Jerk It Out

In 2007, McKinsey & Company released an article about jerks in the office *. If you don’t have Jerkdar and end up working with one, you have a problem. For those of us fortunate to have solid bosses we owe it to our colleagues to get rid of the jerks.

The best jerks in the business have a cancerous effect. The correlation of their venomous traits is a direct causation to the dysfunction of a team, department, or entire company. People focus less on the work and more on covering their own ass.

So, how do you get rid of a jerk once they have been hired? This is where the McKinsey article falls short. It offers Pollyanna explanations. The reality is firing anyone is difficult, no matter how egregious their behavior. Due diligence, a strong case, and a blessing from General Counsel are needed to proceed with an exit plan. A complicated and often expensive task. Cheap and quick is the better way to go.

I'm an idea man, Chuck.

• Take the Jerk to happy hour. Get 'em drunk. Super glue a gun to their hand and then push them into a police station. “Drop the gun, drop the gun!” The Jerk uselessly tries to shake the gun out of their hand. The police misinterpret the histrionics as aggressive behavior. Gunfire. The Jerk will be eating more lead than a junkyard compactor.

• Contact a casting agent in your area. Scour through all of the actor profiles and find one who is similar or identical in appearance to the jerk at your office. Bring the actor/impostor to the next big work function of 70+ people. Have the actor drop key lines and questions to high-level individuals, “What is the age for statutory rape?”, "It's nice to see you weren't discriminated against because of obesity.”, “Where’s the shitter?”

• A strike to the knee with a crowbar.

(murmuring through breath) You're going down, bitch.

O.K., so that last one isn’t very creative, but it works. And trust me, you will gain immediate clout with your colleagues by implementing any of the effective methods above. Once you get rid of the jerk, you can get to the actual work that needs to be completed.

* The article was adapted from a book by Robert Sutton, professor of management science and engineering at Stanford University. The book is titled, “The No Asshole Rule: Building a Civilized Workplace and Surviving One That Isn’t”. Link is below.

http://www.washburn.edu/faculty/rweigand/McKinsey/McKinsey-Building-The-Civilized-Workplace.pdf

Call Waiting, and waiting, and waiting....

Our client is habitually 15 minutes late to conference calls. (Numerous conference calls) x (numerous people) x (high hourly rates) = a dizzying amount of waste.

C'mon, I really have to pee.

This week we had a 2:00PM call scheduled for one hour to talk about a training presentation:

2:00 – All contractors dial in. An orchestra of "BEEP-BOOP"s. Approximately 12 people on the line. We are not allowed to speak with each other as directed by the client. Silence for 15 minutes.

2:15 – Client logs in to indicate that another meeting is in progress. “Please hold”. Silence for 15 minutes. "Hello darkness my old friend, I've come to talk with you again..."

2:30 – The half-hour tipping point. Contractors start dropping faster than Kate Gosselin’s bank account. A cacophony of “BEEP-BOOP”s. The mono sound should be identical as joining the call but instead it expresses a hint of frustration. Yes, I’m dumb enough to stay on. 15 minutes of self-inflicted silence. "In restless dreams I walked alone, narrow streets of cobblestone..."

2:45 – The client logs in asking where everyone is. Really? A five-minute discussion to explain that nothing happened on the conference call and no one talked to each other.

2:50 – The client explains how they want to save money on training. In order to alleviate costs, they do not want to implement an operator-assisted call. Projected savings, $500. Great idea. But you probably could save money by....nevermind.

2:55 – Schedule a time for the following week. Top agenda item is to further discuss penny-wise pound-foolish cost savings for training.

Hello? Was that a BEEP or a BOOP. Hello!

Oh well. Hang up and get ready for the 3:00PM call.

Jock-Blocking My Fantasy

The Internet destination you have requested, Yahoo Fantasy Football, has been blocked in conformance with company policy. A record has been made of this particular event. Specifically, your attempted trade transaction. Aaron Rodgers for Andre Johnson? Yes, Johnson is a beast but your backup quarterback is Jason Campbell. C.J., if your commissioner, “Fat Jesus” didn’t bitch slap you yet, we’ll send someone from IT to do it.

Even I wouldn't make that trade.

