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The work Christmas party. Does that phrase fill you with joy or thoughts of cringeworthy moments from Christmas parties past? Are you the kind of co-worker who looks forward to a night out with your work 'homies'? Or are you more likely to be heading home thinking 'I wouldn't hang out with those f**kers if you paid me'?
I believe a work Christmas party should be experienced at least once. Even if you are not a big party-goer, there is much leverage to be had from attending and discovering tantilising titbits about your colleagues for later use. For example:
Colleague A: Dave, I was hoping you could complete this process workflow analysis by COB today?
Dave: And I was hoping to be able to remove the image of you smacking your naked arse at last year's Christmas party from my mind, but turns out I can't. I doubt completing that process workflow will help.
Colleague A: Quite right Dave. I'll do it.
If, on the other hand, you prefer to attend a Christmas party and make up for the lack of bonus by drinking the equivalent value in wine, then perhaps the following tips could come in handy:
1) If a colleague is adament about taking your photo repeatedly through the night and you do not want photographic evidence of your transgressions, offer to take a picture of them and when you are handed their camera, smash it to pieces.
2) If you have found Jill from processing repugnant for the other 364 days of the year, it is unlikely you will have uncontrolled lust for her at the Christmas party. A bottle of Merlot does not make her Kate Moss, it just makes her blurry.
3) If you find yourself on the dancefloor, do not grind your hips at or on anybody who has the word 'Chief' in their title.
4) It may seem like a great time to tell Shane that he is an incoherent arse and everybody thinks so, but the image of you waving your finger vageuly in his face and starting every sentence with 'and another thing..' is unlikely to have him quaking in his boots.
5) Don't dance. Seriously. No, I mean it.
Perhaps you are in the very small percentile in your office who really, really doesn't care about their job, colleagues or reputation. If this is you then is the one night of the year you can do whatever you want. You are the master and the office Christmas party is your bitch. Let loose, drink big, grind hard and tell Shane what an absolute knob he is.
Merry Christmas.
I believe a work Christmas party should be experienced at least once. Even if you are not a big party-goer, there is much leverage to be had from attending and discovering tantilising titbits about your colleagues for later use. For example:
Colleague A: Dave, I was hoping you could complete this process workflow analysis by COB today?
Dave: And I was hoping to be able to remove the image of you smacking your naked arse at last year's Christmas party from my mind, but turns out I can't. I doubt completing that process workflow will help.
Colleague A: Quite right Dave. I'll do it.
If, on the other hand, you prefer to attend a Christmas party and make up for the lack of bonus by drinking the equivalent value in wine, then perhaps the following tips could come in handy:
1) If a colleague is adament about taking your photo repeatedly through the night and you do not want photographic evidence of your transgressions, offer to take a picture of them and when you are handed their camera, smash it to pieces.
2) If you have found Jill from processing repugnant for the other 364 days of the year, it is unlikely you will have uncontrolled lust for her at the Christmas party. A bottle of Merlot does not make her Kate Moss, it just makes her blurry.
3) If you find yourself on the dancefloor, do not grind your hips at or on anybody who has the word 'Chief' in their title.
4) It may seem like a great time to tell Shane that he is an incoherent arse and everybody thinks so, but the image of you waving your finger vageuly in his face and starting every sentence with 'and another thing..' is unlikely to have him quaking in his boots.
5) Don't dance. Seriously. No, I mean it.
Perhaps you are in the very small percentile in your office who really, really doesn't care about their job, colleagues or reputation. If this is you then is the one night of the year you can do whatever you want. You are the master and the office Christmas party is your bitch. Let loose, drink big, grind hard and tell Shane what an absolute knob he is.
Merry Christmas.
- iPod Shuffle:Weezer: Buddy Holly
Ah, the word of the year, so it appears. Redundant. Said in hushed terms, behind closed doors. Spoken amongst gentleman and paupers alike. But what does it mean to you, the man on the street? Or, perhaps, more accurately, in the cubicle?
Some greet redundancy with shrieks of joy. You can hear them running around the corridors shouting, "so long f**kers". I think this is why they generally pay you to leave that very day. A month of that behaviour can get fairly tiring. Tends to dampen morale.
For others, redundancy is not something to be taken lightly. It is therefore a strange and tense atmosphere whenever the word redundancy is bandied around within a company. Those who are longing to shriek with joy are left to chew on the desk to ease the frustration until the pink slip arrives. Those who would rather the pink slip didn't arrive are left to chew on their colleagues.
To both groups I say welcome. Allow me to ease you through this period in your life with my 10-step redundancy survival... ment:
1) If you are on the pro-pink slip side (let's call you Bob), now is the time to kick back and let the good times roll. Turn up at work drunk, fail to complete tasks, sleep under your desk. In short, make your job as redundant as possible.
