Dunkin' Donuts, it really is worth the trip

I have the privilege of passing by Dunkin' Donuts on my way to work every day. I stopped there last Friday and bought a dozen for the office. With my personal donut artist behind the counter I was able to assemble an impressive assortment of debfibrillator inducing breakfast treats. After ringing up the total, the donut artist glanced at the chosen 12 and whispered to me "I am in the presence of greatness, Godspeed".

Upon arrival in the office, I casually placed the donuts in our pantry and was promptly assaulted by co-workers. "What kind you get?", "Can I have one?", "Hey everybody, Corporate Joe bought donuts!" I was greeted with hearty handshakes and high fives. Janitorial Services hoisted me on their shoulders and I was paraded down the halls and showered with confetti.

Is there anything they can't do?

Despite the blare of trumpets and sea of streamers I was able to distinguish an angelic figure down the hall. The bleached daylight pouring in the window that backs up to our dumpsters made her a vision. I had seen her a million times before and a million times she had looked the other way. Things were different now, I was somebody, I was Mr. Donut Guy.

The astute janitors saw the electricity between me and hotty cherub and they instinctually released me from my perch. I approached and firmly kissed her with both confidence and lust in equal measure. After our mouth music she gently pushed me away and asked, "Where is orientation? Today is my first day." I wittily responded, "Down the hall, two doors to the left." Needless to say, the place went wild. Even more confetti poured from the vents followed by cannon blasts in the background. The marching band was in full swing seamlessly intertwining John Phillip Sousa with Jay-Z. It was turning out to be a pretty good day.

News spread and it wasn't too long before I was rubbing elbows with the corporate brass. Once the CEO took a bite out of my Cinnamon Cake Stick I knew things were going to be different for the both of us. You change inside when something like that happens.

Hey, it's the guy who bought donuts!

Things moved quickly from there. My regular duties of changing toner and tipping the soda machine were distributed among my former peers. I managed a few goodbyes and a 1/2 dozen thumbs up. It was all a blur as corporate security forcefully led me to the elevators for my own safety. I was scheduled to break ground with the governor that afternoon on a new wing named after me.

As I blog from the corporate chopper, last week seems like years ago. Some people might say I got lucky. Others only sit back with envy and wonder. But to tell you the truth, I'm not surprised. Never underestimate the caloric intake of a donut or its power to blind a businessman's common sense.

Editing the Edited Edits

The following is a true story:

Over the past two weeks, there has been a deliverable exchanging hands among me, my client, and my subcontractor. Unfortunately, my client has felt the need to make this document adhere to the editorial standards of Simon and Schuster even though the intended audience will most likely hit "delete" upon receipt. Below are the series of events that led to my hospitalization:

• Thu, Aug 10 - I was personally admonished by the client for lack of sentence structure in the first draft. It was then my pleasure to let her know that I used the same content and format signed off by them from the previous year. Silence on the other end of the line.
• Fri, Aug 11 - Upon instruction from the client, edits were to be applied by different sources at the same time to make the process go "smoother".
• Mon, Aug 14 - Spent five hours consolidating edits from three different sources. Client insisted on faxing me her edits since she does not know how to use "track changes" in Word (see The Fax of Life for more details). Process went as smoothly as sipping crushed glass through a straw. Devoured two Excedrin.
• Tue, Aug 15 - Submitted latest version of document to the client. Upon receipt, client notified me that more edits would be applied since her manager did not initially review. Took a swig of DayQuil.

Just a little taste to ease the pain.

• Wed, Aug 16 - I received the edited document via fax and email from my client. She indicated some edits were applied through "track changes" and others were applied to a hard copy. Drove home and found an expired prescription for Vicatin in my medicine cabinet.
• Thu, Aug 17 - Applied all edits and submitted latest version of the document. Notified by the client that the document would not be approved because her manager was out of town. Stole two percocet from my co-worker recovering from a broken leg.
• Mon, Aug 21 - Manager of my client approved the document and also added another page which I was asked to proofread. I proofread the document and submitted it back to the client. They made another change and asked me to proofread again. I proofread the document again and submitted it back to the client. Held up a pharmacy at gunpoint for their stash of Oxycotin.
• Tue, Aug 22 - Document is approved and emailed to correct recipients. I tally up the damage; 58 emails, 17 phone calls, 12 hours of my time, 10 hours of the subcontractor's time. Did I mention the document was only eight pages? Went to the Methadone clinic for my fix and chased it with a shot of Wild Turkey.
• Wed, Aug 23 - I am hospitalized for depression and addiction to painkillers.

