Ethics Shmethics

I remember there was a story floating around a few years back about a guy who was fired from “the company” because he had his secretary take his ethics compliance test for him.  Apparently, as the poor woman was taking the test, she came across the section that stated it is unethical to take the ethics compliance test for your boss.  Then she came across the section that stated if one were to witness an ethics violation, such as being forced to take the ethics compliance test for another party, that the incident should be reported via the ethics hot-line. 

Oh irony.  How I love thee.  Let me count the ways.

Not sure what comes over a person to so blatantly and visibly violate the ethical standards of their particular company.  Thank goodness there is an ethics hot-line though.

“Hey there.  So is this the ethics hotline?”

“Yes sir, how can I help you today?”

“Great.  Well I’ve got several things I want to run by you.”

“Okay.  Let’s just take them one at a time.  First start by giving me your name or, if you’d like to remain anonymous, a name I can call you during this conversation.”

“Oh.  Well.  I guess I’ll remain anonymous then.  So why don’t you call me…ah…let’s see…what have I always wanted to be named?  I’ve got it!  Call me Spartacus.”

“You want me to call you Spartacus?”

“Yeah.  I’ve always been a huge fan of Kirk Douglas and gladiator movies.”

“Okay Mr…ahem…Spartacus.  How can I help you?”

“Could you call me Dr. Spartacus?  Because I think…”

“LET’S JUST GET ON WITH IT!”

“Okay.  Well the other day I was working late at the office and suddenly realized that I was late for dinner with my wife.  I jumped out of my chair, rushed to pack my things, and headed out in a real tizzy.  Later when I got home I realized that I’d accidentally grabbed one of the company pencils in my rush out of the office and…well…it had broken in the bottom of my satchel.”

“And?”

“And what?  That’s it.  I accidentally took a company pencil home and broke it.”

“Mr. Spartacus you’ve got to be kidding me.  Is that the reason why you called the ethics hot-line?”

“Well, that was the main reason sure.  Then there was last week when I accidentally crapped myself at work.”

“Say wha?”

“Yeah, I dumped a fantasically large poop-n-turd in my pantaloons just after breakfast.  So I crab crawled down the hallway and into the men’s bathroom, took off my soiled underoos, then stuffed them into the bathroom trash can with a little note on them that said ‘This One’s For You Julio.’  Then I free-balled it the rest of the day.  Is that unethical?”

“Dear God Dr. Spartacus what the hell…” 

“I also wanted to ask you about a little incident I had with a live sheep in the new mother’s room…”

Busy Little Bees

An old boss once told me “if anyone ever asks you if you are busy – even if you aren’t – always say yes.”  He was laid off just days after he gave me that advice.  I thought it was a really good piece of advice though.

Thinking about it, I’ve received a lot of good advice over the years.  Things like never try to show a VP how smart you are in a meeting and executive presentations should always have one picture and very few words per slide.  Helpful stuff like that.

I’ve also received some of the most horrific advice in the history of the known world.

When I was shopping around for my first house, my Dad told me I should try and find an abandoned McDonald’s or Gas Station to fix up and live in.  I won’t go into his reasons why but I assure you they were not based in logical thought.

I recall my Uncle trying to convince me to join the Navy instead of going to college.  This was in like 1990 just weeks before the Gulf War with Iraq.

A guy I used to work with told me the best way to pay off your house was to apply for like fifty credit cards and pay all the debt down that way.

My shop teacher in high school told me I should be an engineer when I grew up.  Too bad he didn’t look at my Iowa Basic test scores because those would have told him that my aptitude for high level mathematics is just above that of a muskrat.

With all this horrible advice it’s a wonder we’ve been able to get by. 

That said, I’m going to chime in with my own bit of advice for those of you Townies left at “the company.”  The next time a VP asks you “so tell me, why are our customers leaving us?”  Stare him dead in the eye and say “I think mostly because of you Jim.”

The Sequel

So I started a new job.  Quick huh?  Ya think I might of had that planned out a little bit.  Kinda knew that a mass canning was imminent.  Yep.  Timing is everything I tell ya.

So anyway, one of my first acts as a new employee was to go to an off-site training class.  I won’t bore you with the details but suffice it to say that it was systems related training.  Now please understand I am not a systems person.  I simply need to know how to go into the system and pull data out.  Hence the training course.

Upon entering the classroom at the off-site facility and listening to introductions from the instructor and my fellow classmates, it became very apparent to me that I was a bit out of place in this setting.  Most of these people were database administrators, IT consultants, system designers, and would be Dungeon Masters.

