Buying Borrowed Time

In the world of business and with the prophetic voice of Janet Jackson, "What have you done for me lately?" rings true. A body of work is remembered after the smoke has cleared from a career. But when the same career is active and in motion, the last thing accomplished is the first item in leadership's mind. If the last accomplishment grows more distant in the rear view mirror, the "do you have a minute?" talk closely follows. Lucky for me, my latest accomplishment bought me some borrowed time.

Excuse me, sir. When is my clock up?

My co-workers and I incubated a demo release for days. Okay, weeks. Okay, months. It has been incubating for so long I thought it would hatch on its own with ill regard for us. Leadership grew weary of our internal meetings. They needed external results. Something to hang their own hats on. Finally the product was ready, the waiting was over, the expectations were high, and the room for error was minimal. Pressure cooker. Deliver the product or receive a pink slip.

Sit back, relax your crack. I got this.

The demo went well. It went great. It went spectacular. If interested in the details, please send me an email request directly. I recommend reading through these details if you suffer from insomnia. By the second paragraph, the delta waves will flow in stage 3 NREM. Point is, the success of the demo bought me and my co-workers time. Our latest accomplishment is on the horizon. It will be a few days before it even transitions to the rear view mirror. I am living on borrowed time and loving the view.

You will read the first few lines--then POOF! Out like a light.

Hitting one out of the park is a nice feeling. A temporary comfort zone. The hard work, the late nights. All in an effort to identify and connect with the sweet spot. An effortless swing as the deliverable ascends beyond expectations and into the fanatic clutch of the client. I tell myself to enjoy the present. Remember this time. Take a deep breath. The ascension leads to the opposite. What goes up must come down. The euphoria gone and replaced by the anticipated deliverables pounding on the front door with a due date.

While leadership rides the wake of my recent efforts, I am taking off early on Friday. What have I done for them lately? A lot. Once the lollipops and rainbows wear off I will head into work early on Monday to avoid any "do you have a minute?" talks. Tomorrow, all I have is time. Monday, I don't have a minute. I don't even have a second. I am busy working on making someone else look good three months from now.

One Week, Six Pages

I have been wrangled into the middle of the storm. We have one week and six pages. The challenge: write a proposal section pregnant with promise that is confined to limited real estate. All while senior personnel use their competing voices and priorities to dictate inclusion and exclusion criteria. It's an official shit show. After this stint, I am adding, "wordsmithing peacemaker" to my resume.

Doubt thou the stars are fire, Doubt the...
Oh fuck it, I always sucked at proposals.

It started with an outline [It always starts with an outline.] Find the story before telling it. Define the flow and narrative. So many opinions, so little time. Punch them in the mouth with their key challenge on the opener, it will help them to understand we know their problem. Start out with our experience, it will help them know we can do the job. Begin with the "how", it will help them realize we have a process to solve their issue. No one is on the same page. At this point, no one is even in the same library and I have yet to write a single word.

You and me? Yeah, we're writing this together.
Whether you like it or not.

I would have written less but I did not have enough time. God bless you Mark Twain, now I understand. With brute force mentality, I power through the first draft and fasten my seatbelt for the next meeting. Without surprise, the latest version is torn from limb-to-limb by the angry mob of editors. "Weak intro", "It doesn't speak to the statement of work", "Too long", "I hate you."

There's the author. Get him!

We play 52 pickup with the table of contents. Another outline, another write-up. It might be saved as "V.2" but when considering everyone's input, "V.26" is more apropos. A frenzied email string reveals all the current holes. Everyone implores that a meeting is vital to the success of this piece. A meeting is scheduled with numerous personnel from multiple skill sets for balanced input. One person shows up. One person gives feedback. With this one voice I find the next rewrite much easier to tackle. Except everyone who was unable to attend the meeting now has a delayed opinion.

Entertaining drastic edits while in the actual process of writing is impossible. It's like participating in an episode of Jeopardy! with an air horn blasting in your ear. That is it, going offline. My whereabouts moved from "Do Not Disturb" to "Try and Find Me". Off the grid of connectivity. Alone with my thoughts. Churn and burn those thoughts into words.

Has anyone seen Corporate Joe?