The Company reserves the right to monitor your activities. Especially after trying to re-enact the Jonestown massacre on your roster. Are you trying to dump your team and pump up someone else’s? I know, “Say You, Say Me, Seau” needs help but you don’t have to hand him the keys to the castle. Wheel and deal! Thank goodness we blocked the site. With that short bus move I’m surprised you even know how to operate a mouse. You should rename your team, “Enron”.

A violation of this policy may be reported to government authorities if necessary. But after reviewing how many points you left on the bench this week the Company will pass. You sat Rashard Mendenhall against San Diego’s porous run defense? Attention dumb ass, Willie Parker has turf toe. In order to protect the Company, your activity won’t be reported to the government. We don’t want them to know your I.Q. is equal to Paris Hilton’s Chihuahua.

You left Rashard on the bench, C.J.?

Violation could result in termination but IT is taking over your team instead. This is for your own good. Do you want to be a cellar dweller? We are going to leverage your stable of running backs to command a high caliber receiver. “Tequilaman Chokehold” is desperate for a running game. That’s the first door we’re knocking on. Next, dropping the Tennesse D. Time to let it go

Now get back to your regular work. Something tells me you’ll be fired for that anyways

Thanks for Nothing

I think it is important to acknowledge every day accomplishments of those we work with. Whether it be your boss, colleague, or nearby cube mate, recognition is essential to self esteem, regardless of pay grade. Keeping this in mind, make it a point today to tip your hat to those who impact your 9 to 5 life. I know I am going to have my hands full. So many things to be thankful for…..time to spread the joy.

In the hallway. "Thanks for canceling our meeting last minute and ruining my lunch plans."

On the elevator. "Congrats on the presentation. The amount of inefficiency was impressive. So many words, so little to say."

During the meeting. "Thanks for forgetting my name, again. It’s nice to see you’re not bogged down with those kinda’ details."

After hanging up the phone. "I love your personal stories, can you speak up next time?"

In the strip club. "Nice dress. You know Halloween isn’t until the end of the month, right?"

My hair style looks good? Thanks!

You won’t walk away empty-handed. The compliments will come back faster than a gas-powered boomerang. It’s a win-win. Every thank you sent out as a penny will come back dressed up as a quarter.

In the cafeteria. "Thanks for sending me those charge codes. They were for the wrong project, now I have to resubmit my timesheet for the last two weeks."

Before the presentation. "Good job on the conference call today. Next time, use the mute button."

On my way out. "Thanks for coming in late and leaving early."

During my performance evaluation. "Douchebag."

Now go out there and start changing the world. One thank you at a time.

Please Stop the "Click" Clock

Most people measure their job tenure in pre-defined increments of time: years, months, days. And for the new hire who accidentally dropped the f-bomb in a meeting….minutes. For me, I have an unorthodox measurement that visits each time I reload my Swingline with a new sleeve of staples.

F*&%! Did I just say f*&%ing?

One box of Swingline standard staples holds 24 sleeves, each sleeve has 210 staples, totaling 5,040 staples per box. My supply is dwindling. The rattle of the box is less jovial. Reload with the few remaining sleeves that are the drunks of last call. Party over. The “click” is an auditory hourglass of how many staples have passed.

As long as I have my staples, they can't touch me.

I remember picking up the box after orientation. That was almost 4,626 staples ago, but who’s counting. At the time, each staple had yet to be randomly united with various deliverables not even conceived. I have moved within my own building three times, burned through three laptops, and have seen co-workers leave for PhDs and MBAs. My hair is thinner, my eyes dimmer, and my six-pack replaced by an impostor oddly resembling a gut. Through it all, my staples have been my touchstone. The one constant in my cabinet drawer, always within arm’s reach.

I can’t say I have come as far as I’d like. I’m not sure if I’m heading where I want to go. Only two sleeves left. I am 400+ “clicks” away from a possibly unwanted watershed moment. Maybe I’ll start using paper clips.

My fountain of youth

Scheduling Time On

My vacation is planned as far in advance as a junkie’s next hit. Even when I know weeks in advance, there is still a tendency for me to hedge. Maybe it all relates to that white-water rafting vacation I took with my friends in the Georgia wilderness. Nahhh, that couldn’t be it.

Man, this vacation sucks.

