Looking Back

It’s been nearly two months now since I left “the company.”  I still speak with many of you townies who I left behind so many days ago.  I also speak to many of my fellow travelers who left our favorite disfunctional little town to venture out into the world and find serenity. 

What, you ask, are the most common words I hear coming from these two groups?

Townies – Please get me out!

Travelers – Sure I’m working in a Leper colony, but I just thank the good Lord I’m not a Townie anymore.

I’m sorry Townies but this is the truth.

I, for one, have many fond memories.  Looking back at “the company” is kind of like looking back to those Friday nights at the roller rink.  My friends and I had so much fun skating around, weaving in and out between the punks, the hoods, the mullets, and the glitter.

There were the group of girls skating around in a Greek Phalanx formation, the prettiest ones always positioned toward the center.  No way to get to the center without confronting a guard.  “Why hello Ulga.  I was wondering if I might have a word with Candy and Trixie?”

There was the really flexible limbo guy.  Usually a thin Asian man I always noticed.  Probably was the same guy every time.  He came to this country and someone told him that Limbo was the key to a woman’s heart.

There were the ruffians.  The teenagers who bowled everyone on the rink over with their hi jinks.

There were the sucker fish.  Those junior high and high school couples who hung out in dark corners with their faces mashed together. 

There were the wall clingers.  The stars of the roller rink really.  Grasping at the burgundy shag carpets on the walls as they inched around the perimeter of the rink at a slugs pace.

There was the much older guy who was by himself and creeped everyone out with his Camaro mustache and serial killer stares.

There were the video game leeches.  They didn’t even put skates on.  Just hung out by the Galaga machine all night looking for loose quarters.

You get the picture.  I’m not sure of how these groups are analagous with those at “the company,” but I’m sure you’ll use your imagination.

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.”

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.

Follow The Yellow Brick Road…But Watch Out For Flying Monkeys

Next week will be my last at “the company.”  I wonder what it will be like?  Eight years is a long time to be married to one job.  I’m leaving lots of good friends behind.  I’ll miss them greatly.  But I’m pretty sure I’ll miss Scarecrow most of all.

“The company” is kind of like The Wizard of Oz isn’t it. 

When you first get hired, you find yourself traversing a golden path to the Emerald City.  How grand!

One day, as your euphoria begins to wane, you happen to look around at the people you are counting on to help you see the journey through.  These people fall into three distinct groups.  The first are those who seem to consistently stumble all over the place without purpose because they have no brains.  The second are those who are completely inconsiderate of any outside factors and rigidly go about their daily tasks because they have no heart.  The third group of people are those who roar with fevered passion about how to change the world but can never commit to a decision because they have no courage.

Then, just for grins, multiple times along your journey a wicked witch sends her flying monkeys out to try and off you and your buddies.  Each time the monkeys take out a few of your little troop (usually the smarter ones) and you have to continue on the path with less help and much more confusion and fear.

Finally, you arrive at the Emerald City to see the great and powerful Oz.  The great and powerful Oz claims to have the answers to all of your problems.  He is confident.  He speaks with great authority.  Problem is that behind the curtain Mr. Oz is a crazy old man who smells like moth balls and spends most of his day coming up with dumbass slogans to draw more tourists into the Emerald City (e.g., Emerald City is at least as good as Sapphire City if not better).

Well one of the flying monkeys got me this time.  That’s okay.  There’s no place like home.  For a while anyway.

I Wasted Time, And Now Doth Time Waste Me

We’re drinking my friend
To the end of a brief episode
So make it one for my baby
And one more for the road

          – Frank Sinatra

And then we came to an end.  But quite a ride is was.  Quite a ride indeed.

An old VP of mine once gave the entire team of managers a book by one Dr. Seuss entitled “Oh The Places You’ll Go.”  At the time I thought this was kind of stupid.  But now it seems so very fitting.  For today I’ve been informed of my pending separated employment from ”the company.”  So my journey begins. 