I did learn something from all of this. Drugs aren't so bad after all. I just wish the nurse would speed up my morphine drip.

Stop, Drop, and Run Like Hell

Recent terrorist threats have reopened the wounds of 9/11, caused everyone to dump their travel kits, and created lines at the airport that move slower than a sloth with diarrhea. This prompted me to re-evaluate the emergency response system my company has implemented for our building. After review, it has created a fear equal to what the terrorists are trying to inflict.

The cover page of the emergency brochure has several pictures to remind employees of what a disaster is. There is a trailer park devastated by a tornado, the swelling banks of a river, and Michael Jordan in a baseball uniform. The second page is an Emergency Team phone list without any specifics as to why the individuals listed should be called or what constitutes an emergency. The titles range from "Colonel" and "Guard" to "Ozone" and "Turbo". Several of the numbers listed went straight to voicemail. It's good to know I can sleep safe at night knowing that I'm not sleeping at work.

Ain't no stoppin' us now, we're on the move.

Then the document gets serious and begins to address specific situations and how we should act.

Bomb Threat
There is a checklist employees should use when receiving a bomb threat. Questions such as 1) When will the bomb explode? 2) What kind of bomb is it? 3) Can I get your name, number, and social? Also have to be in tune with the caller's gender, speech patterns, accent, and manners.

Let's face it, bombers are a nuisance and there is alot of information to absorb in a tight timeframe. In case this situation does occur, there is a tested Transfer Method that can prevent detonation. Below is an example of how the Transfer Method would be implemented.

INT: OFFICE BUILDING, CORPORATE JOE'S DESK - DAY
A telephone rings, CORPORATE JOE wakes from his nap and answers.

CORPORATE JOE
Hello?

BOMBER
Listen carefully, there's a
bomb set to explode...

CORPORATE JOE
Hold on, I'll transfer you.

BOMBER
Excuse me?

Corporate Joe hits "Transfer".

INT: OFFICE BUILDING, CINDY'S DESK - DAY
Cindy's phone begins to ring. CINDY picks up her line.

CINDY
Hello?

CORPORATE JOE
Hello, Cindy.

CINDY
Look creep, I said
stop calling me.

CORPORATE JOE
No, it's not about our date.
This call's a transfer.

CINDY
Oh, who is it?

CORPORATE JOE
Someone who's planted a
bomb in the building

CINDY
Transfer him through.

BOMBER
Hello?

CINDY
Yes?

BOMBER
Listen carefully, there's
a bomb set to explode...

CINDY
Can you hold please, I'll transfer you.

BOMBER
What the %&*@!

While on hold, "Islands in the Stream" plays Muzak style.

FADE TO BLACK:

The reality is that bombers want credit for their actions. If they get tied up in a phone system, they cannot receive acknowledgement for their madness. The bomb will never detonate. The Transfer Method is a bombproof procedure to keep you safe.

Extreme Weather
Many parts of the United States are prone to extreme weather. The midwest has its tornadoes, the west coast has earthquakes, and Virginia has volcanoes. Wherever you are, it's important to note that FEMA is right around the corner for help. That's all you need to know for extreme weather.

Chemical Attack
Chemical attacks can consist of agents such as mustard gas, cyanide, and the microwaved fish that our intern from Ghana eats. No need to panic. Duct tape your eyes to protect them from burning, then duct tape your nose and mouth so you cannot inhale any toxic fumes. Wait for approximately 15 to 20 minutes then remove the duct tape from your nose only to take a sniff and see if the coast is clear. If not, cover your nose, wait for another 15 to 20 minutes, and repeat until fumes have dispersed.

Please keep this list handy in case you experience any of the situations listed above. If you would like to take a more pro-active stance on terrorism, then attack anyone who appears to be of Middle Eastern descent. Chances are less than .0001% that you'll get your man. Hey, with odds like that, you gotta' get in the game.

