems. Could they store the backups in our basement? We’re on the other side of the river.”
ME: “I pointed out we can see Three Mile Island from our house.”
DEB: “You really can’t.”
ME: “But drive half a mile up the ridge and you can, so close enough. Anyway, I think they want something outside of Pennsylvania. Some place that will survive the zombie apocalypse or something.”
DEB: “You are still going to be in business after the zombies come?”
ME: “We were talking about that in IT. On the one hand, if becoming a zombie qualifies as a disability under disability insurance, we’ll be paying out big time. On the other hand, the client will need a note from a doctor, and we’re pretty sure the client will start snacking on brains before the note gets written. It could go either way.”
DEB: “Do you guys actually get work stuff done during the day?”
ME: “Hello! Disaster recovery! Zombie apocalypse! Work related!”
DEB: “I don’t believe in the zombie apocalypse anyway.”
ME: “Okay, you’re ent—”
DEB: “I think it will be the White Walkers.” <stage whisper> “Winter is coming!”
Yes, we’re GoT fans. Why do you ask?