Anyways, I have found a solution to leverage my lack of prior proper planning against Management’s top priorities. Schedule excessive vacation, notify management, then cancel vacation at a later date. There will be a mental harrumph upon the initial request. Management will reluctantly accept the eye raising scheduled absence from the office. Not because they agree, but because they have to choose their fights carefully. Discussing vacation policy with a subordinate just isn’t in the cards. Especially since there are clients to please, proposals to complete, and C-level execs to discuss pipeline. All is well that end’s well. With the imminent arrival of the scheduled vacation, I cancel some of the dates.

"Did you hear what C.J. did?....."

"He canceled some of his vacation because of deliverables."

"He was here until 10:00PM last night."

"He was planning to scale Eiger but said it would be there next year."

Thanks, C.J. Last time I plan a vacation with you.

An overnight rock star in the 9 to 5 world. All due to some advanced planning on scheduling vacation I was never going to take. I know, genius. Now if you’ll excuse me, today is another vacation day for me and I have to head into the office.

Landline Ambush

Ready to break for lunch. Grab my wallet, keys, and badge. Push in my chair, turn to leave, and the phone rings. Caller ID, it’s the client, answer the phone. No time for “hello’s”. I’m immediately hit with a barrage of questions spewing from the other end of the line like Hurricane Camille hitting the coast. It’s official, I’ve been ambushed.

He's about to head to lunch. We have to call, NOW!

CLIENT

Do you have a minute? I have the project lead, seven subcontractors, the contracting officer, Roger Goodell, and President Obama on the line.

C.J.

Sure, I guess?

CLIENT

Great! I was wondering about the report that I’m emailing you as we speak. Have you had time to read it?

C.J.

I haven’t received it yet.

CLIENT

Great! The GAO, NFL, NASA and some White House staff members are trying to gather preliminary numbers for a press release. Don’t worry, nothing overly complex. High level stuff.

C.J.

O.K.

CLIENT

Great! Don’t worry about running any quality assurance checks on it. Have you received my email yet?

C.J.

Yes.

CLIENT

Great! Basically, we need the 14 data sets compiled into one database and de-duped. Next, create some standard deviations on the confidence intervals regarding the median scores for each of the approximately 2.5 million observations.

C.J.

That doesn’t sound high level?

CLIENT

Great! We won’t hold you to anything unless it is incorrect. Then we’ll ask why you decided to skip some quality assurance checks. How long do you think it will take?

C.J.

At least two weeks?

CLIENT

Great! Tomorrow works perfect. I’m going on vacation for three weeks. It will be nice to review before heading out of the office when everything comes to a screeching halt since no one makes a decision without me due to fear of unemployment.

C.J.

O.K.

CLIENT

Great! Any questions from anyone else on the phone? (a harmonious chorus of no’s). Great! Any questions Corporate Joe?

C.J.

No.

CLIENT

Great!

Corporate Joe hangs up the phone with a thousand yard stare.

Shoulda' gone to lunch.

CO-WORKERS

You coming to Blimpies?

C.J.

No.

CO-WORKERS

What happened?

C.J.

I don’t know.

CO-WORKERS

Great! We’re going to lunch.

Share the Road, Share the Rage

I have noticed a larger number of people commuting to works on their bicycles. I like the idea of this. A solid cardio workout before work. I don’t like when it’s put into practice.

The larger number of people I was referring to also happen to be larger people in general. Biking to work is something these individuals should strive for, not put as the first item on their workout list.

And then there is the gear.

Only two types of athletes can wear tight clothing: boxers training for a fight and outside linebackers working on free weights in the gym. The bikers in the Tour De France can’t even pull off the cycling look, and they are supposed to be wearing it.

The commuter cyclists (CC’s) that I encounter further bastardize this unsporty fashion statement. The weakly styled spandex gear is degraded to a new low by being stretched to a new high. Maximum capacity. Every flaw revealed. Cookie dough shoved in a tube sock.

Perfect, I'll take it! Does it come in XXX small?

Is that a logo on the spandex? I am a runner. That doesn’t give me the right to wear a USA Track and Field tank top and spikes while running a victory lap with an American flag. The only thing these CC’s should be sponsored by is Smuckers Jelly and Pepperidge Farm Snickerdoodles.

And then there is the pace.

