Paperless Bees

The big debate in my workplace right now is about going paperless.  Do we want to do it?  If so, is this the right time?  These simple questions do not have simple answers.

The business I work for provides space, equipment, office supplies, and staffing for over a dozen professionals.  Each one is a private contractor, not an employee of the business, so the business owners can't dictate working conditions outright.  On the other hand, all the professionals are motivated to embrace anything which might make their practice more efficient.  Will going digital truly be more efficient?

My consultant quoted a professional in the industry who has already gone through this process.  He said:  "It's not easier, but it's better."  That is a pithy quote, but it doesn't help this office make the decision.  Do any of you out there have experience with computerized offices, especially the transition to such a system?  I would love to get your feedback.

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For those of you who couldn't care less about paperless office transitions, here is an alternate topic: giant bees.  I am told by Ken that these are carpenter bees, so-called because they chew through wood to build their hives in buildings and presumably trees.  The ones I've seen around here are at least an inch long and wear yellow, fuzzy vests, unlike the photo I linked to (which I picked for the sheer impressive size of the bee).

My first encounter with a giant bee was outside the grocery store on the first warm day of spring.  The bee was hovering and bobbing in place at around waist level.  It appeared to be completely lost and confused.  I stopped to stare at it, because I'm not scared of bees and I was fascinated by it's redonkulous size.  After a little while it flew five feet to the left, made an approximate figure eight, and flew back to hover in front of me some more.  "Bee, go find some flowers!" I told it. 

When I came out of the store it was gone. 

Later that same weekend Ken and I went for a walk in Earl Bales park.  On our way from the parking lot to the trail, we passed a wooden building.   A group of giant bees were hanging out by this building,  swooping around uselessly.  Ken was alarmed and gave them a wide berth.  Having already experienced the apathetic personality of one giant bee, I figured if I didn't bother them, they wouldn't bother me.  I walked straight through their turf.  I was either right or lucky.

Later that evening we went for dinner on a patio partially sheltered by sliding glass doors.  A pair of bees showed up.  They must have liked the looks of my sweet potato fries, because they started trying to fly through the glass right next to my face.  Clunk, clunk, clunk, went their dumb little heads on the glass.  If they had moved five inches east they could have flown in through a space between the glass doors, but they couldn't figure that out.

Later on one bee did make it's way in, and promptly started trying to fly out through the same window, right next to me.  Clunk, clunk, clunk.  We had to comandeer an empty drinking glass and a spare menu to capture the bee and release it outside.

If you have any interest in viewing these freakish bees, head up to North York, and soon.  If Darwin's theory is correct, they are too stupid to live, and should be going extinct pretty soon.