Bullying security?

Online security is a very good thing. Of course.

I'm regularly consulting websites that momentarily stop my connection with Cloudflare or some Captcha, but I can eventually connect to the website I want to consult.

Okay... my computer is old. It is. But it works, and I'm not in the mood to toss it in the bin just because the Microsoft IT boys have come up with a new OS (10 and 11 suck, by the way - sorry, but no longer being able to get rid of auto-arrange with the tiny hack that was found by accident is either a stupid mistake or plain sadism).

A few days ago, I wanted to buy a ticket to go to the Louvre. I went to ticketlouvre.fr as usual, and then I got an "Error 15" from Imperva. 'Perhaps it's a glitch,' I thought; I tried again the next day - same issue.

So I sent an SOS to the Louvre. All my browsers are updated and the weird part is that I can't even go through with Tor.

So, what's the logical conclusion? My OS is the issue.

Is the Louvre going to do something? Is Imperva going to do something, like whitelisting my IP? I don't know.

I'm not the only one with an old OS, and if patrons can't buy tickets because they've got old computers, it's a pity.

If I were the one paying Imperva (probably a lot, by the way), I wouldn't be happy to read that some customers are prevented from giving me money... but that's me.

Perhaps old OS owners aren't important enough.

I'm really not a happy bunny (and this circus made me appreciate Cloudflare and Captcha a lot more). Sorry about the growl.

Certains banquiers sont de gros FEIGNANTS et sont du côté des voleurs (les joies d'une carte "CB")

Ben tiens... Encore une arnaque de plus en notre bon royaume de France.

Celle-là ne m'est pas arrivée à moi, mais je me coltine la paperasse et j'ai l'impression que mon banquier et mon conseiller moitié me prenne pour une buse, moitié sont NULS à pleurer.

Pour faire dans le court, la famille a été victime d'un vol sur Internet (produit commandé jamais livré). 

Le problème a été immédiatement signalé.

La commande à "ABC" a été payée à "JKL".

On demande le "chargeback"/rétrofacturation - comme indiqué sur les sites du gouvernement - sauf que le truc est passé par CB (carte bancaire), pas par VISA ou Mastercard et donc, c'est un "litige commercial" et débrouillez-vous avec le vendeur voleur.

Il existe des textes de loi qui sont censés nous protéger, mais les cartes co-badgées CB (la quasi totalité des cartes en France parce que... y'a pas l'choix) suivent leur propres règles. 'Faut dire que c'est compliqué de suivre un paiement électronique (le gars à la tête de l'agence où il y a eu le problème ne comprend pas comment ça marche ! Je ne plaisante pas. Hélas !).

Chez VISA ou Mastercard, le chargeback serait en route depuis belle lurette pour non respect des directives européennes. 

Chez CB, c'est : "on s'en tape et ne nous dérangez pas avec vos problèmes".

Donc : 

- problème tout de suite signalé. On bloque l'opération ? Ah, non, il faut payer le voleur.

- on peut faire revenir l'argent volé ? Ah, non, c'est un litige commercial qui ne regarde pas la banque.

Et ça vous est dit, sans broncher, par des gros BALTRINGUES qui jouent régulièrement au poker avec des milliards, se font aider par nos politôcards (donc avec NOS sous !) et ne font strictement rien en cas de problème.

Je fatigue. Grave.

C'est moderne. 'Faut pas avoir peur.

Merci la RATP !

Fini le gaspillage de papier : adieu les bons vieux tickets T+, bonjour le passe Navigo Easy (bon, déjà, c'est quoi ce nom ?).

C'est moderne. C'est beau. C'est neuf (lavé avec Mir laine, ça poserait peut-être moins de problèmes).

Et ça marche bien... Sauf que, non, ça ne marche pas bien. Seule la dernière validation est enregistrée dans le passe et ça peut poser problème. Par exemple, parlons de quelqu'un (moi !) qui prend un premier bus le 3 mai (validation normale) et en prend un second trente minutes plus tard, donc parfaitement dans le temps imparti pour une correspondance avec le même ticket, sauf que la borne du second bus pense qu'elle est encore en AVRIL.

Résultat : le second bus me bouffe un ticket et si j'avais été contrôlée, j'aurais été en infraction, sauf que... ben non, j'avais fait ce qu'il fallait. Du coup, je me serais pris une prune ET aurais sans doute manqué mon train. Trop génial !

