My House, My Car, My God Please Shutup

The superiors in my office enjoy discussing their latest financial adventures amongst themselves but within earshot of subordinates. Gentleman, your salaries and stock options are listed in the annual report. Don't rub salt in the wound, especially during cutbacks on styrofoam cups and plastic forks in order to "Go Green!".

A jury of your lower-income peers would conclude Justifiable Homicide if our overweight secretary (who has not received a raise in three years) stabbed all of you with her scissors. Actually, there have also been cutbacks on office supplies. She'd probably have to stab all of you with a fork she brought from home. As long as it's not during her lunch hour, that girl can flat-out chow.

"We're going to knock it down and build our dream home."

The discussion among the high-level execs always begins with harmless mention of either 1) their home, 2) addition to their home or 3) addition to the addition of their home. The conversation slowly begins to ante up and a verbal poker game ensues to ensure that everyone is keeping up the Jones's.

Exec 1

I'm thinking about buying a new car.

Exec 2

You're thinking about buying a new car? I just bought a Rolls Royce.

Exec 3

You just bought a Rolls Royce? I just bought a Bugatti Veyron.

Exec 4

You just bought a Veyron? I just bought the world. Rock beats scissors, paper covers rock, and owning the world beats a Bugatti Veyron.

Exec 1

SSSSSSS, you just got burned!

The executives disperse and go to a meeting they scheduled at The Palms but can't remember why.

"Enough about my car. What do you think of my car?"

So to all the C-level executives reading my blog (what's zero times zero?) Please keep in mind that conversation about your excesses cuts to the bone of underpaid and overperforming employees. And if you find a fat woman clenching her own fork while running towards you yelling "Mutha' F*cka!", you've shot your mouth off a little too much.

Crimes of Fashion

Top 10 fashion crimes in the office and their punishment:

10. Men in Pink Shirts
Yes, you're completely comfortable in your own sexuality. You're also still waiting to pick up your dry cleaning. It's fine if you're a cabana boy in South Beach or a banker in Bermuda.

-Punishment-
Wear a pink tu-tu sprinkled with strawberry hearts and parade around new employee orientation waving a wand. You are required to greet each new employee with an eskimo kiss. But hey, you're comfortable, right?
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9. Men in Diagonal Striped Shirts
Let me guess, you're from Jersey City, are on your second cycle of HGH, and were nominated as fitness member of the month at Gold's Gym. Treat yourself to a sideways striped shirt.

-Punishment-
You will continue to live in Jersey City.
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8. Too much cologne
You're still from Jersey City.

-Punishment-
You will still continue to live in Jersey City.
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7. Glitter (eyes and/or hair)
Glitter is great, if you're a whore.

-Punishment-
You like glitter? Good, now you can bunk with Gary Glitter while watching Mariah Carey in the movie Glitter.

Hey, roomie!

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6. Glasses from the 80's
That's really cool how your prescription glasses cover 90% of your face. Last time I saw a pair of glasses that big I was doing a bunny-hop on my Mongoose.

-Punishment-
Have to watch a 24 hour John Hughes film festival with special focus on plot points in Uncle Buck. In Chinese with English subtext.

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5. Winter, Spring, Summer, or the other one
It's February, it's 40 degrees outside, and you're dressed for a bonfire on the beach. Get your seasons straight.

-Punishment-
Tropical climate, we've got the ticket. A one way ticket to Sudan where highs will be in the 90's with a 50% chance of death from stray bullets. But hey, warm weather.
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4. Men in Tight Pants
"Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk,
I'm a woman's man, no time to talk.
Music loud and women warm,
I've been kicked around
since I was born. "

-Punishment-
Severe fist blows to the crotch. But that's probably a fetish for you, Mr. Pervert in Tight Pants.

Who's making fun? Scoundrels!

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3. Women with Big Hair
I love the way your hair looks like a blonde batch of cotton candy. You're living proof that AquaNet comes in 2-liter bottles. And you're a cosmetologist? You don't say.

-Punishment-
Culprits will have to part their hair on the opposite side and will be stripped of all hair products for one month.
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2. Goth Interns
You're such a rebel. Sticking it to the man while working for the man. The all-black attire and body piercings are dead-on. Of course you dress like that because you don't care. Now continue to listen to your i-Pod clogged with Siouxsie and the Banshees.

