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.