What a gas!  More to come of course.  But I can’t help but think about what a time I had while I worked there.  It was a rollercoaster of laughs.  No joke.  I had more fun than I ever thought I would.  But we knew it was coming.  If you didn’t see it, you didn’t look it in the eye, because it was coming right at you.

Things change.  And that’s okay by me…

Tulip Bulbs

Be aware that I’m just getting home from having about six black and tans at a nice Irish top deck bar.  I wonder if they have top deck bars in Dublin.  You could sit out all night and watch the clouds go by whilst drinking your lukewarm Guinness.

Anyway, financial advice is just awful these days don’t you think?  Oil will be at two hundred dollars a barrel by winter they say.  Oil will be at sixty dollars a barrel by next year they say.  Short on commodities.  Long on international. 

Invest in China they say, so I bought some firecrackers.  You know, bottle rockets, whistlers, M-80’s, and snakes.  Shit like that.  What the hell are snakes anyway?  Like some kind of compressed wombat poop that expands when you light it?  Sick. 

I always liked the sparklers.  Nothing like a small stick of magnesium that burns at over one thousand degrees less then six inches from your child’s retina.  Smart.

I was watching Jim Cramer Mad Money yesterday.  He’s got to be on crack.  I’m fairly confident that I could have a TV show where I scream the names of seventy-five different securities you should invest in and hit on at least a few.  That way four weeks later I can say “see folks, you should have purchased the drug development company Anusfudge like I said.  The stock has tripled in the last two weeks due to recent FDA approval of their newest drug, Torquemadal.  If you have nothing but sissy in your pants, take one pill a day and you will be extremely inquisitive and hard to deal with.  Incredible!”

I think most of the execs at “the company” are taking Torquemadal.  They seem to be extremely agitated these days.  I think it’s the stress.  People without brains don’t like stress.  Makes them realize they don’t have brains.

The Rear Window

I’ll just bet you haven’t the slightest idea of how important a window seat is to a would-be manager at “the company.”  Or maybe you do know how important a window seat is.  Maybe you’ve seen the tantrums thrown and relationships severed over the trivial nature of whether one’s seat affords them a view. 

But a view of what?  Street?  Parking facility?  The small forms of Nicaraguans busily trimming the hedges?

There really is no practical reason to desire a window seat at “the company” (unless you suffer from seasonal affective disorder)

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Side Note:  If you suffer from seasonal affective disorder – otherwise known as the Winter Downies – why can’t you simply move to San Diego or something.  Seriously, this can’t be a real disorder, can it? 

“What’s wrong Melvin?”

“Well, I guess I just don’t like the clouds?”

“The clouds?  What is wrong with the clouds?

“They’re so gray.  So lifeless.  They make me feel like a dumbass loser when I look at them.”

“Gee Melvin, do rainy days and Mondays always get you down too?  Maybe you and the Carpenters can get together for a hearty lunch and talk about how pathetic you are.”

“Don’t make fun of me assface!  I have Seasonal Affective Disorder!  I’m on medication because the clouds took away my joy!”

“Oh yeah, did the clouds run off with your dignity too there cake boy?”

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Anyway, like I was saying, a window seat is a dangerous thing.  Causes rifts among coworkers.  Imagine fights breaking out in every cubical.  Fire set to office chairs.  Anarchy!

Avoiding these bad tidings is tricky.  Every manager requires a window seat.  Problem is, there are more managers at “the company” than there are windows. 

Now isn’t that amazing?  More managers than windows!  What are these people managing?  I’ll tell you what.  They’re managing to steal all of the company’s money by drawing a salary to do nothing but stare out of their window all damn day. 

Sinners.

The Game

It seems like I’ve been playing the game way too long,
And it seems the game I’ve played has made you strong.
But when the game is over, I won’t walk out a loser.
Yeah, I know someday I’ll walk out of here again.
But now I’m trapped.