Next draft, next meeting. The imminent deadline staring back at us. Hints of consensus. A narrative is beginning to take shape. Still pushing. A few sticky points for inclusion. Almost there. Rewrite. Review. Rewrite. Review. Done! Except it is nine pages. Three pages over the limit. Time to be a heartless surgeon.

The editing room floor is riddled with half-baked ideas and run-on sentences. Too detailed, gone. Too broad of a stroke, see-ya. Great sentence with no substance, bye-bye. I am drunk with power. The tables have turned. This indentured servant now owns the estate. Each stroke of my red pen more empowering. Who are we kidding with Figure 1.2.5-7a.i!?! My kid draws better process flows with his Crayolas. Table 3, puh-leaze. That 7 point Arial font makes it look like a nest of indecipherable ink. Here is some advice, have a point.

This shit has got to go.

Final review. The smoke has cleared and the crying has stopped. The group accepts my aggressive, inevitable, and necessary edits. Then we hear back from the solicitor. They would like us to explore this section more and we can expand. I have to hand back the keys to the castle. Hero to Zero. It was fun to be in charge for a bit. Now I have to shut-up and listen all over again.

Carpe Diem, Tomorrow

I have a write-up due. Technically, it WAS due but since I have not started, it is still due. A white paper to be exact: a report that provides insight to an existing or developing business issue with proposed solutions. The purpose is to whet the appetite of the forward thinking client and line the pockets of the firm proposing the solution. A win-win concept, but only if it is actually written.

I know it's breakfast time, but lunch would be good right now.

This white paper will take one day of research and two days of writing. I already have an outline. Within the past several weeks I have completed three other white papers. The difference is those were due based on a hard deadline. If it is important to leadership, it is important to me. My job is to make their job easier. The opposite also holds true. The incomplete white paper was assigned from a specific leader who follows up with light requests, "How is it going?", "Talk me through your progress.", "Why are you drunk?" Without a deadline, the report burrows itself to the bottom of my inbox.

I'm sure that deliverable is right under our feet.

Some of the hardest workers have the biggest lazy streaks. They are self aware enough to keep themselves busy. Without work, self-destructive habits subtly occupy everyday life: excessive eating, sleeping late, or hard core underground Slovakian porn. The scariest thing for a hard worker is white space on a calendar. The emptiness creates temptation to embrace their lazy streak. I waver between the two worlds of busy and lazy. Both depend on my emotional state and current work leader. Sometimes it is churning through assignment after assignment with no end in sight. Eventually, there is a glacial shift towards inactivity. This latest assignment without a deadline is classical conditioning towards laziness. Like pavlov's dog, I begin to look for a new show to binge-watch on Netflix.

The devil finds work for my idle hands in the form of a remote control.  Left to my own devices, I become a couch potato. Ten pounds and 30 Dorito Bags later, I recognize my ass has been parked on the sofa for a month. My work capacity and physique constantly swaying back and forth between a "before" and "really before" picture.

You've got your health...insurance.

When given a deadline, my shiftless pavlovian dog can morph into a border collie. With job, have purpose. My business mind operates at a high level when an ambitious deadline is at hand. It also makes me aware of my self imposed decision resulting in second-tier status. The realization is I never serve as my own catalyst. Great business minds find work and capitalize on it whereas I capitalize on the work given to me. A fine line with a big difference in pay grade. The worst part of all, I am okay with this.

What you want to be a leader for anyhow?

I like the feast and famine of work and relaxation. Besides, for years I have been hearing 'The Wire' is a must see. And those Doritos aren't going to eat themselves.

Turkey Work Weak

For those poor souls employed in retail and awaiting their fate on Black Friday, please skip this article and God Speed. Next year, go on strike.

 

Thanksgiving poses a conundrum for the majority of employers with white collar personnel: the 3-day work week. On paper, three days looks like enough to make a dent in the inbox. In reality, things end before they start. What can be pushed off until Thursday or Friday in a normal work week is either dealt with on the spot or transitioned to the next Monday. The former is ambitious, the latter more likely.

Dude, that shit can wait until Monday.

Many people decide to take the entire week off for Thanksgiving. Flying out of town to see relatives or waiting for relatives to fly in. Shopping, alcohol, turkey, football, octogenarians asking, “What did she say?” and alcohol. For the record, I love Thanksgiving. Rushed after Halloween and eclipsed by Christmas, it’s the middle child holiday. Often discounted, but upon arrival, you realize how much fun it is when you pay attention to it.