I’m all for sharing the road as a commuter. It is unfortunate the CC’s don’t share the same view. Scoot over a little. Don’t pedal harder and then look back at me. You are not keeping pace. You are just in my way and I can’t pass you. The posture is not helping. Head down, back arched, conforming to an aerodynamic frame. Well great, now you’re flying….at the blistering pace of 21 miles per hour.

Cycling to work is fine as long as you don’t have me spinning my own wheels. So move over Chubb Rock and hit the gym before you hit the road.

Hummingturd

For lunch, I’ll frequently patronize Blimpie’s for a Buffalo Chicken sandwich. Inevitably, I’ll whistle “Buffalo Soldier”. Then I’ll replace the profound lyrics of a legendary musician with my asinine words involving a sandwich with hot sauce.

Buffalo Chicken, hot sauce with pickles.

It is a Buffalo Chicken, with some bread but no paprika.

Purchased by MasterCard, brought to my cubicle....

And by then my sandwich is ready and the tune immediately disappears. I guess the point of the story is that Bob Marley is going to rise from the dead and kick my Caucasian ass.

You're going down Kingston style, bitch.

No Relief In Sight

Men can do peculiar things in the corporate restroom. I’m not sure if the exhibited behavior is an extension of who we are or if it’s a place to act like an idiot without any retribution. Either way, there is a wide spectrum of head scratchers. Some men bring in their coffee, set it on the counter, do their business, and then drink their java. These men are called, “disgusting”. There are also women who accidentally enter the men’s room only to realize there are urinals. These women are called, “whores”. Then there are some things, like I witnessed today, that are difficult to categorize.

"Can't wait to enjoy my coffee!"

There are several types of postures men can have while relieving themselves at a urinal. No, I’m not trying to stare at anyone’s junk. It’s my uncanny ability to deduce what is occurring by noticing the absence of items in my peripheral vision. What I cannot see from the chest up allows me to understand what’s happening south of the equator. Yes, a gift, I know. And with this gift I have categorized my subjects into three general categories:

• Two Hand Sam – this gentleman uses the traditional approach of keeping both hands on the unit. He is there for business. If this person knows you from roaming the same halls every day, they are likely to stare straight down at the Crane Plumbing symbol, make a statement that qualifies as conversation, “Redskins are going to suck this year”, then move out.

• One Hand Willy – a non-traditional approach where one hand deals with the work downtown and the other is occupied with important papers or a cell phone. He is there for business. Except this type of business should be held in his cubicle, not a urinal. I’m all for multi-tasking but I don’t need to brush my teeth while shaving. Some “to do’s” are meant to be completed separately. Might as well bring in your laptop, grab a seat in the stall and work using the D-Net wireless connection. Willy, please, both hands on the hose.

• Penis Knievel – this is the disturbing behavior I witnessed today. A gentleman with both hands on the wall. A single hand on a bathroom wall is reckless hygienic behavior. Placing both hands on the bathroom wall? They might as well juggle rusted hypodermic needles. And who’s minding the store? It’s guaranteed that a pair of pleat-front gabardines will not walk away scot-free of splash shrapnel.

A call to arms for the Two Hand Sam’s. Next time you see someone exhibit Penis Knieval behavior, tell them to have some pride. Ten and two on the wheel, buddy. And if they can’t abide by normal behavior, tell them to use a stall. People pee all over the place in there anyways.

Underground Garage Banned

Dear Mr. Vandelay,

This letter is to inform you about the parking garage designed by your architectural firm. I have been using this garage on a daily basis for the last five years of my employment. By my calculations, I have parked there approximately 1,180 times. My research comes with a lot of insight into the nuances of P1, P2, and P3. I apologize if this letter is duplicative of other people’s efforts to bring certain items to your attention.

A few concerns:

• You did not use the correct instruments to calibrate the final design. It appears that the underground garage was not built to full scale. Most cars designed for the road today aren’t the size of mopeds with the turning radius of Matchbox cars.
  
  
• There are no road spikes installed for individuals who want to back their cars into a spot. Ideally, this should not be an issue since it is only one extra turn. Unfortunately, the majority of people attempting to back-in their cars suffer from mild hand-eye retardation coordination. One extra turn becomes five extra turns, six brake pumps, and a line of cars waiting to pass. Having spikes for cars backing in would be a helpful deterrent for those who failed Easy Method due to their heads being lodged up their ass.