Print and the Revolution

There are unwritten laws of printer courtesy adhered to by the majority of my co-workers. However, there are a few fascists who play 52 card pickup with other people's print jobs without any remorse while yelling "O'Doyle rules!". For those of us who are tired of having sand kicked in our face, the reckoning is here.

Most of us understand that the printer is an informal waiting area. The print job occupying the HP LaserJet dictates who should be in pole position. Standard operating procedure is to approach the printer, take a glance at the current print job, and act appropriately. Figure 1 accurately captures this protocol.

Figure 1. Obtaining your print job (click to enlarge)

Unfortunately, there are employees who hijack the printer with a document that would choke a fully-staffed Kinko's store. They goose step to the printer and elbow onlookers in the sternum to momentarily stun them. This quick blow allows them to cut in front of the line. The coup de grace is how they caress their work with meticulous care and turn other papers into a ticker tape parade.

My print job is next, do you have a problem with that?

These printer bullies are often the work horses ascending the corporate ladder. Be sure to earmark them for future aggravation. From personal experience, confusion is the best method. Approach the printer at the same time as them and fire rhetorical Gatling gun questions in their presence while fumbling through papers, "Did I really print 110 pages?", "I loaded pink paper again?", "How many trees am I killing?".

Another method of confusion involves four steps 1) steal their print job, 2) scan it as a pdf, 3) print the pdf file off of your computer, 4) then complain about how someone is hogging the printer everytime you see the original offender. They'll recognize the document as their own but will be dumbfounded as to how it keeps printing out.

The examples above are effective techniques but one piece of advice; don't fly solo in your efforts. Printer bullies can only be eliminated in a unified front. During recess, alert other members on the same printer network that a revolution is coming. Together, you can take back what is rightfully yours and also have the pleasure of tasting the sweet nectar of vigilante justice. Repeatedly oppress the bullies with the confusion techniques listed above and they will reluctantly migrate to another network printer.

Someone just goose stepped by me at a blistering pace. I think they're heading for the printer. Time to print out all 40 spreadsheets of my Fantasy Football picks.

The revolution is now.

Strangers In the Cube, Exchanging Glances

I spend approximately 40 to 50 hours a week in my cubicle. This time is filled with meetings, emails, conference calls, and massaging my bare feet. All these hours in the same confines with fellow cubers would logically tell someone that we know each other very well. Wrong.

There are numerous employees who work in close proximity to me that I know nothing about. We have been randomly assigned to the same arena of 8x8 cubicles but we might as well be in different galaxies. No icebreakers or how-do-you-do's. Just the hum of flourescent lights, ringing of the phones, and Steve's* uncontrollable flatulence. The only acknowledgement of each other's presence is a nod of the head.

This is partly my fault. Some psychologists might diagnose my anti-social attitude as a repression of anger. And to them I say, "I'll land severe blows to your crotch with my steel-toed boots you lousy..." Where was I? I blacked out. Oh yes, my anti-social attitude. Despite the proximity and duration of being in each other's presence, I don't know anything about my cellmates. And the sad fact is that my time at the office almost exceeds my life at home.

My introverted approach and belief is that we openly curse the idle chit-chat at the watercooler but clandestinely know it's a more attractive alternative than having someone spill their guts. We have the option of not letting anyone know our secrets. Plus our reticent behavior allows us to stay out of the office gossip. Jessica is having an affair, glad I don't know. Harold's** a crossdresser, ignorance is bliss. The hot new secretary thinks I'm cute! Crap, so it works most of the time.

Steve's letting them rip this morning.

So if we don't interact with individuals, then we can only observe. Is it fair to size people up by their behavior? That's so narrow-minded. And the answer is "yes", of course we can. I have drawn many conclusions about employees juxtaposed in the same tight area of office space as me. Selective observation is a powerful tool. A few noteworthy items:

Krissy enjoys talking about her husband as if he were the second coming of Christ.
Translation: she is trying to convince herself that she didn't marry a loser.

Jay speed dials numerous women every Friday at 4 to unsuccessfully make weekend plans.
Translation: he is trying to convince himself that he is not a loser.

Travis accuses me of stealing his lunch.
Translation: I did steal his lunch but he doesn't have to get all accusatory about it.

We are so tightly crammed together and yet worlds apart. I believe Jars of Clay sang something about that. Or maybe it was Korn. Either way, the only words that are exchanged are hello's in the morning and goodbye's in the evening. Sometimes Sarah will say to me with her timid voice, "let go of my arm, you're hurting me". She's so funny.