Avec un ticket papier, la borne du second bus aurait sonné, je serais allée voir le chauffeur qui aurait vu de ses yeux que j'avais pris le premier bus trente minutes plus tôt, il aurait déchiré mon ticket et basta. Histoire terminée.

Là, je me retrouve à débattre avec la RATP qui ne voit que la dernière validation parce que leur nouveau super passe est configuré comme ça et, désolée les gars, mais je n'ai pas les moyens de prendre un Navigo "normal" qui enregistre TOUS les derniers trajets effectués.

Du coup, j'espère que la médiatrice va comprendre et admettre mon problème.

Une petite cerise sur ce gros gâteau ???

Si le passe Navigo Easy rend l'âme tout seul, on vous le remplace... MAIS :

"Concernant les titres présents sur votre passe Navigo Easy qui ne fonctionne plus :

Les t+, OrlyBus et RoissyBus ne sont jamais remplacés"

Ben tiens ! T'achètes deux carnets de dix tickets, le passe passe l'arme à gauche et t'as que tes yeux pour pleurer ? Je ne sais pas comment vous appelez ça, mais chez moi, ça s'appelle de l'ARNAQUE.

Mais bon, c'est moderne. 'Faut pas avoir peur. (Même pas peur, juste envie de hurler)

Admitted Guilt

Ten years ago (!), I wrote something about the fact that there's an annoying tendency in society to not believe rape victims - and a lot of recent verdicts (all around the globe) just confirm that sad trend.

But some nutcases do exist, and one such nutcase is making my blood boil as a State channel will broadcast a documentary followed by a debate, and even though there's a recording of the female accuser taunting her male partner and telling him that no one would believe that he was the victim, the presentation of the documentary exclusively blames male supporters of the accused man, who, according to them, orchestrated a hate campaign against the female accuser.

I've read as many things as possible on the topic (you know, that tendency I have to do my homework), and I know what it's like to be in the claws of a twisted manipulator, and I am convinced that the girl is the monster of this story and that she abused the victims' handbook in the hope to profit from the situation because the world was to stand on the side of the woman. 

Now, seeing a State channel taking the side of the accuser only because she's a woman looks a bit like some "woke" agenda - and it bugs me; they should report the truth and admit that she single-handedly brought the cause of women back decades with her antics.

We're not out of the wood, and true victims will have to fight even more because of that one liar, and it makes me terribly angry.

Chivalry?... What Chivalry?

Even before we were stuck at home, I work a lot at night (it's quiet and I can focus on plot bunnies and research).

Since the weather's a tad nicer these days, when I do go to bed (between 5 and 7 am), I open my blackout curtains, open the window and listen to the birds (the seagulls make me believe that I'm by the sea - I'm not).

Sometimes, I see people going to work this early.

Last night, there was this young woman walking uphill (either she works at the nearby hospital - or somewhere - or she was going to catch a bus or the tube). Walking downhill was this young bloke.

The pavement there is very, very narrow. Now, guess who moved to walk on the road...? Yup! The young lady.

Of course, the traffic so early and with so few cars around was not really an issue, but the boy did not even try to do anything. He just kept walking as if he owned the pavement.

It's not that chivalry's dead. I think it was mostly ever only in books to make a few blokes look good - and yes, I'm tired and angry. Why?

Shopping in the Time of Coronavirus - the Easter Island Edition

Since my work schedule is utterly demented, I have been staying home since March 11th and went shopping once last week. 

Today, I went back to the supermarket that's right in front of my building not to go too far.

First of all, most bipeds don't know what a metre looks like (and I'm not the only one noticing the issue apparently: there were floor markings by the checkouts!). There was even this arrogant bloke who walked as he pleased: the others were in charge of avoiding his path (I say arrogant because I saw something deeply unpleasant in his eyes, as in "I'm more important than you").

And then... some aisles were 99% to 100% empty.

No more sliced bread? Okay, I can go queue at the baker's.

No more white vinegar? Okay, everybody wants to clean their windows; mine can wait...

No more wipes? Fine, but if my cat is sick again, things are going to be "eurgh!!!".