• The arrows pointing the direction for one-way traffic in the garage are very helpful. However, these arrows might need to be changed from a simple white to a fluorescent blinking green for select individuals with either 1) a poor sense of direction, or 2) the inability to comprehend basic shapes (i.e., the shape of an arrow). Or perhaps a patrolman could monitor the parking lot to find offenders going in the wrong direction. And perhaps that patrolman could have a gun with live ammunition. And he would be fully authorized to use that weapon against violators. And we would fondly call him, “Tackleberry” as he lays waste to the directionally challenged.

"Reloading and heading to Level 2, Sir."

• The lighting lacks light. The Silence of The Lambs appears to have been the inspiration for your garage. I don’t want to have to worry about putting the lotion on my skin in order to not get the hose again. All I want to do is see my parking spot without using my high beams and fog lights in tandem.
  
  

"You were looking for a parking spot? Follow me."

• After successfully avoiding all of the pitfalls listed above, there is one minor obstacle left: avoiding death as a pedestrian. There are no sidewalks or crosswalks. No lights guiding you to the safety of the elevators. Pedestrians are viewed with as much empathy as squirrels trying to make it to the other side of the road. There have been five pedestrian deaths in our garage…this week. Hitting pedestrians is not only viewed as normal, I believe it is encouraged. All that is left for the pedestrian is instincts as they imitate an extra on the set of Death Race 2000. Just thought I’d let you know.
  

I’m sure these items are minor oversights by your firm. If you could research and provide a written report as to how these issues will be addressed, it would be greatly appreciated.

Sincerely,

Corporate Joe

Gift Getting

FADE IN:

A father and son gather around his birthday presents. The father beams with pride as his son carefully chooses the first gift. The son's eyes lock in like radar on the largest box of the bunch.

SON

Dad, can you help me open it up?

FATHER

Sure thing.

They work together in perfect synchronicity tearing the paper with purpose. They pull back in awe of what was found.

SON

Cool!

FATHER

Let me help you open the box.

SON

Oh, man, a Power Ranger. Awesome!

FATHER

Let me pull this out of the plastic.

Hold on, there are some wires to untangle.

SON

Hurry, hurry!

FATHER

I'm trying, hold on. There are some fasteners in the back.

Man, they are not playing around here.

FATHER

Voila!

FATHER

For Christ's sake, there are more fasteners!?

SON

Mommy says that's a bad word.

FATHER

You're right son, that'll be our little secret. 

Let me get these off.

FATHER

Are you shitting me? 

These are wrapped around the axle!

SON

Mommy says that's a bad word too.

FATHER

No one likes a tattle-tale. So just zip it.

Let me get this wire out of the axle.

FATHER

Rubber bands? Rubber f*cking bands!

SON

Mommy...

FATHER

I know what Mommy says. Do you see Mommy around? No.

I just see you and me. So why don't you just

sit criss-cross applesauce and shut your trap.

The Father struggles impatiently with the tangled web of rubber bands and wires. His grunts morph into a loud roar. His son scootches back on the linoleum in fear.

SON

Dad, you're turning green.

The Father's pants begin to rip at the seams as he continues to struggle with the imprisoned present.

FATHER

Let me get this out. AHHHHHHHHHH!

SON

Daddy, No!

FATHER

Run, son. Before it's too late. 

This is between me and the present. 

RUNNNNNNNNNN!

FADE TO BLACK

25 Things You Don't Need To Know

Rules:

Once you've been tagged, you are supposed to write a note with 25 random things, facts, habits, or goals about you. At the end, choose 25 people to be tagged. You have to tag the person who tagged you. If I tagged you, it's because I want to know more about you.

1. I hate the T.G.I.Fridays menu. Enough with the Jack Daniels sauce.

2. The majority of presentations I’ve seen, suck.

3. I believe people lead far more interesting lives outside of work. But I don’t really give a shit.

4. I remember being fresh out of college in 1992 and a friend told me about a company called AOL. They were hiring at the time. I thought to myself, “AOL? What the f*ck is that?”

5. I’m amazed at how two people can make the same amount of money in the same type of position yet one is socially retarded and the other is a class act.

6. I have taken a ton of business trips, I would label maybe two of them as actually being, “fun”.

7. I believe individuals who give credit to others go much further in Corporate America than the hyenas that hijack their team’s accomplishments.