Christmas! Christmas! Christmas!

Okay, maybe it’s not worth a week off. Many co-workers feel the same. It’s a 50/50 split on vacation. Half are in the office and the other half on vacation. Work energy begets work energy. When colleagues are not around to add energy, my get up and go is replaced by sit down and eat. This behavior is enabled by the out-of-towners. The less work I push their way, the more I will be appreciated upon their return. The lower the workload, the easier it is for everyone to transition back to a 5-day grind. Wednesday, one meeting: 30-minutes in the AM. Then the schedule is wide open for me to hammer my inbox before the holiday kicks in. I could document an updated process, tighten up some standard operating procedures, and review the latest analytical output that needs further research. All of these sit and wait for my action. I am the catalyst. Potential energy waiting to turn kinetic.

Don't even get me started.

If a tree falls in the woods and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? Better yet, if an employee sits at his desk and no one is around to see it, does he complete any assigned work items? No, no he doesn’t. Enjoy your Thanksgiving.

New Blood Has Me Boiling

I had a meeting this week with a new co-worker labeled a "Rising Star" by leadership. A real "go-getter." The future "Golden Child" of the project. It makes me want to "throw up." Sorry, quotes were stuck. It makes me want to throw up. Unwittingly, leadership has now infused this individual with equal parts purpose and self-importance. I enjoy listening to tenured personnel with singular insight and expertise. However, a plebe trying to kick knowledge without a foundation is revolting. It is the equivalent of shooting a cannon out of a canoe. If you try big things without a strong base and proper footing, everything falls apart--fast.

A lot of people are telling me I'm pretty important.

Prior to the meeting, I assembled materials on the subject matter to bring the rising star up to speed. It included a summarized version of all the documentation I had accrued over the years. The session was geared towards me talking and the go-getter listening. It worked well, for the first five minutes. He stopped the conversation. Which I made clear was okay. Any questions along the way, please interrupt. Except there was no question, it was advice. My facial expression indicated I was not asking for counsel.

You disloyal, fool-ass, bitch-made punk.

To be clear, this is a process I am handing over for production at a lower level. Specifically, my co-worker's level. This item is based on a work product with a solid track record. It is proven, sustainable, and durable. It is quickly put under the gun by someone not proven, testing their sustainability, and we will see how durable they are once responsibility is assumed. 

You are currently at a set of steak knives, don't make it worse.

To be blunt, the "advice" stunk. It is easy to ask big questions in order to sound smart. It is fun to respond to those same questions to reveal the stupidity of it. This is not a back and forth brainstorming session. It is not open dialogue. It is listening to what I have to say and asking questions as we go.

Leadership followed up with me after the meeting. "Isn't he great!", "We are so excited to have him on the team.", "He is our special snowflake that we will simultaneously enable and coddle." Okay, so I made that last one up. But it is not too far from reality. My frustrations were at the brim. I did what any well-seasoned veteran would do, I lied, "Yes, you were right, he is great." Let the newbie figure out the hard way that work comes first. Do the work accurately and efficiently to gain the trust of your team. After that, knowledge naturally follows. 

For now, he will be shoveling buckets of water out of his canoe. 

I knew I should have listened.

iPhony Plan

Within my company, managers are highly encouraged to have a company iPhone. Not a requirement, but definitely a strong suggestion. A suggestion that I ignore. When cornered, my answer is “Freedom Ain’t Free, Brother” followed by a shotgun blast in the air while enjoying a fresh dip of Copenhagen. Yes, the phone and data usage are paid for. But that payment comes with a cost. The ability to check your email. The ability to know whether or not you are checking your email. The ability to know whether or not you are checking porn. Or for those who are really ambitious, actually making your own porn film. It is all on the phone. Connectivity and traceability.

So you're saying we have to delete some footage from our phones?

Most employees submit due to the financial and portable convenience. Financially, the activity is covered. It is a significant savings per month to many of the ascending managers looking to minimize their expenses while maximizing their 401K’s. Portability is more con than pro to me. The definition of convenience is tricky. The great news is that it enables an employee to check email from wherever they are. The bad news is that it enables an employee to check email from wherever they are. A slippery slope that I refuse to engage in.