No more kitchen gloves? Uhoh... Dear bipeds, if I have to do the dishes without gloves, I'm not going to be a happy bunny. Just saying... *starts praying to the kitchen gods that my one pair of gloves won't die on me*

No more kitty litter? 100% empty shelves. All brands missing, even the bad ones? That is making me want to bite someone. I can find alternatives for my food, but my cat needs litter and wet food for cats (he's never eaten anything for humans - probably because of some trauma before I rescued him).

Some things are really beginning to be utterly ridiculous - and I'll have to go to another store, hoping that the stocks will be better for my poor cat there.

{Friendly warning: you may hear me howl if I can't find any kitty litter in my district...}

Shopping in the Time of Coronavirus

I remember my nan, who'd been through two world wars, telling me to stockpile flour, pasta, rice, and tins of various kinds of food during the Gulf War because she was afraid that the conflict would spread and she didn't want our family to be as hungry as she'd been as a child, and then as a mother.

Back then, I remember some people panicking, but - Flurching Inferno! - it never was as bad as what I saw this morning...

Why did I go shopping on a Sunday morning, you ask, dear Readers? "Is Dru afraid?" you wonder.

Well, no. But I am lazy, and since I was out to go vote in our mayoral elections (funny that the politicos didn't report that one... as if someone thinks that Parisians are going to stay away from polling stations! There was a massive queue at 9 AM!!!), I decided to go do my regular, normal shopping today as that would allow me to stay home (my college has been ordered to close) until round 2 of the elections next Sunday.

It turns out that I was far from being the only one at my usual supermarket and there was a tad of "panic" shopping (I was the only one with cat food, frozen cauliflower, and a bag of onions).

The rice and pasta aisle was 99.9% empty.

The toilet paper aisle was 75% empty (Covid-19 symptoms have nothing to do with the cholera, so I'm a tad at sea on this one).

The eggs were all gone, but the rest of the store was okay - except the prices.

I don't keep my old receipts, but I'm convinced that the prices are slightly up. I mean, I literally thought that the store owner would have ended up with a shaved head if we were in 1945...

Things are really strange.

People Bipeds are really strange.

I'll admit that, having seen my usual store this morning, I'm a lil' bit tempted to stockpile... for my cat.

Blogger Not Sending E-mail Notifications

The site seems to be having issues with sending notifications when there's a new comment on a post (apparently it started on May 25th, and the issue is still plaguing some accounts).

One possible trick whilst we wait for Google to locate the ball it dropped is to post a comment on a new post and choose the "Follow-up comments will be sent to" option. 

It's far from being ideal, but it helps...

Flurching Strike

I understand people going on strike. Really, I do.

I have to change my train ticket because my train won't be running? Okay.

I have to phone a service that's going to charge me by the minute ? Fine (I should charge them for £6 though - for wasting my time).

I have to take a train that runs before my initial travel day or I'll have to wait for months to get my money back and I'd have to buy a new, thrice as expensive ticket for a later date? I can leave early (maybe).

But...

What the flurch do you mean I must go to a train station to trade my ticket for a new one because it's a "traditional" ticket? I'm currently forty miles away from a station. Do I Apparate there? Do I call Scotty? Do I take my lawn mower on the highway (okay, it could be brilliantly nutty when I get arrested by the local coppers: 'Sorry, officer, I must go to the station if I don't want to lose money')?

The person I talked to was lovely, but her advice was to go to the station on the day I want to travel, explain my problem, and hope I can get a seat (honestly, I'm up to a point where I'll be happy to be able to board the days-early train!).

Of the Oddity of the Modern Student

My students are (mostly) adorable.

No, really. They're not sociopaths, and 99% of them are really lovely.

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But... some of them have their brains in a different dimension. Or they smoke more than the regular lawn. Or they need an MRI right now.

There are always a few silly bunnies in classrooms; there were some when I was a student, and the silly bunnies stayed when I became a teacher.

I'm currently dealing with students for whom my class is quite a secondary subject, but the level of inattention is getting worse. I could blame the almost constant use of their mobiles (I had to ban them during my classes, or I would have ended up with classes of texting students not listening to me), but there's something else.

I always give them six weeks to write one page on a specific topic, and I tell them how to present it. I also add that I want it spell-checked and printed.

They obediently nod their lovely heads, and... 50% of them just missed my deadline even though I told them (for six weeks, for Merlin's sake!) to not miss it or they wouldn't pass.

Amongst the works I got, there's one that's the size of a post stamp, not presented the way I said, and on the wrong topic, and then, there's one with a coffee stain (because they can hand me any rag, right?).

