It was the thousandth time Salesforce was borked.

————

He's our Salesforce Admin, a constant job,
Adding whosits, whatsits, and thingamabobs.
One for marketing here, and CS there,
He's got the fixes, when we have the prayers.
He dreams of picklists and relational fields,
Never stopped by permissions, he'll never yield.
Runs reports like a madman, using Apex like glue,
Nuking customizations, CRM Kung Fu.
So here's to the man who's saved all of our butts,
Facing grievous errors, he's shown he's got guts.
Another client to onboard? Another workflow is bust?
Just start up the cheer, "In Scott we trust!"


if (System.Trigger.isUpdate && Year == '5') {
System.debug("I'm glad you're alive");
}

/********************************************
If System dot Trigger dot isUpdate,
AND if Year is equal to five,
Then save this message to the logs,
System debug, "I'm glad you're alive";
********************************************/

Cilantro allergies are no bueno.
————
She'd always never liked it,
Even when she really tried,
When they sprinkled it on tacos,
It made her want to cry.
But she played it cool,
She played it tough,
Her attitude all bubbles,
Despite the overwhelming taste,
Of all her soapy troubles.
"It's your genes", they told her once,
"There's nothing we can do."
"Just be glad that ground black pepper,
Doesn't taste like Elmer's glue."
But this girl was a born a fighter,
And no food would ever best her,
So she did as she was destined,
And became a soap taste-tester.
And after countless day of putting it off,
She went for her first bite,
And she opened up a fresh Dove bar;
Clean, and smooth, and white.
And as she chewed, it hit her,
Like a raging waterfall,
"My life's a lie, this bar of soap,
Doesn't taste cilantro at all."
And in fact, her gene mutation,
Seemed to work in both the ways,
So now she fills her life chock full,
Of soap-topped taco days.

It was a typical day at the office.

————

The tensions were rising, the guns multiplying,
Everyone's hackles were up.
They all looked around, no treaties were found,
No documents, classic startup.
Scott was the first, to run to the room,
The others, they quickly chased after.
Then he jumped inside, slammed the door shut,
And peeled with maniacal laughter.
Everyone quickly looked at each other,
And all at once they ran.
Then out burst Scott, draped in orange,
More blaster than he was man.
It took just ten seconds before it was clear,
How truly safe they were,
For Scott had the blasters, but alas no darts,
Typical Nerf amateur.

It was a salad for lunch. Beep Boop.

————

My CD drive slides in and out,
Mashing kale, it spins about.
At four hundred eighty rpm,
My motherboard shakes, it’s IBM.
Foreach byte I take is bliss,
My hardware’s firmware can’t resist.
I eat till buffers overflow,
Then heave a beep boop bloopity groan.
My plates so full my drive stops spinning,
Melted, I stand, as the smoke starts thinning.
Now my innards drip with salad dressing,
And the onions my hard drive's been compressing.
My cords short circuit as I finish my ballad,
01100110 this salad.

It was another company meeting.

————

Hold music, blender; static-train-feedback,
Unmuted mics and ancient codecs.
Beeps mark latecomers, blips dropped connections,
A symphony composed by their intersection.
Another company meeting, it comes and it goes,
Filled with rolled eyes, and laughs, and woes.
But, just as always, we get what we need,
Despite it causing our ears to bleed.

It was burritos for lunch.

————

“Prefabbed?” he asked, and with a grin,
his eyes filled with delight.
He squeezed them closed, imagining,
the world’s largest bite.
Machines whirring and whizzing, fast to fold,
the tortilla homes they'd assemble.
A warehouse massive enough to hold,
the houses they’d resemble.
“If they can do it for buildings, why not for food?
A factory's all we’d need.
Fab burritos so huge, it’s simply lewd,
An ode to American greed.”
The factory was built and immediately cursed,
when it completed its first creation.
Stuffed too full, the burrito burst,
an unforeseeable miscalculation.“Prefabbed?” he asked, and with a grin,
His eyes filled with delight.
He squeezed them closed, imagining,
The world’s largest bite.
Machines were whirring, fast to fold,
and tortilla homes assembled.
A warehouse massive enough to hold,
The houses they resembled.
“If it’s done for buildings, why not for food?
A factory's all we’d need.
Burritos so huge, it’s simply lewd,
An ode to American greed.”
So it was built and immediately cursed,
When it completed its first creation.
Stuffed too full, the burrito burst,
An unforeseeable miscalculation.

It was the last day here for a magical man with a beautiful heart on wonderful journey.

————

A man and his beard, hair aloft in the wind,
His magic united this crew.
A wizard dressed normally, bangs bobby pinned,
Electricity running through.

He grew a family, from seeds hand picked,
Which he raised into a forest.
Many words typed, and mice right clicked,
A uniquely talented florist.

The trees multiplied with a life of their own,
The green, it filled his heart.
So. much. love. for the seeds he’d sown,
A marvelous form of art.

Onward and upward to lands anew,
He must be moving on.
The trees, they waved and whispered adieu,
As he rode into the dawn.