-Punishment-
New i-Pod playlist with Bread in endless rotation while dressed in white and strapped to a chair. Not much different than how you'd be in 10 years anyways. Except I don't think they lend out i-Pods to people in psych units.
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1. Flip-flops
You're "pushing summer", I love that term, it's straight out of the fridge. Now shutup and listen. The painful onomatopoeia of "flip-flop" is equivalent to rolling around in broken glass.

-Punishment-
Nothing too severe. Feet will be removed with a hacksaw.

V for Vendetta on Vending

Upon exiting the office elevators, I saw shadows dance across the wall coupled with flickers of lights. I entered the hallway to see what was causing this display and unknowingly walked into the line of fire. A mob with pitchforks and torches was descending on the vending machine operator. My Spiderman senses tingled and I quickly assessed the situation. Another price hike on the vending machines.

The vending machine guy a.k.a. "Asswipe" was trying to dispense change out of the machines faster than Pee-Wee Herman pulling his root at a peepshow. The witch hunt quickly surrounded him. The mob's intensity matched the fire in their torches, they were out for blood. Unfortunately, I was caught in the middle and did my best to diffuse the situation.

Pay up bee-otch.

With my quick wit and reflexes I stepped aside, directed my gaze towards the vending machine operator, and said, "Good luck Asswipe." I could tell he appreciated my efforts, but they were to no avail. The corporate mob engulfed him like Katrina hitting the coast. Asswipe walked away with his life but left behind his pride and a pair of dirty underwear.

At first I thought the mob overreacted. After twenty-six kicks to the groin, I think he got the point. However, upon reviewing the new totals on the vending machine, I understood everyone's frustration.

The pricing structure skyrocketed into another economy. A minimum 25% hike across the board. I became angry and continued kicking Asswipe in the groin. Imagine my surprise when I realized it was our janitor. Wrong place, wrong time. What can you do but apologize and hope no one saw.

I wasn't about to pump my hard earned quarters into any of the machines. Plus there was nothing left to buy from the looting. That's when my consulting experience gave me an epiphany. I needed to create a cost-friendly concession stand for our office that still maintained respectable profit margins.

My new cubicle

Using the corporate Costco Gold card, I bought cases of sodas along with boxes of candy bars and chips. My cubicle now has an adequate display of assortments that are reasonably priced. Plus it's a great way to meet people. My cubemate keeps bitching about having to leave the cash register on her lap but I constantly remind her, "Think of all the money you're saving on snacks!"

Here comes someone now, time for another sale. It's the janitor and he's still crouched over. Maybe I'll extend the olive branch and give him some free M&Ms.

Happy Hour Premiere

I'm not invited to happy hours in my office because I'm two standard deviations higher than the median age. Things change quickly though. I accidentally pulled a co-worker's email off the printer with the subject line, "Don't invite Corporate Shmo to the happy hour". Denial is such an ugly thing. I thought everyone in the group deserved a morale boost so I decided to come along.

After driving through the unusually crowded streets of Washington DC, I realized my happy hour directions were useless. I decided to trust my instincts and follow the spotlights that were shining into the sky a few blocks away. That's gotta' be the place. Upon finding the source of the light I realized this happy hour was da' bomb.

Limos everywhere, quarantined paparazzi, and screaming teenagers in bleacher seats. Why had I missed so many of these before? Valet parking was the only option so I pulled my Hyundai Santa Fe right in front of the bar. Someone quickly opened my door and the first thing my feet hit were a red carpet. Flashes of light bathed me while I headed to the entrance labeled "The Guardian". The lights stopped as quickly as they started with mutterings of "It's not him". All the photographers behind the velvet rope stopped to change the batteries in their camera.

What the hell kinda' bar is this?

That's when things started to get a little weird. I walked into the bar and it strangely resembled a theater. Movie posters, popcorn stands, ticket attendants, the works. On top of that, Kevin Costner and that kid who dates that girl from St. Elmo's Fire were standing next to a movie poster. Here's the crazy part, their own photos were in the movie poster labeled The Guardian which is the same name as the bar. What are the chances?