I also told them to give me their works early, as I would accept no excuse if they missed the deadline. They nodded again... and I got messages today: one asking me for a delay for health reasons, and the other sending me a file without a single word - not even a "Homework; take it and be happy that I deigned to write something for you, witch".

So, I can try to teach them how to work properly, but some of them must have tuned me off and they'll never do what I ask, which is really not much, and definitely not quantum physics.

As well, there's a new trend this year: the students addressing me by name. I don't expect them to call me "Dr de Lanor", but when they start an e-mail with "Hi, Drusilla!", my blood starts boiling (really; it bugs me beyond words).

I know that some of my fellows, in a misguided attempt at looking cool and still young, encourage our students to call them by name, but I never said it was all right to do the same with me. In fact, I added something to this effect in the "classroom rule" file I give them, but they ignore that as well (so we're back to the brain in another dimension, lawn smoking, or brain tumour options).

I wouldn't mind teaching them good manners on top of what I'm supposed to teach them if they did pay attention. Some of these students still can't introduce themselves in a formal situation when I've taught them how to do it - several times.

One of my teachers once told me that being a teacher is being a parrot (and for months, I saw him repeating the same bloody grammar rule each week to students who were always in the room, but kept forgetting), but this parrot is currently disappointed with that sort of lapse of concentration. It's worrying because it's getting worse and because I have the feeling that 70% of my colleagues aren't even bothered about this disastrous new trend.

I care about my students, silly bunnies included, and they're going to be eaten alive when they start working in the jungle real world.

Becoming a Misanthrope

Imagine the scene: a packed bus (I mean, really, really packed).

Imagine Biped A: young (that's irrelevant, but... maybe not so much down the tale), watching a film on its mobile, and not holding any handlebar (or anything) and therefore standing with its legs spread wide in order not to fall.

Imagine Biped B: much older than Biped A, and trying not to fall in spite of a firm grip on a handlebar.

Now, here's the drama: Biped B asks Biped A to not spread its legs so wide so Biped B can have a bit more space. Biped A ignores Biped B, who doesn't back down and tells Biped A that it's being quite selfish.

And here's the nuttiness: most of the bipeds around asked Biped B to shut the fuck up because it was bothering them (there's even one that asked Biped B to shut up, but who kept insisting that it didn't want to get involved - you got involved when you opened your mouth, miserable twat).

Have things come to this? A biped that wants to keep watching its mobile on a packed bus is the one who's protected by most of the other bipeds?

Well, this is where I wish to avoid such selfish village idiots and become a misanthrope.

And why didn't I say a thing? Simple. I'd have yelled at the selfish ones that they were wankers, and that life was too short for such pettiness - and since I currently have to face daily family drama these days, I may have been tempted to punctuate my statement with punches. 

Not being a fan of small spaces with bars, I read my book, planned this post, and was ready to pretend that I didn't speak the language if asked to join the plonkers.

Gosh. Bipeds are exhausting.

Death and Respect

This might sound odd to some, but I don't think that someone, who was horrid in life, should get a pass because he or she kicked the bucket.

Recently, between international news (and the obituary of some "prominent" biped) and the news of a death in the family, I find myself wondering why some people think that all dead bipeds deserve some respect after death.

In comments sections I've read that one should "wait until he's cold" (out of respect for the departed biped) or "show respect to the dead".

In my family, I heard that "the dead should be allowed to rest in peace".

No.

I disagree.

If someone was nasty, petty, always negative, manipulative, disrespectful, odious, generally unpleasant, and mostly a pitiful excuse of a "human being", I refuse to be nice because it died.

Any public figure who was abusive deserves no respect - not when it was alive, not when it's six feet under (should I start respecting Franco just because he's dead? Nope. Same rule applies to all nasty bipeds in my book).

The same goes for any unpleasant relative of mine. I'll ignore them in life, and I'll loathe them in death. I'll point at Rule #2 and #5.

Right now, I have two relatives who want to leave the dead alone. They're nicer than I am (perhaps because I can never forget, and I very seldom forgive; I remember what horrible people did). I can't have empathy for negative bipeds (then again, I never pretended to be perfect either, and I can't forget that some dead bipeds are back to nothingness whilst their victims are left to suffer until their last breaths - that's when the atheist in me regrets that there's nothing after death, coz some bipeds would really deserve to be barbecued in hell for all eternity).