Call me anytime, pal. Money never sleeps and neither do I.

Convenience is the item that closes the deal. A portable electronic device is now at a manager’s disposal. Email is the driver. Check for new email. Read new email. Send new email. An open door for communication that never closes. Forget the door, it has been removed from the hinges and run through a wood-chipper. It is an open tunnel that keeps an employee a few keystrokes away from making a co-worker connection. No thank you.

Can we close this communication portal?
It's creating a draft on my personal life.

Never turning off work inadvertently co-mingles initiatives that can cause a person to short circuit. Making fish sticks and tater tots for the kids while trying to actively increase the latest profit margins is unattainable. It surpasses ‘not easy’ and flirts with impossible. The American business culture is fascinated with multi-tasking. It is a mythical standard many aspire to and fail. The promotion of an iPhone with access to the company server solidifies this myth.

Doing one thing excellent with singular focus is better than doing multiple things at once with ordinary results. Chipotle does burritos. A few select meats, combined with some veggies, beans and rice. Then end it with edible and attractive accoutrements. In the end, you have a great lunch. Golden Corral does everything. A multitude of fruits covered in a film of pesticide. Then combine it with a cornucopia of meats and cheeses that turns a colon into a pipe jammed with wet newspaper. Then end it with a chocolate fountain to run all your insecurities through. On the surface, it appears everything is to be had and in the end nothing is achieved. The buffet is swimming in a sea of below average.

Everyone back away from the buffet!
I have something we all can eat.

So shove it with the free phone plan. I may not check my email all the time, I may not be accessible in the wee hours of the morning. But when you see me online, I am accountable, I am a force to be reckoned with. And when I am offline, well, I am making my porn film on my personal iPhone.

No Dough My Dear

Fundraising on the company dime. The majority of working parents are guilty of it. Boosterthon, FunRun, Girl Scout Cookies, the middle school football club, the high school basketball team or the underwater basket weaving society. They all need money. Fundraising is a numbers game and there are a great number of working parents who see money inside a corporate skyscraper. It is filled with people. Working people. Reliable people. Direct deposit people. People with fucking jobs who cannot stiff anyone they see on a daily basis. Fertile grounds for a fundraising predator.

I see a lot of money in this place.

Except I’m the prey who says no...

 

No to your cookies. No to your fun run. No to your kid’s team. No to your cure for cancer. I don’t care if you are the equivalent of Stratton Oakmont in the world of fundraising, the answer is no.
 

 

Shove these Thin Mints and Do-Si-Dos right down Corporate Joe's fucking throat!

The proximity of work personnel along with their financial security makes fundraising uber-convenient in cubicle land. A mom or dad can knock it all out in one location. Most people cave. The pernicious stalking is tolerated since it is tied to a charitable cause. I’m sure the principle is worthy of raising money. Children will benefit, the world will be a better place, and I can sign up in the time it would take to brew a Nescafe coffee packet. For me, none of these items matter. My fierce resistance is for the sole purpose of compartmentalization.
 

 

Honey, I'd just rather not talk about work today.

No personal business at the place of business. I am not writing a check no matter how noble the idea. The reason is I am already in work debt. I owe my co-workers deliverables, a promised meeting, an updated excel spreadsheet or a round of drinks on the corporate AMEX. What I refuse to owe them is money from my personal account. Not a single cent. When it comes to finances, personal life and corporate life are mutually exclusive. Never the twain shall meet.

Arrived home from work today. My son's soccer team has a signup sheet for candy bars. Do you know who likes candy bars? My co-workers. I'll cast a wider social net and go one step beyond all the people I answered with a "No". Many working parents don't live by the same rules I do. I'll post this sheet in the pantry tomorrow.

Just sign up, damn-it. It's for my kid's soccer team.

 

Kiss-Ass Assassin

I have a rule: don’t kiss ass. Self-respecting individuals who are worth a damn in the business world are confident enough to know they don’t need it. And if you find yourself around people who do need their asses kissed, distance yourself. These people are not worth being around no matter how accomplished, wealthy, or recognized. In regards to this rule, the one thing I was not prepared for was someone kissing my own ass.