8. I have found out that if you think someone is full of shit, most likely everyone else thinks the same thing.

9. I have freakish metabolism.

10. I like working during the holidays. Nothing beats a quiet office. Or beating off in a quiet office.

11. I am the most ineffective employee when working from home. The refrigerator has been put to memory by 10am. A good example of a bad example.

12. I like having SAS programming skills instead of soft skills. You can either do it or you can’t. There’s no hiding.

13. I’ve always wanted to be named Joshua Rainwood.

14. I believe confidence mistakenly trumps intelligence too much. And there are a lot of overconfident people out there.

15. I refuse to touch food left in the pantry with a post-it note labeled, “Help Yourself”.

16. I want to leave food in the pantry with a post-it note label, “Keep your f*cking hands off this.”

17. I have a Bengal Tiger affectionately known as, "Bitey".

18. I believe nothing beats the taste of an ice cold Coca-Cola from a vending machine. Even when mistakenly priced for the year 2046 with inflation.

19. I think the position of CEO is easy to vilify. The inconvenient truth is that most of them are extremely smart and have worked their asses off ascending to that position.

20. I have found out that an awful day/week/qtr/year for a company is a great day for the press.

21. I think it would be funny to write a movie where a guy is stuck in Corporate America and hatches a plan to rip off the company. Call it something like, "Office Space". That would be some funny shit.

22. The best bosses I have had are women, not men.

23. I actually left the building for lunch at 10:30AM one morning to go to Wendy’s and have a Baconator.

24. Based on the extensive algorithms on the back of my Wendy's napkin, I have calculated that 99.9% of employees a) do not show up to meetings on time and b) are not prepared for the meetings they show up for.

25. Please stop talking about your kids, please.

Office Booty

One day my cubicle looks like it was designed for an Office Depot commercial, the next day it’s a post-riot TV store. Another victim of a supply-jack; stapler, tape dispenser, pencils, pen, gone. It was not always like this. There used to be peace among the villagers.

Once my company lived in a world where employees could nonchalantly arrive at the fifth floor, speak with Facilities, and walk away with supplies for various day-to-day needs. But something happened on the way to heaven. Employees took something beautiful and made it ugly. The booty of office supplies were pillaged. Facilities had nothing left to give except a judgmental look to anyone who requested the smallest item. Rumblings regarding the misappropriation of supplies reached the penthouse. Gone were the salad days. Hello, Corporate Policy.

There’s a new sheriff in town enforcing draconian measures. Corporate Policy wants to ensure that the office supply requested is 1) put to use and 2) applicable to client work. Unfortunately, the application process is so difficult that no one wants to go through it. The laborious request form rivals a passport application. Name, employee id, department number, project code, holy shit I just want a f*cking pen. Facilities now hoards the supplies knowing that few want to deal with the paperwork. This action dramatically increases the demand of limited supplies remaining in the rest of the building. You can’t borrow a pen from anyone. You can’t even ask to borrow a pen.

Co-workers who originally exchanged pleasantries now turn on each other like survivors in a nuclear holocaust battling for the last piece of bread. Except the bread is a green Sharpie Accent highlighter equipped with a chisel tip and patented smear guard. Damn-it, I would kill to have that back!

You stay alive, no matter what occurs! I will find you.

No matter how long it takes, no matter how far, I will find you.

We’ve turned on each other and there is no end in sight. We steal each other’s supplies with one hand while pointing at corrupt CEOs with the other. There is only one source to refresh the weathered office supplies frequently changing hands. New hires.

Instead of filling out all those cumbersome forms the employees wait for the new hires to do it. “Oh, you need post-its? Just go to the fifth floor. You might want to stack up on everything”. We give the new hire a nice smile to hide the venom in our hearts. The plebe doesn’t know any better.

The new hire is light on their feet with a whistle on their lips. Here’s your form and here’s my supplies! Until they see their violated desk the next day. Welcome to the snake pit.

Booty Call!

Next thing you know another new hire is shouting over the cubicle. They need some help on how to set up their answering machine. Sure, we’ll be glad to help. “You should order some supplies to get you started. Just go to the fifth floor. You might want to stack up on everything.”