The reality is that I'm afraid to open up. Afraid that people won't like or accept me. Afraid that in the end I'll just get hurt. And the loss is mine, I'm probably missing out on some great friendships. But once I start telling people that I was sent from the future to help the rise of the machines, they're never going to look at me the same way again. Especially Sarah.

* All names are fictitious to protect the guilty.
** Except for Harold, that dude is a cross-dressing fool.

Arrive Late, Leave Early

I've noticed a sickening trend in the office that is a disservice to the workers disciplined enough to beat the morning commute. The employees arriving in the office before 7:30am are getting no props and the snooze button bandits aka "lazy asses" are stealing their thunder by staying late.

To add insult to injury, the late arrivals inconspicuously check their watches, raise their eyebrows, and shrug their shoulders for anybody packing it in before 5:30pm. The late arrivals were the same individuals bullied during their childhood and unknowingly suffer from mild retardation. Sad, but true. Wikipedia doesn't lie.

Arriving early is effective. You can steal loose change from co-workers drawers along with their office supplies. More importantly, you can put a dent in the day's workload without immediate reverberations. There is a communications serve-and-volley that's to the advantage of employees waking up the rooster.

• Answering emails without a knee-jerk response from the recipient. Plus you have a date and time stamp to shove in their face. Yeah, that's right, I sent this at 7:15am while your lazy ass was still in bed.
• Calling fellow co-workers on business related matters knowing that you'll be in voicemail land. Yeah, that's right, I called you at 7:17am while your lazy ass was still in bed.
• Finally, leaving post-it notes on the boss's door. Yeah, that's right, I left this post-it at 7:20am while your lazy ass was still in bed (be sure to only think that in your head and not actually write it on the post-it note).
  

COCK-A-DOODLE...you know the rest.

My ass is going back to bed.

Early birds are a lonesome breed who rifle through their work in pre-dawn hours with little fanfare. Their efforts slowly depreciate as the hours progress. And by lunchtime, their morning deliverable is a Brontosaurus in the Fed-Ex mentality of Corporate America. There are no kudos from a perception advantage. The late arrivals have that honor. They end up working the same amount of hours but seem to manage a pat on the back for it from superiors with various one-liners:

What are YOU still doing here!

Burning the midnight oil, huh?

So you can't get laid either.

Most of the "late workers" I've seen are playing solitaire or surfing the internet waiting for the gridlock from the evening commute to dissolve. I understand this approach, it's more comfortable to be at your desk than pounding the steering wheel and cursing (before you even started your car). But they should not get extra recognition for it.

There are the rare few who combine hard work and late hours. These are the same individuals that either 1) own the company or 2) would like to think they own the company and don't have a life outside of work. They are the engine of Corporate America and I salute them. I am a piston of Corporate America. A rusted piston. A rusted piston that has been removed from the engine and sold to a scrapyard for pennies. It's nice not to struggle through life knowing where you belong. This scrapyard feels like home.

Living in the scrapyard, my whereabouts are of little concern to the greased up gears of the company. This leaves me in an envious position. I can combine the best of both worlds and arrive late and leave early.

Time flies when you work 5 hours a day, it's 4pm...quitting time.

My Paternity Leave is Petarded

I called my HR representative to inquire about our paternity leave policy since my wife is expecting in late September. Fortunately, my current employer does have a paternity leave policy which is spelled V.A.C.A.T.I.O.N.

When my first child was born I was with a different employer and they granted me two weeks of paternity leave. I was able to successfully fulfill my rookie fatherly duties which consisted of cleaning up puke, changing diapers at the pace of a Flint Michigan auto worker, and walking around like an extra in Dawn of the Dead.

In a minute honey, just resting my eyes.

Little did I know I was actually spoiled by my previous employer. The use of my current vacation is important to note since its accrual has the shelf life of Kajagoogoo. Once I have a full eight hours saved, the muscle memory in my hand grabs my mouse and begins searching three-day weekend destinations on Orbitz.

