In which I still hate sales.

Since I can’t really unload verbally in the presence of the folks who are actually here, I’m gonna do it in front of the whole damned Internet! Because that’s what goblinbox.com is all about. Me, venting. And you, reading all about it. Because you’re the most superior creatures on the whole network.

Anyway. We stayed up until three local time, and got up at eight. Ouch. By nine we were clean and dressed and in our first meeting, which morphed magically into our second meeting over breakfast at Bob Evans across the parking lot (where there were zero vegetarian options on the menu), and then if you’ll believe me it turned into a third meeting at the team leader’s room. In a row.

Then we went and bought phones. Good God, what a pain in the ass. At least I didn’t have to pay a fucking security deposit. But still, it’s easier to adopt a child than it is to get a phone. I have a stack of paperwork four inches thick from that adventure.

After phones were accomplished, we drove to the fourth meeting of the day at The Office, which basically is the room where the construction company has all their laptops and copiers. There, we learned that some guys are already selling, that the first roof goes on tomorrow, and that the POS materials are not finished, and there is no official pitch yet scripted, and the software line items need to be adjusted because they’re wrong, and basically just go get ’em, tigers!

It was totally inspirational and utterly uninformative. Plus I was the only bona fide geek in the room so I didn’t understand a tenth of what they said to each other because, honestly, I don’t know soffet from fascia let alone ridge vent from architectural shingles.

When that meeting broke up, we tried to head back to the hotel but got lost for a long while. We finally made it, though, and I’m back on the ‘net where I belong. Yay!

Now! For the part you’ve all been waiting for! The venting!

So. You know how the world is cleverly designed so that different people enjoy and excel at different things, and we all tend to gravitate toward the things we’re good at and specialize in them? Well, I’d be the last person to call that a design flaw. I think it’s utterly brilliant that I can pay someone to wrench on my car rather than do it myself! But it means that members of groups other than my own tend to be incomprehensible and/or annoying to me.

So grok how scary this is: right now I’m totally surrounded by… SALES PEOPLE.

You know salespeople? The way there’s the top dog, the charismatic one, and the rest of them get all cult-of-personality about him? And how they love to talk and talk and talk all the time like a bunch of girls? And the way they’re obscenely gung-ho and cheerful about shit? And how when you ask them a direct question they tend to give you the longest answer possible, rather than just answering the fucking question already?

Well, I’ve been in meetings all day with people from that planet. Hell, not even people, but MEN from that planet. The only females I’ve dealt with were the waitresses at breakfast and the Cingular chick!

I have a fantastic overview of what we’re doing… I have about six fantastic overviews, actually… but virtually zero concrete details. And until we go ahead and manifest those details ourselves, I have the feeling they’re going to continue to not exist.

There’s work here, oh yeah, and money to be made, certainly. But I think someone who wanted to be led through some kind of training before jumping into the deep end would be sorely challenged here.

Luckily, I’m sharing a room with a contractor and a salesman. The two of them already know the vast majority of what they need to go sell roofs. They’re even — and this baffles me utterly — excited to start knocking on doors!

I am from a planet in a completely different galactic arm than theirs! But I’ll tell you this tidbit right now: no one is going to turn in more thorough, organized, and coherent bids than the ones that are gonna come off my laptop. No one.

Now I need to find some food. I haven’t eaten in eight hours, but BoSe and Bread are such hyper-excited girls that their tummies aren’t working properly and they’re making noises about waiting another hour or three before getting some dinner! Fuck that, say I! I’ll freakin’ walk to Taco Bell if I have to! Just watch me!

In other news, if you want my new cell number just call my old one — it’s on the voice mail message.

Update 10:49 pm: One word. Jacuzzi tub! (Unh-huh, babies. Hideous, wasteful use of resources. But mmm.)