These fucking compliments are wearing me out.

The reality of my career is I am barely middle-management. No complaints, this is fine. The middle is often underrated. On one end of the spectrum, I do not fulfill work orders designed for production at lower levels. On the other end, I am not belittled by C-level executives while sitting across a sea of mahogany in fantastic lighting. My skill-sets fill the in-between. I convert high-level strategy to work processes, all of it based on orders from a much higher level and pay-grade. If someone is kissing my ass, their priorities are misaligned and their self-esteem is lower than whale shit.

Don't worry, I already took a dump in the ocean.

It started with gentle reminders about the workload. It was redundant but innocuous. That's fine, remind me what you are working on even though I already know what it is. It transitioned to suggestions for improvement on a process I created that was commented to be "superb." It escalated to unnecessary compliments on how well I was able to complete tasks that are, to be frank, mundane. Saccharine soaked compliments that would make Trump blush. Most people would take time to enjoy it. I'm too busy putting myself down to know what to do with a compliment. Self-deprecating humor is a bitch.

Corporate Joe, let me know when you want self-help advice.

My first attempt was to eschew the compliments. A simple ignore on my part in hopes to discourage the behavior. The compliments continued. My second attempt was to let the individual know there is a disconnect between their assessment of me and my actual achievements. Neither worked. Time to step it up a notch.

I am going to make this kiss-ass pay. For each compliment, another work item is assigned to their inbox. If this doesn't shut them up then I am sitting on a lottery ticket. A work masochist who is impervious to laptop late nights and early morning meetings. Together, we can rule the workplace. Cue the evil laugh and wringing of the hands.


Whatever you say boss.

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.

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.

Out of Office. Out of Job?

I am at the beach using my vacation days for actual vacation. Finally, I have the chance to test the durability of my customized east coast shark tank. Whatever the excursion, taking time off must always have a corresponding out of office plan. Rest and relaxation without guilt or worry is true job security. Part of maintaining that security is having all my ducks in a row before I leave. The stronger my out of office plan, the more I can enjoy the vacation itself. The office building won’t survive without me. At least that’s what I thought before I left.

I’m trying to relax, honey. I just have this sinking feeling.

The crux of coverage is to develop a multi-diversified package. Divvy up responsibility among several peers instead of putting all the eggs in one basket. The other pivotal piece is to balance the release of information. Provide enough institutional knowledge to hold the fort and withhold enough to maintain job relevance. The coda for coverage is the out of office email --- a well-crafted reminder for others that I am not around.


All play and no work means leave me alone.

For an overwhelming majority of the time, the email notification can take care of any further contact. A shot across the bow indicating that whatever is of concern can wait. This is reinforced through a supporting work voicemail. A unified communication front indicating my services have been disseminated and are unavailable for the commands of superiors. Despite the most exhaustive efforts to cover the bases, there is the inevitable phone call.

I should probably get that.

The mobile phone has disintegrated all communication barriers for the last 15 years of the business world. It makes you accessible regardless of location. Every email signature is expected to have a cell number. It is inevitable that cell will.....RING. The number is from a co-worker. RING. It is someone who is responsible for a piece of my job. RING. I wrote out a procedure incorrectly. RING. I forgot to carry the “1” in a comp calculation. RING. Our data has been hacked by narco-terrorists and held for ransom in exchange for the release of multiple drug king-pins. RING. Just answer the damn phone.

This better be good. It can’t hurt my career.

I hit "Answer" and prepare for the horrible news...

My co-worker wants to know if I left for lunch yet. Her and several other peers are hitting a new Thai place around the corner. They forgot I was even out of town. The conversation closes with a curt, “See you when you get back to the office.” The absence of being essential hits harder than the imaginary work crisis. What was not stated on the phone speaks volumes about my future.  I’m not that important anymore. Maybe I never was. This vacation has been extended for another week.


Hey guys, I’m back! Guys?

Short-Lived Legacy

Managing work and doing work. Each is unique. But there are brief periods of time when they actually intersect. Particularly in the case when a manager must transition processes for production at lower levels. Give the lower paygrade an early win. It’s another notch on the evaluation belt of a subordinate. It’s also one item subtracted from the manager.

The work has to find a new home. Unlike Wheel of Fortune, we cannot do the same thing over and over.