After about ten minutes of observing the behavior taking place around the room, I came to the following conclusions:

1. Not only was I going to learn much about database systems, I also would be afforded to the opportunity to learn to speak Klingon which most of my fellow classmates were now using for casual conversation.
2. The trendy looking belt that the man to my left appeared to be wearing turned out to be no fewer than nine mobile phones and four pagers attached around the circumference of his unshapely waist.
3. Calling the instructor a nerd really sells him short in this category.  I’m pretty sure he is their leader.
4. Catching snippets of their conversation, I realized that the two women to my right both own an immense number of cats.  I’m fairly sure that owing a herd of cats within city limits is illegal and reserved for those individuals who are both very lonely and who have a slight touch of the loonies.
5. I am going to have to clear my plans this coming Saturday as I will likely be hosting my first Dungeons and Dragons club meeting in my basement.

A few minutes later, the instructor asked me what I’d like to get out of the class.  Here is how that conversation went.

“So Tire Shop, what is it that you want to get out of the class today,” the instructor asks while looking at me through his meter thick glasses.

“Well Leslie, I’m an end user so I’d like to be able to query the system and pull out data to analyze it,” I say confidently.

“Queries are the main thing then,” Leslie asks?

“Yeah, I’m used to having cubes or a front end reporting interface available to me to pull down data.  So this system query stuff is new to me.”

“Ah,” Leslie says rubbing his chin, “so in your past history you’ve used cubes?”

“Yes,” I say bit hesitantly.

He points at me with his nubby finger.  “Then you’re familiar with OPAL and FASTAC probably.  I’m sure you’ve seen the GERKY interface, though I much prefer the DORCUS modules don’t you?”

“Uh,” I stutter.

He continues quickly.  “I will say that when I first looked at OPAL I thought it was the living end but now that I’ve learned FLARN and KAKA I wouldn’t give OPAL a nanosecond of processing time.” 

He ends his statement in a loud laugh and then snorts like a warthog.

Frustrated, I stand up out of my seat and begin my retort.  “Look Guy, I”m not with these people,” I shout throwing my arms out in a grand gesture.  “You’re not going to intimidate me with those made-up acronyms that make up the language of the dorks.  I’m like the coolest person you goofy bastards have met in your whole life.  And that is not a commentary about my social standing.  It is an indication of how pitiful you nerd-scum suckers are.  Seriously, you are the kind of people who would go to a Star Trek convention even if Shatner and Nimoy cancelled and the only cast member who was gonna be there is that small Russian guy.”

“You’re talking about Chekov,” one of the nerds behind me says proudly.

“You shut your mouth Pee Wee or I will beat your ass all the way back to Narnia,” I snap.

The guy shrinks back into his chair and the instructor smartly breaks in to suggest we all take a ten minute break to cool off.  After the break, calmer heads prevail and the rest of the day goes off without incident.  Except at one point when one of the students challenged the instructor’s knowledge in a particular area inciting a nerd face-off.  They went at it for about ten minutes.  It got so heated at one point they both broke into speaking in binary.  Fabulously entertaining I must say.   

Anyway, driving home I realized that I need to relax and be thankful that I’m no longer in the grips of “the company.”  That place can make you tense and that tension is hard to let go of.

So far I really think that things have worked out for the best.

P.S.  You’re all invited to my Dungeon Master swearing in ceremony next Saturday.

A View From The Parking Lot

I grew up in what some folks might call a rough neighborhood.  Beer bottles on the sidewalk, dirt yards, coarse looking characters hanging out on street corners, that kind of thing. 

Funny how when you live there everyday you don’t notice how bad it is.  Don’t get me wrong.  You know it is a bad area.  But you just don’t notice it.  You don’t notice it because you feel it.  All day and all night you are immersed in filth.  That filth is all you know.  That filth feels like home.

Then one day you leave the old neighborhood behind.  You move to a newer neighborhood in the suburbs.  The sidewalks are clean and the people are nice.  You think, well this is quite a bit better isn’t it?

Then one day you get a wild hair and drive back through the old neighborhood.  Just for old time’s sake.  The shock of what you see comes quickly.  Things that you would have ignored just a short time ago stand out like a sore thumb. 

“Holy Jeez, there’s an oily car engine hanging from that tree,” you think.

“Someone left their socks lying in the street,” you notice.

“There is a dead guy in that car,” you shout.

“How in the hell did I ever live in this place” you exclaim.

I know it’s only been a week now, but that’s kind of how I feel looking back at “the company.”

For The Townies

It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

            – Macbeth, Act 5 Scene 5

Autumn approaches and I am finally headed off to college after only a few months delay.  My 1976 burgundy toned Chevette is packed to the hilt with my belongings, ready to transport me to a new destination.  A place not far in distance, yet somehow worlds away.

So then, I leave the Tire Shop in the loving care of you fellow townies.  Remember to lock the doors at night., and don’t let Smitty give you any crap.

I do plan to stop in once in a while for a chat.  Perhaps my commentary will stray a bit from the usual water cooler talk of “the company.”  Then again, I do have a decade of memories to draw from.  I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your patronage over these few months.  My spirits and livelihood I fear would not have survived without you.

As I go, I’d like to leve you with a suggestions as you do your best to turn this ship about and head for more furtile waters.