Judging the Book by Its Cover

How I love that most people keep saying  "don't judge a book by its cover", but nearly everybody judges the "book" by its cover in real life.

I see it all the time.

Exhibit A: my own life.

I'm not an adult "ugly duckling", but I'm insignificant enough to have most people just ignore me. I'm somehow invisible.

I see handsome blokes and pretty gals being noticed whilst I could be under some Invisibility cloak.

I'm not jealous (for the most excellent reason that I don't give a fig), but that shows me for certain that appearances is what most people pay attention to. They don't care about the contents of the "book"; they look at the cover and decide that the pretty ones are the ones worth investigating.

This is just an observation and a statement.

Exhibit B: my hair.

I'm not an old lady, but... my DNA decided that it would be a good idea to start turning my hair white.

And so... I've had retired people offer me their seats on the bus (okay... I may look a tad tired, but my two main wrinkles are laugh lines; they must be looking at my hair and jump to conclusion).

Exhibit C: my old jacket.

Yes, it's old. It does look old, but it's clean... but it does look old, and Mother advised me to not go to work with that rag as I could risk having people giving me money to buy a new one.

I don't care about the way it looks because I firmly believe that appearances are not important.

Some people will stop at my not-pretty face, my almost white hair, and my ancient jacket (I'm still not giving a fig).

I believe that what's in my brain and my heart is more important than the way I look. Then again, I always open the books I "meet".

Censorship in the 21st Century

Long time no post, but the summer's properly demented, and some of us have Internet woes (and Usagi's still in Kyoto). Basically, reduced team is no fun...

We've made a choice about Racine's Phedre et Hyppolyte: we'll have the original spelling and typography, and a modern version (just the old one could be fun, but it'd be really tough without a more modern one on the right page).

We're still working on Wilde's Salomé, but we're taking our time to make sure that we'll give you a nice translation - and a bilingual introduction.

When I have some free time, I work on the fourth novel in my Sci-Fi universe (the current news are feeding the plot bunny in a rather dark way).

Then... bank news to be able to launch our website.

So... we've found a bank, but because of an annoying technicality, we can only open the account in September (sometime in September).

But what's utterly frustrating is that Cousin Chris had managed to open an account for us at her main bank. She'd had to go through artificial hoops to please the arrogant plonkers, but we had an account... until we asked for the reference that would allow us to buy an e-commerce plugin so that we could safely link our website to our account.

The female that called my cousin at my aunt's (even though my cousin never gives any phone number because she does business at 2 am by e-mail - because she gets some written proof) was a proper nightmare. 

First, she claimed that she didn't have access to our file (then, how did she get my aunt's phone number, um?), and she demanded to be given the names, addresses, and e-mails of the website provider and webmaster; to quote my cousin: 'No way in friggin' Hell!!!!!'.

My cousin's plan was to get the reference, give it to the plugin company, buy the plugin, install it, buy the website, migrate our site that's on Xampp, test everything, and launch the ship.

That wasn't possible, as the phoning biped demanded to be allowed to see our website first because she wanted... to censor it!

She literally said that she had to "check our website for references to religion, sex, and drug".

Well, 95% of our books are LGBTQ-friendly (though there's nothing graphic, but with "Miss Censorship-Sunshine", we'd have ended up with an empty catalogue). And Shakespeare's potentially controversial. And Wilde's play was already censored on religious grounds - from the late 19th century, up to the 1930s!

What we miss is stuff about drugs (thanks for the plot bunny, arrogant bank biped!).

So the account was closed, because none of us (not even our accountant, who growled with us, editors and authors) were ready to accept censorship in the 21st century.

Do you know what the other bank only asked us? That the website had an SSL certificate, which we will have. Internet security is their only concern.

Right now, we're plotting all together to report the censoring biped to someone much higher than her in the food chain.

I'll have some painting to show you soon, maybe a video, and we're planning to take pictures of our paper babies to add them to the website (we'll share some with you then).

See you soon (hopefully)!

De l'incompétence et l'arrogance de la BNP

L'année dernière, j'avais claqué la porte de la BNP après de très nombreuses années chez eux à cause de leur façon absolument pathétique de "travailler".