     – Lyrics to the song Trapped by Bruce Springsteen

Trying to explain the game we play at “the company” is a tough task.  It requires a certain framework to help us explain irrational behavior and the lack of logic that pervades our broken system.  The following allegory isn’t necessarily right or wrong, but simply how I choose to view the situation.

The Good Farmer

Do you hail from a blue collar background?  Were your parents and/or grandparents immigrants?  Country folk maybe? 

If so, you likely are no more than two to three generations removed from a family of farmers.  This certainly is true of me.  Probably true of the majority of us in today’s corporate environment.  We are the first generation in history to have easily moved from blue to white collar status in one single generational step.  There are a number of factors at play that made this possible.  The relative ease of attaining a college education, the socio-economic state of the nation moving from a production based economy to a service based economy, etc.  Regardless, due to our blue collar background, many of us were instilled with that farmer’s mentality from a young age.  

So what is the farmer’s mentality?  What is a farmer’s offer of value?  To produce a crop of course.  Crop production feeds his family and allows him to continue farming.  It is individual production on the part of the farmer that is most indicative of his value.  The better quality crop he produces the better off his family is and the more respected he’ll be in a farm community for being a great farmer.  He achieves results in the form of crop production.

 

So in the case of the farmer the value equation is as follows:

 

Individual Production = Monetary Gain and Respect

 

This same equation holds true for any manual labor job.  Think of a manufacturing environment – the more widgets I produce the higher my value to my employer.  The supervisor of a factory worker measures his employee’s worth by individual production.  It’s is visible, easy to measure, and the worker is easily made accountable for his production. 

 

 

Now we add the emotional aspect to our equation.

  

Individual Production = Monetary Gain and Respect = Pride in one’s work

  

I did it myself.  No one helped me.  The results I achieved are mine alone.

  

This practice was passed on to the farmer’s children – our grandparents and parents. The equation – Individual Production = Monetary Gain and Respect = Pride – was beaten into our heads since the day we were born.

 

I’ve said this before, but think of the words of your parents (your father in particular).

  

“Keep your head down, work hard, and you’ll succeed.”

“Don’t get too high on your horse.”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it.” 

 

Good advice if you’re in a working class job. Or even if you’re an entrepreneur and own a business. 

 

Unfortunately, this philosophy fails miserably in the environment bred by the American corporation.  It fails miserably at “the company.”

  

The New Bourgeoisie

Now think of a country club environment.  What would that look like for a young child?  What does that child see?  He sees that certain men in that country club are held in high regard.  But why?  Is this man’s individual production (his crop) higher than all of his peers?  Is he the best producer (farmer) among other very good producers?  Is that why he’s revered?

  

Actually no.  He is revered because his grandfather was Nelson Rockefeller.  He is revered because he lives in a big time house.  He is revered because he has powerful friends.  He is revered because he just purchased a new Mercedes.  He is revered because of his status – all aforementioned items being indicative of that status.

 

Now how would our value equation look for the young child witnessing the country club life day to day.

 

Status = Monetary Gain and Respect = Pride

 

One’s social circle begets more status and results in greater opportunity for monetary gain and respect.  Friends hire friends.  They give each other stock tips, references for outstanding jobs, and start their own businesses together. 

 

 

This is the world of our senior executives.  Individual production means very little.  Status means everything.

Attending Wharton or Harvard Business School is not about being the smartest business mind.  It is about achieving status.  High end B-school grads do not hold the top jobs because they are the smartest minds.  They do not hold top jobs because their individual production is better than all others.  They hold top jobs because of their status.  Because they are part of the “correct” social circle.

  

I don’t have to tell you this.  All of you know this.

  

All of you know that the best way (the only way) to keep your job, get promoted, or get placed on the fast track at “the company” is to align yourself with the “right” superiors.  To meet them for lunch regularly.  To ask for their advice on your career and your life.  To present yourself as having or wanting to achieve their level of status.  (This is called ass-kissing in most cases).

  

If this behavior helps us get a job (achieve results) then our success will not be a result of individual production.  Not even close.  Our success will be a result of attaining status with the “correct” individuals.  It is the identity they bestow on us that helps us gain favor and receive reward.