I wasn't about to miss rubbing elbows with a celebrity. I approached that girl from St. Elmo's Fire and grabbed her hand to press the flesh. In a move straight out of G.I. Jane she used my own motion against me and twisted my wrist. I immediately dropped to my knees and was given the wood shampoo by two of her actual guardians. Needless to say, it was pretty cool.

Watch it handsy!

Looking like a tomato with an eyeball, I was aggressively escorted out the same way I came in. I think Mr. Costner felt bad because he paid for my ambulance to the hospital. Some celebs are all talk and others step up to the plate. I salute you Kevin, you totally didn't have to pay for my ride.

While receiving stitches in my head I reviewed the tattered, bloodied happy hour email and realized I read the address wrong. All is not lost, I found a new celebrity bar for our next happy hour. My co-workers are going to love me.

Mufasa, King of the Bagels

Mufasa is the alpha male marked with gorgeous colors in his Brooks Brothers tie. With quiet confidence, he adjourns the meeting in Conference Room A as lower ranking members of the pride throw furtive glances towards the bagels. They think wiser and slowly back away from the untouched tray. The room is now empty with dimmed lights. The bagels and an eery sound of the struggling A.C. unit are all that remain.

Lurking in the Accounting Department, Shenzi catches the scent of the assorted bagels and cream cheese. This could be a good kill for her. A potential free breakfast, and with proper stealth, a free lunch as well. Under the cover of her wool pickstitch pinstripe jacket she is able to blend in the shadows with her clan following closely. She hisses at them to move away, she will handle this on her own. Her clan reluctantly retreats back to their cubicles barking at each other in disgust.

I love me some garlic bagels.

Shenzi's eyes lock on the the bagels as they remain motionless, unable to fight off their impending doom. The corporate environment has not been rich with food due to recent cutbacks so Shenzi knows she must strike quickly. This opportunity may not present itself again, especially due to third quarter earnings. She reaches for the garlic bagel and begins smothering it with sun-dried tomato cream cheese. "This is too easy", she whispers aloud as her crushing bite pierces the bread.

Who's grabbing my grub!

The lights come alive in perfect synchronicity with Shenzi's first bite. Mufasa stands at the lightswitch with a dissapproving growl. He puffs out his chest to challenge her. The eternal enemies stare at each other. Shenzi knows the matchup is not in her favor. With haste, she grabs another bagel, lunges towards the exit, and immediately bumps into members of Mufasa's pride. In defeat, she drops the bagel on the conference room table and exits. She regrets having left her clan behind and will have much explaining to do at lunch (which she now has to pay for). Next time this confrontation happens, she'll be prepared.

Mufasa switches the lights off again and motions the pride away. He is the only one remaining. Another victory. He meticulously prepares three bagels while awaiting his next meeting. He knows the only way to get rid of Shenzi is to kill her. And there is more room for cutbacks in accounting. He peruses his BlackBerry and realizes his next meeting is with the head of accounting. The clan will be rudderless without their leader. He roars with laughter at this thought while gulping his bagels down whole.

Konfuzo Powers Activate!

Form of a question!
Shape of a Visio diagram!

When a straighforward business process is transformed into a labyrinth of Rube Goldberg contraptions, Konfuzo is at work. When all you have to do is write an email and a superior morphs it into War and Peace, Konfuzo is responsible. When an HR form for claims reimbursement is lost in the abyss of your insurance company, Konfuzo is the guilty suspect.

Think "Superman and Kryptonite", "Spiderman and the Green Goblin". Now think "common sense and unnecessary bureaucracy" and you will understand the powers of Konfuzo. It is a malleable force which can take a variety of shapes and move from person to person in the business world. Sometimes it might be an incompetent manager and other times it might even be you.

If you find yourself creating unnecessary steps to a simple solution or comparing your job to splitting atoms, take a step back and acknowledge Konfuzo's presence. Some of the following mantras can be helpful in exorcising Konfuzo from your body:

• I am not a doctor, no one is going to die. *
• In five years, no one is going to give a #$@&.
• God I could use a drink, I could really use a drink.

I'm hoping this little piece of advice will prevent Konfuzo from entering your business world. Squash its presence as soon as you recognize it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some atoms that need splitting.

* If you are a doctor, stop reading my blog. Somebody might be dying on your watch.