C'était pour mon compte courant personnel, mais il était quand même question que notre compagnie ouvre un compte pro chez eux - uniquement parce que le conseiller pro vers lequel j'avais aiguillé ma cousine se montrait plus que compétent et à l'écoute de nos besoins.

Le mois dernier, nous convenons qu'il est temps d'ouvrir le compte pro et ma cousine donne ses disponibilités au gentil conseiller qui d'habitude répond par retour de courriel en un jour (deux max).

Rien.

Transfert de message avec une fusée de détresse.

Rien.

Re-transfert (étonné et inquiet).

Rien.

Re-re-transfert (là, on passe au stade "vous êtes à l'hôpital ou quoi ?").

Rien.

Comme les informaticiens de la BNP ne sont pas des flèches... Il y a peut-être un blocage du message.

Nouveau message ("nous sommes prêtes pour le lancement").

Pas de réponse.

Re-nouveau message ("vous êtes en un seul morceau ou il y a problème avec notre projet ?").

Silence radio.

Là, ma cousine décide de se la jouer Lino Ventura dans Les tontons flingueurs et elle déboule à l'agence... et alors là, un vrai festival.

Ma cousine explique qu'elle voudrait voir le conseiller XYZ à la dame de l'accueil.

Sans sourciller (et sans commentaire au sujet du récent silence de XYZ), elle propose un rendez-vous à ma cousine... pour la fin de la semaine prochaine, mais c'est un rendez-vous, hein ?

Et ben non...

Le rendez-vous serait avec Madame JKL, parce que XYZ n'est plus là (mort, viré, muté ? On ne sait toujours pas). 

Incidemment, quand j'ai récupéré ma cousine (qui aurait pu machouiller du neutronium tellement elle était furax en remontant de la banque), j'ai pu louer son instinct de survie : JKL, c'est celle qui m'avait téléphoné alors que j'avais indiqué de ne jamais m'appeler et qui n'avait jamais fait ce qu'elle m'avait promis de faire. Une vraie perle!

Vu notre statut hyper particulier, ma cousine n'était pas ravie à l'idée de tout réexpliquer à quelqu'un d'autre, mais la personne à l'accueil n'est même pas émue ("Vous n'avez pas le choix").

Et là, le coup de génie. Ma cousine explique à son interlocutrice que nous avons notre SIRET, nos preuves de domiciliation, mais nos pièces d'identité ne sont plus toutes techniquement valides et XYZ avait reconnu que la décision du Sénat s'appliquait dans notre cas ("Elle est valable dix ans, mais, même périmée, elle permet à son titulaire de justifier de son identité sur le territoire national, à condition que la photographie soit ressemblante.").

Si ma cousine avait annoncé qu'elle avait la peste, la réaction de la secrétaire n'aurait pas été plus dégoûtée, apparemment. En gros, par les temps qui courent, la BNP se doit d'être méfiante (n’empêche que ma cousine a la même tête que sur sa carte périmée - et on va vendre des livres, pas financer des débilos du Moyen-Orient).

Donc rendez-vous annulé par la secrétaire et "Allez à la mairie faire refaire votre carte" (ouaip! Sauf qu'il faut aller à la Préfecture maintenant, et uniquement sur rendez-vous).
Si c'est ça leur niveau de compétence... on a peut-être échappé au pire !

Voulez-vous une cerise sur ce joli gâteau ?

Apparemment XYZ n'est "plus là" depuis un mois - et personne n'a eu l'idée de programmer sa boite de réception afin d'envoyer un message ; un truc entre "Si vous cherchez à contacter XYZ, téléphonez à notre agence" et "XYZ n'est plus disponible, tant pis pour vous, pauvres clowns !".

J'ai ronchonné pour toute la famille hier sur Twitter. Vous croyez que quelqu'un de la BNP m'aurait contactée, histoire de régler le problème et d'avoir un nouveau client professionnel ? Non. Toujours pas émus les p'tits gars.

La secrétaire avait pris l'adresse de courriel de ma cousine. Sans doute déjà effacée et même pas transmise à JKL !

Ouaip ! Je crois que nous avons échappé au pire.

Ma pauvre cousine va se retrouver à gérer un module bancaire en plus de la gestion normale du site internet.

La BNP nous a ignoré (sans même rien savoir sur notre projet). Si par bonheur notre aventure marche, ma cousine prépare déjà sa revanche (en mode Vésuve croisé avec le Krakatoa).