 

We feel no sense of pride in this.  Remember, our offer of value flows from the following:

  

Individual Production = Monetary Gain & Respect = Pride

  

Our pride is tied to individual production.  We cannot feel proud without achieving results from individual production.  Our own individual efforts should be sufficient, with no help from others.  We do not want help.  In fact, deep down at times we are disgusted by it.  To us, getting help is admitting failure.  It is being unable to achieve results individually. 

 

 

My point then is that it will be difficult for us to succeed in this environment.  We aren’t built to ask for help.  We aren’t built to seek status.  We are built only to produce results.  And that has no place here at “the company.”

  

Epilogue – Back on the Farm

Just for kicks, let’s play out the farm scenario with a bourgeois philosophy.  A bourgeois farmer would have a very expensive tractor; top of the line in fact.  He would have a nice home, the finest overalls, etc.  He would display these assets daily at the local co-op or grain elevator.  He would smile and tell stories about how great his crop is looking this year.  The other farmers would be impressed with this because they see an expensive tractor and new tools.  They see a very confident man who speaks highly of his work.  He’s seems a nice enough guy too.  He achieves a status of success without displaying any results from individual production whatsoever.

 

Then comes harvest.  Our bourgeois farmer has spent a little too much time down at the co-op telling stories and doesn’t seem to have much of a crop.  He’ll blame the weather or a bad batch of seed at first.  These excuses might see him through to the next year, but eventually, he’ll be out of business.  Eventually he’ll lose the farm because he failed to produce a crop.

  

This is how capitalism will correct the problem at “the company.”  In a capitalist economy, at some point one must achieve results.  If they are incapable of achieving results then they must go and new blood must enter.  Executive waste is replaced with effective change agents.  Smart people who can produce results.  They’ll get the ball rolling again.  With results they’ll achieve success.  When success comes certain people will be impressed.  People in high places.  People with power.  And then guess what.  Some of these change agents will attain status.  They’ll be invited into the right social circles and country clubs.  They’ll move into the right neighborhoods and send their kids to the right schools.  They’ll get some good investment advice from their new friends, and as a favor, they’ll hire a few of these new friends to important jobs at “the company.” 

 

 

And so the game begins again.

Marketing Types and Bathroom Rules

I read an interesting quote on the Marketing Type Personality as defined by the author of the book Narcissistic Leaders:

Describing the marketing personality is like trying to describe the color of a chameleon: It changes all the time…The biggest danger for unproductive marketing types is they lack a center.  They can end up chasing the new thing so often that they make no lasting commitments to their work or to people.  They can be superficial, caring more about how they look than what they have to offer.  They spend so much time selling themselves that they’re oblivious to what others can teach them.

                 Narcissistic Leadersby Michael Maccoby

We have more than a few of these types at “the company.”  Can settle on a decision.  Can’t come to a conclusion.  More concerned with what is perceived as ”right” than what is actually the correct course of action.  Spineless, hopeless, hapless, friendless, and leading a Fortune 100 company to a swift demise.

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On another note, today I was in the restroom at the office, standing at a urinal, when out of nowhere a guy in one of the stalls started chuckling out loud and saying things like “oh, that’s great” under his breath.  I really hope that he either a) thought he was totally alone and was thinking of an old joke or b) was reading the funny papers while doing his business.  I really can’t think of any other reason why he’d be laughing.  Actually, I can think of quite a few reasons why he might be laughing, none of them legitimate.

There are rules, boundaries, and limitations when using a public bathroom, particularly the one at your place of business.  I can speak only for the men’s restroom.  Not sure what the rules are in the women’s restroom (although I do know that you are required to stay at least fifteen minutes on each visit and you must go in pairs).

Rule 1 – Don’t talk to me while I’m going.  Seriously, unless the building is on fire or my pants are ablaze, just keep you mouth shut for thirty seconds.