You Snooze, You Lose, Your Job

BEEP BEEP BEEP

6:30AM

• Practice presentation one more time
  
• Regenerate analysis based on latest data transmission, troubleshoot if necessary.
  
• Lunch with the client.
  
• Write performance review and meet with manager.
  
• Have to account for traffic.
  

snooze

BEEP BEEP BEEP

6:45 AM

• Presentation won’t take but five minutes to go through.
  
• There haven’t been any issues with data transmissions for the past five weeks.
  
• Lunch with the client.
  
• Write performance review and meet with manager.
  
• I’ll take the backroads to work today.
  

snooze

BEEP BEEP BEEP

7:00 AM

• I have that presentation memorized.
  
• Press a button, the analysis is done. Troubleshooting, puh-leez.
  
• Does the client really need me for lunch?
  
• I can write my performance review blindfolded.
  
• People probably took a 3-day weekend, no traffic.
  

snooze

BEEP BEEP BEEP

7:15 AM

• Do they really need me for the presentation?
  
• I can send that analysis on Monday.
  
• Client always wants to eat at Panera. Hate. That. Place.
  
• My performance review is already written. All in my head.
  
• I’ll work from home in the morning.
  

snooze

BEEP BEEP BEEP

7:30 AM

• That presentation is a joke. No one gives a shit. It’s Friday.
  
• I can send last week’s analysis as this week’s analysis, by the time they review it, I’ll say it was a mistake and have this week’s analysis done.
  
• Panera? F*ck Panera.
  
• I’ll recite my performance review to my manager.
  
• As long as I log-in by 9AM.
  

snooze

BEEP BEEP BEEP

7:45 AM

• My wife makes decent money.
  
• Do both of us really need to work?
  
• I can stay at home, take care of the kids, clean the house. I’m a good father damn-it.
  
• How many times can I hit snooze?

Washingtonianidiot

This is a big week for the most powerful city on the planet. People are excitedly waiting for the eyes of the world to descend on the inauguration ceremony. It makes me proud to live in the shadow of Washington, DC. The history, the museums, and the fluctuating murder rate all feel like home to me. Especially when I’m driving on the parkway along that river where the airport is with the monument that looks like a pencil.

O.K., let’s face it, what I don’t know about DC could fill up DC itself.

Hey, there's that thing-a-ma-bob I was talking about!

I am from Northern Virginia, lived here all my life. People ask me where I’m from and I immediately answer, “Outside of DC” because chances are that more people have heard of “Outside of DC” than “Oakton”. Then the conversation naturally spins into politics, museums, or the Mystics. And as quickly as the conversation starts, it ends. The sad reality is that I don’t know squat about the city right next door. All these years and I am rarely tempted to head “downtown”.

The ones who take full advantage of what the city has to offer are not from this area. It’s a transient town based on the politics. The one thing that will not change about DC is how it is guaranteed to change at least every four years. Right now, there are so many people packing up boxes to move here based on the new administration. These are the same people who will be able to school me on DC knowledge inside of the first five months of their stay. It should upset me. I should be humiliated. The sad part is, I’m not.

There’s no reason for a local to visit DC if you don’t work or live there. Yes, the museums rock; Air & Space, Natural Gallery of Art, Spy Museum, etc. But that’s about it. The city is humming 9 to 5 on a weekday. But the weekends? Forget it. It looks like Times Square in “Vanilla Sky”. Hell, the Washington Redskins aren’t even located downtown.

Let's party! Hello? I said, let's party!

Don’t be angry with me for my ignorance. There are thousands of others just like me who will be comfortably nestled in the suburbs watching the inauguration on TV. Seeing one of the biggest events on the grandest stage on a flat screen.

I need to ride this new wave of hope that is flooding the city and get my ass downtown. If change is going to happen, it has to come from within. I’m looking at the man in the mirror. But for now, I need to get to a non-looted Circuit City store and buy a flat screen.

Degree of Difficulty

Three letters carry a lot of weight in the consulting industry, “PhD”. Those three letters make the client uncontrollably drool. Outside of a congressional inquiry, it provides the necessary trump card for anyone who dares to question the project's methods:

• Don’t like our approach? Well, the girl who designed our statistical sample has a PhD!
  
• You want to question our findings? Well, the guy who completed the quality assurance has a PhD!
  