Same Old Same Old - The "Next" MacGyver Edition

Alas, this is not about the old series where a lovely guy saved the day with some gum and a paper-clip.

Nope.

I went looking for a TV calendar in order to check when my siblings could start sending me spoilers about my favourite shows again, and I found a mention of the next MacGyver's first episode.

You see, last year I shipped my own plot bunnies to the Next MacGyver competition. When I got a message telling me that my script ideas weren't selected for the next step, I remember sending an answer wishing them luck and promising to watch the new series (what's not to love about women kicking arses and saving the day with some gum and a paper-clip... and maybe some GPS device to update the concept?).

I quite like my ideas, and I'm somehow glad that I find myself free to develop them without having studio people telling me to change "this, and that, and that... Oh, and maybe that, too".

I hadn't checked the project since last year, but I investigated a bit after reading the première date. Then, I had to dig deeper, because the competition I'd joined was about promoting women and having a female "MacGyver" as the next number 1 in the cast, but I was reading about blokes, and more blokes.

I must admit that I was barely caffeinated, and I briefly thought I'd stumbled upon a different project, but... no.

Shelved is the idea of the next MacGyver being played by a woman; it's all about cunning men saving the world (from inside the US government apparently, and there's one woman around, but she sounds like a right ungrateful, entitled bitch - on paper, at least). 

I don't know how the initial project was killed, but I'm not interested in that remake - at all.

I don't know if it's rampant sexism, fear about something new, fear about having too much science (and too many women?) in one show, but I don't care. This "MacGyver" doesn't look interesting or challenging enough.

There's one good thing, though: my own plot bunnies from the competition just hopped ahead in my writing queue.

Of Lazy Companies

'Dear Customer,

please, do our job...'

I can't help but have this sentence stuck in my head to summarize what just happened to me.

I got a letter from a "CCC" company that was informing me of the change/renewal of some piece of "AA" equipment in my flat.

The bloody thing looked like a scam.

I phoned to "AA", but no one knew about it... until I read them the letter, & they pointed out the piece of equipment now belongs to "AAa" ('Hello, communication between services!?' <- my Sarc font is firmly on).

I phoned to "AAa", and they confirmed that "CCC" works for them - but they had no trace of the change in my file (the OCD in me was beginning to twitch a little).

I phoned "CCC" because the appointment in the letter didn't work for me.

I could change it; no problem... buuuuuuuuut the lovely secretary told me that I should call the technician on the day of the appointment in order to know when he's going to be at my flat.

Aforementioned technician only has a mobile number (that's logical), & such numbers aren't included in my phone package & I am NOT going to pay to phone a guy when it's the "CCC" company that should contact me.

I told the secretary that I wouldn't be able to phone the technician, & I gave her my phone number (an old-fashioned landline).

She said that they'd contact me. [I thought "cool!"].

Then she said that I'd have to phone the technician to know when he'd be at my flat. ô.O

I realized that she wanted me to do their job, but... oops! I'm not paid for that.

Either they call me or they can drop dead - & I'll call "AAa" to read them the riot act in fifteen languages.

Oh.. "AAa" sent me a link to a poll. When they asked me if I had suggestions, weeeeell, I may have made a few to have them work properly, & not like lazy sloths.

I fear there shall be a "Part 2" to this story...

Victim Blaming Is Alive and Well

I really should read fewer newspapers.

I really should not read the comments.

I was reading a new article about the latest "scandal" about a courageous rape victim who was betrayed by the sentencing judge (because the culprit, as a fellow star athlete, deserves to not be properly punished).

It's this New York Times article (it's good, and I've got nothing to say against the journalist).

No, my problem is with whichever plonker picked a victim-blaming comment as a NYT Picks:

There are other similar comments on the thread. Of course. Gosh! My Sarc font is on again!

It's not about showing both sides of an argument. There's NO argument; one does not betray a victim yet another time by giving "air time" to a caveman. Full stop.

Oh, and for good measure, here's the mug of the culprit's protector judge:

I could add something about the letter that the culprit's father wrote, but there's no point in risking my lovely brain cells. Go read about that other caveman; he's a piece of... something.

Work Woes (Sort of)

Things are so weird right now, and I must admit I'm tired and tense (and... yea, scared a bit).

