Disjointed Author

I was struck by a new business idea that had substance. This occurs when I sense a waning relevance of my place in the working world. It buys me time. Before I release my idea into the ether I need a sounding board. I have to get the idea out of my head in an ugly auditory first draft. At this point I need a trusted co-worker. One who can listen, be direct, and determine if my idea has weight. Unfortunately, my idea went viral. I should be flattered but instead it makes me realize that in an instant, the idea is no longer mine to control.

One co-worker. A trusted co-worker. One meeting maker. One invite. Solidify the idea: repurposing of documentation and processes, efficiency, dollars saved. The brainstorming session will help calcify the thought. Shape it, hone it and then express its essence in a clear manner to a higher pay grade. I won't crumble in the cross-examination. Once that happens, it will be easy to get others on board. Except others are already on board.

Last time I confide in this guy about a conference call.

My trusted co-worker forwarded the meeting maker. And then it was forwarded again. Some of the individuals joining the call I have not even met. A snowball effect outpacing the architecture of my original thought. People will expect my idea to be equivalent to a polished version of "Ocean's Eleven" and they're going to get the original instead.

Which one of us should kick Corporate Joe's ass?

The call is scheduled for 60 minutes and starts on time. I begin with an early draft of the idea, the stakeholders, who benefits and why. My disclaimer quickly follows. Please folks, keep in mind this idea is in its infancy. I control the floor and the narrative....for about three minutes. The fact that I am speaking does not mean the other side of the line is listening. It is faux courtesy. An informal protocol to allow me a brief sense of ownership before the predators pounce. I am a wildebeest with a broken leg and the herd has left me. Fresh meat on the Serengeti.

Okay, hold on. One question at a time folks.

Who will be involved? What about this? Where are the savings? When will this happen? Why haven't we started yet? How long will this take? It is the cross-examination and I am folding like a brand new textbook. Forget the disclaimer. Those brief moments of joy when the idea hit me will now be replaced by the months long anguish of implementing the idea itself. I created my own job security along with my own living hell.

Hot Dialed in the City

I was commuting in a vapor cauterizing my skin. It is as if Satan himself launched heated SBDs on the greater Washington Metropolitan area earlier this week. Africa hot. Oppressive heat with weight that slowed me down. I don’t mind it in most circumstances. When I’m working out, fine. Going on a hike, great. Half-baked in a red light district, bring it on. However, I draw the line on hot weather in work clothes.


These pants need more vents for my junk.

For commuting, the trick is to delay perspiration as long as possible. In order to hold the ocean of sweat at bay I lower my core temperature through the max A/C method. While driving to the metro parking garage, I align all vents towards my face and armpits. The temperature is set as low as it will go and the vent is set as high as it will blow. It is of particular importance due to my commute timing.

I am at the right side of the bell curve for the morning commute. Several standard deviations away from the height of the frenzy. Because of this, I end up having to park at the very top of the garage. Four stories up. The “low blow vent combo” technique helps to suppress my body temperature to a reasonable 70 degrees. Once the ice is chipped from my suit, I grab my backpack and head for the metro. The temperature quickly rises upon exit.

Ready to face the work day.

I move with efficiency and do my best to exert minimal amount of energy while gaining maximum ground. I enter the elevator and head down. Upon exit there is a long walkway leading to the main doors of the metro station. A futuristic curved metal canopy provides shade on the walkway. I diligently stay on that path. The heat moves through the epidermis to the dermis. My body thawing like ice from a long Russian winter.

Oh shit, it's starting.

While the tourists fumble with their paper metro cards I hit the hot lane with a metro pass. I successfully circumvent a logjam. I move down the escalator just in time to see the metro rail doors shut. The train moves down the track without me on it. Next train, six minutes away. It would be fine on most days but on a 100+ degree day, six minutes might as well be an hour. The heat moves through the dermis to the hypodermis. My core temperature is officially compromised. The metro arrives and luckily the A/C is on. I must keep minimal movement for the next nine stops until my exit.

My body stabilizes. The melting process grinds to a halt and unfortunately for me, so does the train I am on. Stopped underground. There is an announcement but I don’t speak bull horn metro so I just hope and wait. The heat strips through my hypodermis and hits the core. The reactor disintegrates its own containment structure and begins melting.

This doesn't look good at all.

It takes me awhile to break a sweat, but once I do, the faucet is on. It’s official, I am Frosty the Snowman in the green house. The metro starts running again and the vents kick in but it’s too late. You could place me in a cryogenic chamber designed to freeze a Sherpa and it would not matter. I’m toast.


Professor Hinkle, why are you such a dick?

As I exit metro to head to my building I realize it is even hotter. Body heat and 100% wool are a toxic combination for personal hygiene. That is when I finally give up and give in. It is beyond my ability to control despite best laid plans. It also allows me to lodge my head out of my own ass and realize everyone is in the same predicament. Looking around I see all the commuters and they are a collective hot, sweaty mess. Several of us nod to each other. My brothers in arms from the commute. Today, we all stink, and the leaders of the business world are just going to have to deal with it.

A Tale of Two Weeks

Last week the commute was easy. The office half empty. The roads were clear, the lights were green, Metro was running on time with no one on it. A still office.  Hustle and bustle replaced with stretch and yawn. The last week of summer everyone got their groove on while I held the fort.

Where is everybody?! Also, we are out of creamer in the pantry.

Last week I was reentering the atmosphere of work. Others were leaving it for seven days of greener pastures.  I was on the downside of a double helix that intertwined with an upside for my absent coworkers. I was alone with the hum of fluorescent lights while they rode the ascending crest of sun and fun. We all meet the equalizer next week. Back to the grind. Labor Day is gone and I am already nostalgic for summer.

The masses return for tomorrow’s commute. The rat race is full throttle. And even if you finish first, you are still a rat. Goodbye summer, the commute you provided was a short-lived love affair. Hello fall, the ice-cold feel of a familiar ex.

Last week I had big dreams when the office was mine. No calls, no emails, no distractions. Laser focus for bigger ideas. Forget leadership. They are not here. I am. I reviewed our current stakeholders and their respective pressure points. From there, I cast a wider net to include our stakeholder’s superiors.  Build eminence in my professional circle. A promising future for our project.


Who created that Visio diagram? Me, that's who!
Who do I trust with expense reports? Me!

This week leadership comes back. My machismo swapped out for a plate of milquetoast. Everything I built will be torn apart.

Lovely bridge. Afraid we're blowing it up.

It is as quick as a light switch. Last week I was left alone to my thoughts. Uninhibited business energy flowing through me like a series circuit. Then click. It’s off. People, emails, phone calls. Everyone exits the erosion of summer, sees the work horizon of fall and realizes they are behind. Their hurried actions and flailing arms making up for lost meetings and deliverables they will never catch up to. I’ll join in as I do every year and look at the silver lining. The heat replaced with a cool breeze. The weak sauce light beers replaced with lagers. The motionless sports world injected with football. It’s not all that bad. I can build again. All I need is quiet time. Columbus Day is right around the corner.