• You’re cheating on me? Well, I’m banging a PhD!

Don’t get me wrong, PhDs do provide some value besides infidelity. They are the fossil fuel for brainstorming, they tackle and resolve the high-level approach to solutions, and they are hardly around long enough to get on your nerves. But don’t expect to be called “Doctor” unless you plan on successfully administering surgery during one of our WebEx conferences.

O.K., I don't know where the patella is.

But I can answer questions on my abstract involving the randomness of bees.

The MBAs are helpful too. They determine the business flow of the project, the timing of key deliverables, and serve as the consulting voice of the project. Then comes the work and just like Keyser Soze, poof, they’re gone.

After this MBA wins the work, my guess is that you'll never hear from him again.

After the brainstorming is done and the project plan is laid out, there is the nagging work that is left over. The endless deliverables; spreadsheets, flow diagrams, presentations, survey results, datasets, meeting minutes, on-site training, off-site training, oh my goodness please stop. The lower the degree, the larger the workload. Any guesses where I am categorized in the pecking order?

Work won. Work begin.

Bachelors Degree translates into completing all of the deliverables and receiving none of the credit. And the best of the lot take the initial instructions from those with superior degrees and run with it. The PhD’s and MBA’s become more obsolete as the project exits the incubation stage and hatches more work products than Evander Holyfield can impregnate women. They are only re-integrated at the end of the project when all the findings have been compiled, all the answers provided, and all the subordinate talent tapped out of any ambitious urges to replace them.

And who can blame them. What a great gig. I plan on reviewing some PhD online programs. But first, I have to get this deliverable out.

C.E.Oh No

Each year our company brings in children from a local under-privileged elementary school to shadow executives for the day. The children represent various groups of minorities within the overall population. The executives they shadow represent white males. These are the same suits that re-aligned their school district all in the effort to keep their daughters away from these kids.

The kids tour the building while listening to the grey-haired men spin tales of adversity from having to choose between Stanford and Harvard. The children smile back knowing these elitist clowns would be shiv'd inside of 5 minutes on their playground. The executives feel good about themselves. This is their chance to give back. Plus it alleviates the guilt from this morning’s layoff, which coincidentally, increased their salary.

One lucky kid hits the jackpot and shadows the Big Cheese. He or she is known as “CEO For The Day”. Unfortunately, it’s just a powerless title on paper. The kid is used as a token at a press conference so the company will get its volunteer kudos from a local newspaper. They might be taken for a tour of the office, the board room, and other places where only the elite gain access. And that’s too bad. It’d be nice for the person to wield real power.

In a perfect world, the “CEO for the Day” and General Counsel would draft a Power of Attorney document fully authorizing all decisions to the 24 hour CEO. All of these rules would impact the high-level executives, while the 24 hour CEO watches the madness of his rules ensue. Just in case this ever happens and my son is chosen, I’ve drafted some items for consideration:

• Dunk Tank. A dunk tank for the CEO (i.e., the real one), CFO, CPO, CTO, and COO. The tank is located near the “Open Bar For The Day”. One key feature of the tank is that it has no water. It is a ten foot drop onto a cement floor.
• Shock Collar. Pre-programmed shock collar for any executive using the buzzwords, “Robust”, “Streamline”, “Cross-Pollinate”, or “Synergy”.
• ATM Bailout. CEO is required to supply the PIN number to his ATM card. Five employees are chosen at random and empty the CEO’s bank account to be bailed out for food, clothing, and shelter.
• Stock Price. Full disclosure required on the plummeting stock price. Explanation must elaborate outside the excuse of “market conditions”. Voltage on shock collar is tripled if any buzzwords are used.
• Corporate Jet. Full access to the corporate jet for the janitorial staff. Beer, cigarettes, and full Mexican buffet supplied during round trip flight to Cancun. Bonuses for janitors correlate to amount of litter, stench, and bodily excrement left in the cabin. CEO’s wife responsible for cleanup.
• Diapers. All executives required to wear diapers and scream, “I doodied my diapers” after taking a bite of food. They are only allowed to consume Gerber's baby food over the course of the day.
  

Before

After

Success is when preparation and opportunity meet. My building plans for the dunk tank are complete and I've stocked up on Gerbers and diapers. Now I’ll patiently wait for the opportunity to present itself.