College work is okay, which is not normal. In my years of teaching, there's always been one thing that was negative (be it the one student who tried my patience or the merry war between two offices - war that started in the '60s, and that was still being kept active by people who were barely born when it started). Of course, I've got the classroom management snafu, but I do wonder if I should be prepared to face some kind of storm soon...

I tried to find a complementary teaching position, and I'd found something that could be nice... Too bad that the online recruitment form wanted to know so many private things that I had to withdraw my file.

I don't mind answering work-related questions, but they were being properly nosey about things that were completely unrelated to the (temporary!!!) position.

Has it become the bloody norm? Do potential employers want you to give away your soul with a contract signed with your own blood now?

I'm not built for that.

We're still in the process of launching our company, and... specialists (the guys who get paid to register what needs to be registered) don't even know what to tell us, where to send us, or what bumph they need from us... I'm going to end up with an ulcer, and my cousin is considering upping her stress meds.

We had to choose a particular status. It exists. It's on paper. We've read pages and pages on the net about that (yes, rather new) status. The specialists look at us as if we were speaking Etruscan.

It's exhausting.

My cousin's in charge of the bumph, and I think she's planning to send everything we've got to the appropriate office and tell them to deal with it and contact her if they need anything else. I can't blame her.

The whole situation really feels like this:

May we avoid Bedlam...
ô.O

Les "bras cassés" de la BNP

Massif ras la frange ce soir/cette nuit.

Je suis à la BNP depuis ma majorité (sans rentrer dans les détails sordides... ça fait longtemps), mais là, j'ai envie de tous les renvoyer en stage de formation.

Depuis que je suis chez eux (dans le désordre) : 

- ils ont perdu ma signature

- ils ont perdu la procuration de ma mère sur mon compte (même pas émus... "Elle n'a qu'à repasser à l'agence" - Ben oui, sauf qu'elle est à 400km maintenant !)

- ils ont crédité un chèque que j'avais déposé sur mon compte sur le compte de ma mère

- le personnel change tellement souvent que je n'ai plus affaire à la même personne deux fois de suite

- ils ont muté mon compte courant sur leur plateforme en ligne sans me prévenir (j'ai dû prendre rendez-vous avec la tête de l'agence afin de récupérer mon compte normal - je n'ai que ça à faire !)

- une stagiaire à l'accueil m'a demandé pourquoi je voulais déposer du liquide et pourquoi j'avais du liquide (on parle de quelques euros, là, pas du budget golf de l'Arabie Saoudite)

- au téléphone, certains s'acharnent à m'appeler "Mademoiselle". Alors, petit un, c'est "Madame" ou "Docteur" et petit deux, on est en 2016, les p'tits gars (il est peut-être temps de limiter le sexisme, non ?)

- j'envoie un message à ma conseillère sauf que... elle n'est plus là. Un conseiller répond à mon message et prétend avoir essayé de me téléphoner (ce qui est un gros vilain mensonge, mais... passons). Dans la foulée, une de ses collègues m'attrape au téléphone (alors que je leur avais dit de ne pas me téléphoner !) et promet de régler mon problème.

Affaire classée ?

Que nenni !

Le conseiller n'a pas répondu au message suivant que j'ai envoyé (mais il a bien accusé réception du bidule il y a quinze jours) et aujourd'hui, je découvre que sa collègue n'a pas fait ce qu'elle avait promis.

Du coup, j'ai transféré le message d'origine au conseiller timide du clavier en lui passant un savon. Oh, et en mettant en copie le conseiller professionnel avec qui je devais (dois ?) faire affaire.

En faisant quelques recherches, j'ai vu que la BNP avait fait près de 7 milliards d'euros de bénéfices en 2015 - et ils ont décidé d'imposer des frais de tenue de compte ! Multipliez 2.5€ par le nombre de pigeons clients qui sont chez eux et grognez en chœur avec moi.

Il est hors de question que je les laisse s'en tirer à si bon compte et ils ont intérêt à me présenter des excuses plates de chez Plate, parce que, là... Basta. J'ai le Vésuve qui me monte au nez.

Oh... et si le p'tit gars me téléphone et me réveille dans quelques heures, je lui passe un savon à faire pleurer jusqu'à ses arrière-grand-mères.

Les banques ne sont peut-être pas des entreprises de philanthropie, mais je n'ai pas "vache à lait" tatoué sur les fesses.

"Caue BNP!"