1. Find yourself a better cubical.  If you wander around the building, you’ll find that there are many abandoned cubicles that you might find more appealing than your current assigned seat.  You can get yourself a window view plus get away from the relaxing sounds your neighbor’s antique ten-key calculator ticky-tacing you to death all day.
2. Given the mortoriam on buying supplies, build yourself a massive stash of pens, notepads, staples, etc. to get you through the end of the year (and possibly beyond).  Start a side business by selling these supplies at a premium to needy co-workers who blew through their supply in a two weeks like some random coke addict.
3. Seek out and claim for yourself a secret place.  You know, somewhere to get away once in a while to relax.  Just don’t make your secret place the Quiet Room lest you want to be interrupted by star crossed lovers looking for a little 10am rendezvous.
4. Steal some food from the cafeteria.  Just once.  Just for the hell of it.  Just to get that rush of rebellion you had when you were eighteen and out all night causing havoc.  Don’t be a pansy.  Do it!
5. Start calling your boss “Cheese” as a nickname.  Don’t explain why.  Next time he or she says “hey George, can you send me an e-mail that describes what it is that you do here.”  You respond simply “sure thing Cheese.  I’ve had that deck prepared for the last three years.”
6. Identify the co-worker you despise the most and tape a dead fish underneath their desk.  They won’t figure out where the smell is coming from for weeks.
7. If an executive starts chewing your ass during a big meeting, smile wryly while wagging your finger at them and say ”nice try Jokey Jokerton.”
8. Overreact to everything.  When your co-worker Ned tells you that the delivery of the new Point of Purchase materials are delayed by a few days start screaming.  Ask Ned why the Lord has forsaken you.
9. Buy two hundred pallets of bottled water at premium prices and have them delivered to the Executive Headquarter Building.
10. Have a good time.  I did.  You might as well while you’re there.

A Toast For The Host With The Most

Here’s to you.  You’ve been a good friend.  So let’s have a drink and a toast to us.

Here’s to you Cubical.  You’re looking much less dreary and lived in these days.  We’ve come along way together haven’t we.  I don’t even mind the fact that you have those useless faux windows and under-cabinet lights that don’t work.  You were my 8X8 home for many years and I sure appreciate that.  Hopefully your next occupant isn’t a gaseous orb who moans when he breathes and sweats like a Great Alaskan Horse Moose Dog.

Here’s to you Computer.  You were slow.  You were old.  You always crashed when I was in the middle of an executive fire drill.  But hey, you tried your best.  You know what, check that.  Actually you were an absolute bastard Computer.  I won’t miss you at all and may God have mercy on your soul.

Here’s to you Monitor.  You and I have been together from the start.  I could have claimed eye strain and traded you in for a slimmer model, but I just couldn’t bring myself to part with you.  All this despite you weighing in at a robust two hundred and eighteen pounds and consistently smashing my finger whenever I tried to move you around to clean my desk.  I decorated you with my Excellence award stickers.  All two of them from six years ago.

Here’s to you Printer.  You dirty son of a bitching absolute piece of crap!  You are like an alcoholic that drinks toner, always thirsty for your next highball.  You are like a compulsive eater who dines on 8X11 paper, there’s never enough to munch on.  You always jammed whenever I had anywhere between two and four minutes to print off an executive presentation and then jog the six miles to my third-stringer meeting with the senior VP’s.  They say that all dogs go to heaven.  I believe that.  I also believe that all printers will burn in hell.

Here’s to you Coffee Machine.  I was always perturbed that none of my coffee mugs ever fit under your four inch tall spout.  I had to transfer coffee from a Styrofoam cup to my mug every morning.  Then we decided to get rid of Styrofoam cups due to excess use.  Root cause – Coffee Machine Design.  I think perhaps you were designed for use in the Corporate Headquarters of the Lollipop Kids over at Munchkin Land Office Park.  “The company” must have gotten a deal on the excess supply after the Lollipop Kids went out of business.

Here’s to you Quiet Room.  More than anyone, I’ll bet you’ve seen some romping activity in your day.  Rumors of lascivious activity run rampant in your neck of the woods.  All because of you Quiet Room.  Add some Bee Gee’s music and a disco ball and it’s Studio 54 all over again.

Here’s to you Weird Art On The Walls.  I’ll bet the cost of displaying you has resulted in at least five hundred to a thousand employees losing their jobs over the years.  I’m especially fond of the giant moldy pickle that dresses up the entryway of my building.  I love modern art.  There’s Mondrian, Jackson Pollock, and The Giant Pickler.

Here’s to you Parking Garage.  I love how your narrow corridors partner with the guys who park their F250 Trucks on the very edge of corner turns.  That way I don’t have to even glance at that lunatic going fifty miles an hour down the ramp until he’s in my lap.  You’ve really made me appreciate living, oh Parking Garage, since I’ve nearly been killed over seventy times driving or walking through your concrete structure during my tenor at “the company.”

Here’s to you co-workers.  Because, as Bill Clinton used to say, “I feel your pain.”  And I know that you feel mine.

Thanks.