Rule 2 – Don’t answer your mobile phone while in a stall.  The last thing I need to hear is “oh, hey there Louise how are you?  Me?  Oh not much, just taking my three o’clock dump.”

Rule 3 – Don’t smile at me.  It’s creepy.

Rule 4 – If you’re in the stall next to me, don’t let your foot drift over underneath the separator and into my stall.  I don’t know how to interpret this and I could lash out if provoked.

Rule 5 - Unless there is an absolute emergency, please don’t take the stall next to mine to begin with.  Try to place yourself as far away from me as you can so I don’t have to hear you mutter things like “durn zipper” or “aw fiddlesticks, now my socks are all wet.”

Rule 6 – Don’t brush your damn teeth at one of the sinks.  This isn’t a Howard Johnsons.

Rule 7 – Don’t write the phrase “Free Cowboy Hats” on the paper seat cover dispenser. 

Rule 8 – Don’t begin taking your pants down as you’re walking into the stall.  I don’t need to see the top half of your Aquaman underoos, thank you very much.

Rule 9 – When I’m at the urinal, don’t come up behind me and in a southern accent say ”well now, looks like ol’ spider has gone and caught himself a fly.”

Rule 10 – Never ever, under any circumstances, dance in the men’s restroom.

The Language Barrier Part III

After completing my previous two blogs on corporate speak, I figured I was tapped out of material. Not so.  Today I sat in a meeting and wrote down every qualifying corporate speak phrase that I’d yet to define for you.  I had no idea there were this many until I started writing them down. 

And so I give you part three in my corporate speak series.

Circle Back -  As in “I’ll circle back with Morty on that issue.”  This phrase might lead you to believe that we at ”the company” are walking around in circles.  Good point.  You are very smart.  

Hammer Out The Details – “Since this is our fourteenth meeting on the subject, I thought we’d hammer out the details over the next hour or so.  You know, truly define the problem and possible solutions instead of just talking out of our asses.”

Touch Base – As in “Verne and I need to touch base with the service team on that one.”  I was thinking that if you were a major league baseball player and forgot to “touch base” after getting a hit, you would be thrown off of the team immediately.

Tie-Back – As in “let’s make sure those numbers in our presentation tie-back to the fantasy budget the executives just approved last week.”

Jumping Through Hoops – This the the core competency of managers at “the company.”

Critical Path – It’s a long and windy path that usually ends up in a dark murky swamp.

Gating Issue – As in “I see that the project path has seventy-four gating issues to manage through.  Tell me, how many of those gates are chain link vs. big iron bars?”

Front Line Employees – These are the people who we’re going to blame when this project tanks.

Follow-Up – As in “can you follow-up with Iris to see if she has that data we requested?”  Translation – “can you badger Iris for the data she owes us until she has a nervous breakdown?”

Take A Back Seat – As in “those projects will have to take a back seat to our critical path projects.”  Translation  – “don’t you ever mention those projects to me ever again you bastard.”

Holding Pattern – As in “we’re going to have to put this project in a holding pattern until it runs out of gas and crashes violently into a nearby suburb.”

Fair Statement – “Your statement might be based in absolute fact but I’m not willing to accept it you grandstanding S.O.B.”

Impact Assessment – “Are we screwed or royally screwed?”

Gain Traction – As in “I’ll make some calls to see if we can gain traction on that issue.”  Translation – “why isn’t anyone paying attention to us?  Is it because the projects we’re working on don’t matter?  Surely not.”

Cycled Through – As in “we cycled through those issues before and didn’t find a solution.  Why would you dare bring them up again?  We certainly aren’t any smarter this week you dingleberry.”

Press The Issue – I’m going to run and tell an executive that you won’t help me.  Nah Nee Nah!

Skill Set – As in “do these service reps have the appropriate skill set to complete the task.”  Translation – “can they at least speak English?  I’ll even take pig-latin if that’s all you’ve got.”

Decision Point – The “point” of a decision is sharp and scares executives because they might cut their little finger.

These all came from one hour long meeting.  Unreal.