Of course I was upset at the response from the HR rep. It's hard to live without something once you've had it, kinda' like heroin. My initial reaction was to reprimand her for the poor policy. I'm supposed to use my vacation to take care of my newborn. Then I thought to myself, that actually sounds reasonable. So instead I yelled at her for not properly addressing me as "Magnum", then I hung up. That's right, trump card.

So my curiousity actually served as a catalyst to do research. I originally thought the Family Medical Leave Act involved taking the whole clan to the hospital and pretending to be ill. Turns out I was close, it was a high profile bill signed by President Clinton in 1993. Based on Wikipedia's description:

The law recognizes the growing needs of balancing family and work obligations and promises numerous protections to workers. The leave guaranteed by the act is unpaid....blahbitty blah blah blah.

Ugh, the word "unpaid" in the first paragraph like a slap in the face. So this leaves me with three options 1) Use up every ounce of my vacation for paternity leave or 2) leave without pay or 3) quit my job, get paid out for my remaining vacation and head to Vegas for all or nothing on 13 black.

I'll need to sleep on this one.

Hating Our Rating

Every summer each employee in the company has to complete a Mid-Year Performance Review. This document compiles work related year-to-date accomplishments. After putting time and effort into the review, it is skimmed over by a respective manager, signed off on, and filed away with zero correlation to a raise or bonus.

Mid-year raises do happen but they are rare. If you are able to perform DNA sequencing while splitting atoms and solve the crisis in the Middle East (within the same six months) then you are eligible. At this point, your accomplishments are reviewed by the upper-echelon of the company and then filed away with zero correlation to a raise or bonus.

The real purpose of the review process is to ensure that your manager knows your still alive. Also, it helps you remember your accomplishments for the yearly review which has the same raise and bonus structure as the mid-year review. Not only is the mid-year process unnecessary, it's also ambiguous. Advice from superiors on writing the review ranges from, "Don't spend too much time on it" to "It's your accomplishments, make sure you spend some time on it". Clear as mud, wrapped in mud, deep-fried in mud. Surprisingly, I have little to write about for the past six months due to the fact that my job can be completed by a monkey in diapers.

I've had it with these performance reviews,
and my non-absorbent diapers.

Now it's time for self-reflection at the past six months. Pretty impressive stuff, I have managed to stay awake for almost every working day, shown up to work sober on Mondays and Tuesdays, and not scratch my car in the parking garage. Time to pat myself on the back. Here are some other expectations that I was able to meet and often exceed:

• Process improvement through technology. Through the use of data filters and several macros in Microsoft Excel, I was able to create a menu of area restaurants. Now with the click of a button I can search by price, cuisine, and mileage from the office. This has drastically reduced the amount of time my co-workers and I discuss where to eat for lunch.
• Ramp-up coding skills. Through the use of coding I created a random number generator. This random number generator is restricted to a range that is equal to the number of co-workers I go out to lunch with. Each number within the range corresponds to a specific co-worker. The number that is randomly chosen by my code decides which co-worker will drive to lunch.
• Enhance communication skills with the client. The client has relied less on my manager and more on me over the past six months. Due to this level of trust I have been able to communicate my priorities to them. Through effective communication, they understand that I am not to be disturbed from 11:45 to approximately 2:00pm. This time has been set aside to run my macro to decide where I am going to eat lunch, the random number generator to determine who will drive, and my actual lunch hour.

Wow, what a difference six months make. That's one of the wonderful components of my job. No matter how well you perform, you can always do better and strive for the next level. And my superiors have always been kind enough to remind me of this even when I perform outside the scope of my regular responsibilities. Here are some of the expected levels that I must perform at to reach the next stage of my career

• Synthesize findings. Sounds great if I knew what it was. Last time I synthesized anything was on my circa 1984 Casio keyboard trying to learn the Axel Foley theme from Beverly Hills Cop.
• Contribution alignment with client. A euphemism for "shutup and do what the client says".
• Actions with purpose. Prior to learning this, I was running around the office with just my boxers screaming, "the hurricane is near, everyone duck". A co-worker was kind enough to tell me that my actions had no purpose. With her advice, I've drastically reduced this action to only one time per week.

Job well done!

Do I get a raise?

No, but I'll continue shaking
your hand with a blank stare.

Enough of my complaining. It's time to get to the next level and be the difference! But first, I need to tell everyone that a hurricane is coming. Off with the pants and shirt. Maybe I'll even try commando this time.