We're going to ignore that low-blow,

think about our paychecks, and smile.

The manager creates an efficient way to complete a repetitive process. After that, give it to someone else. Simple. Except there are three reasons for my reservations about the passing of the torch.

1. Control Freak - What if they do it wrong?
Legacies are built from CEOs and successful entrepreneurs. These positions hone the power to craft a business swan song. Legacies are not built for middle-management. It hones the power to hand shit off. This limited influence leads to complete control of the final product. Giving the repetitive deliverable to someone else often proves tougher than expected. No matter how specific the instructions, a hiccup will slip in and re-engineer the process.

The paper clip always faces due south after collation.

2. Eat Humble Pie - What if they make it look easy?
My control freak concern subsides when I realize the processes are being placed in capable hands. Maybe too capable. We can bitch all we want about the younger generation. The hard lesson is that the smartest ones figure it out faster and make it better. What I took so long to build into a manual routine the millennials can automate without breaking a sweat.

I took your rickshaw and made it into a rocket. Hope you don’t mind.

3. Planned Obsolescence - What if I have nothing left to do?
Great, I’m handing off so much work that I have none for myself. It can result in an empty performance review. “What did you do?”, “Ohhhh, I gave away the store and engineered myself out of a job.” Once you run out of work you’re either fired or labeled as a thought leader. I’m not sure which is worse.

A thought leader is that crazy uncle you see on holidays. You don't know when, but eventually he's going to say something certifiable. It’s hard to find out who you are once you’ve outsourced all of the materials that provided a small but solidified place in the corporate ladder. If I want to be a thought leader I have to start making up stuff up. Abstract shit that Mensa would have to Google. Crazy uncle time.

I’m here to talk to you about the Overthruster method. Listen carefully!

The trick is to create a concept so absurd that the highest level of leadership is convinced it must be too great to ignore. Eventually, I’ll be found out, but at least it buys enough time to look for a new job.
 

Dressed for Moderate Success

Dress for the job you want, not the job you have. Based on my available wardrobe, it appears I want a middle-management job from the late 90’s. After reviewing my outdated inventory, I tried to think of the last time I went shopping for work clothes. All that resulted was flashing images of my flip-phone, G-Shock watch and AOL screen name.

Um, Yeah. I heard we had matching outfits today.

I know my business attire is in desperate need of an upgrade. The scariest part is that I am not even in the right decade. Parting with my money for work clothes is the same as buying new tires for my car. The need is there but I’d rather spend my dollars somewhere else.

I don’t mind getting dressed up for weddings and funerals. These are special occasions. Events that occur at such a low frequency should be given a high amount of attention. Clothes are a part of it. Work? That is five days a week: ordinary, common, conventional. I intentionally flip the script, high frequency and low amount of attention. If I have to dress up every day I might as well be as average as the day I am a part of. I am not delusional. The other high-end suits are. But then again, I’m not given the same amount of attention as the high-end suits. Are clothes the key ingredient to success? Or are they a part of the ensemble cast of looks, height, eye contact and the ability to control flatulence during negotiations. The only one who takes business appearance lightly in my office is me.

C’mon, you know my tagline. No? Google it.

There is no such thing as casual in our office. Gone are casual Friday’s, casual dating and casual drinking at your desk. People mean business and their dress corresponds to that attitude. My clothes are as outdated as my philosophy. Not only are my wool pants see-through, but people now see through me and my lack of ambition. My appearance inspires curiosity instead of confidence. Time to make a change. Time to find out if clothes really do make the man. Time to break out the MasterCard. Time to see the price tag on a 21^st century dress shirt.

Whoa! What? Are these dress shirts threaded with gold? Is this tie made from the mane of a unicorn? Why are these oxford shoes equal to a car payment? Inflation has hit this store in some parallel universe run by Jimmy Carter. It has been a long time. Too long.

This cannot be the right price. What year is it?

I exit the Brooks Brothers store empty-handed and downhearted. Maybe I don’t need to inspire others with confidence. Maybe all I need to do is show up with new clothes that actually fit me. My lack of ambition doesn’t have to go away, just my old threads. The right balance of being paid attention to without being essential personnel. The answer: Burlington Coat Factory. It’s not sophisticated...but neither am I.