2) If this seems like it may be running a fine line between redundant and fired, dial it back a notch. Stop showering, make inappropriate remarks, repeatedly attempt to access secure rooms.
3) If you are on the anti-pink slip side (let's call you Stella), look out for the Bobs in your office. Assign all your work to them. Advise anyone who will listen that you have completed your tasks, but "Bob is behind again..." Follow it up with a sigh and a shake of the head.
4) Ideally you will form a partnership with Bob. This symbiotic relationship will become advantageous to you both. Your work is completed ahead of schedule, Bob will tell all who listen how many weekends you've been working and you will tell the boss that Bob slept with his wife
5) To both Bob and Stella, keep an eye on the job market. The ripest picking will be those companies who leapt out of the starting blocks of redundancy making far too early. They panicked and laid off everyone, now they are realising that the data doesn't enter itself. These companies are easy to spot. They are advertising for all positions, including CEO (which leads to an interesting point, who is doing the hiring...?)
6) To Bob, make wild accusations about everyone around you. Stare at your colleagues unblinking for long periods of time
7) To Stella, dial a "wrong number" and leave a message on your colleagues phone for Bob. His test results are ready
8) The word redundant comes from the Latin, redundare, meaning "rise in waves". That's a fun fact.
9) Be prepared for whichever way the redundancy wind blows: to Bob, remember that your 'crazy, smelly, repungnant' act may have to be played out until retirement. To Stella, you basically gave all your work to someone else, spread rumours about a colleague and got paid to leave. Not too shabby.
10) And finally, remember, it could be worse. You could have lost an arm and want to scratch yourself in two places at once. Life isn't looking so bad now is it?
~~~~~~
Want more? How to....deal with colleagues
Some greet redundancy with shrieks of joy. You can hear them running around the corridors shouting, "so long f**kers". I think this is why they generally pay you to leave that very day. A month of that behaviour can get fairly tiring. Tends to dampen morale.
For others, redundancy is not something to be taken lightly. It is therefore a strange and tense atmosphere whenever the word redundancy is bandied around within a company. Those who are longing to shriek with joy are left to chew on the desk to ease the frustration until the pink slip arrives. Those who would rather the pink slip didn't arrive are left to chew on their colleagues.
To both groups I say welcome. Allow me to ease you through this period in your life with my 10-step redundancy survival... ment:
1) If you are on the pro-pink slip side (let's call you Bob), now is the time to kick back and let the good times roll. Turn up at work drunk, fail to complete tasks, sleep under your desk. In short, make your job as redundant as possible.
2) If this seems like it may be running a fine line between redundant and fired, dial it back a notch. Stop showering, make inappropriate remarks, repeatedly attempt to access secure rooms.
3) If you are on the anti-pink slip side (let's call you Stella), look out for the Bobs in your office. Assign all your work to them. Advise anyone who will listen that you have completed your tasks, but "Bob is behind again..." Follow it up with a sigh and a shake of the head.
4) Ideally you will form a partnership with Bob. This symbiotic relationship will become advantageous to you both. Your work is completed ahead of schedule, Bob will tell all who listen how many weekends you've been working and you will tell the boss that Bob slept with his wife
5) To both Bob and Stella, keep an eye on the job market. The ripest picking will be those companies who leapt out of the starting blocks of redundancy making far too early. They panicked and laid off everyone, now they are realising that the data doesn't enter itself. These companies are easy to spot. They are advertising for all positions, including CEO (which leads to an interesting point, who is doing the hiring...?)
6) To Bob, make wild accusations about everyone around you. Stare at your colleagues unblinking for long periods of time
7) To Stella, dial a "wrong number" and leave a message on your colleagues phone for Bob. His test results are ready
8) The word redundant comes from the Latin, redundare, meaning "rise in waves". That's a fun fact.
9) Be prepared for whichever way the redundancy wind blows: to Bob, remember that your 'crazy, smelly, repungnant' act may have to be played out until retirement. To Stella, you basically gave all your work to someone else, spread rumours about a colleague and got paid to leave. Not too shabby.
10) And finally, remember, it could be worse. You could have lost an arm and want to scratch yourself in two places at once. Life isn't looking so bad now is it?
~~~~~~
Want more? How to....deal with colleagues
- iPod Shuffle:Listen to Your Heart: Roxette
I used to work for this company, let's call them Schmaschmorfsky Inc, where sweating the small stuff was so paramount I'm surprised we weren't sponsored by Rexona. In some ways, sweating the small stuff is great IF the big picture has been filled. Sadly, at Schmaschmorfsky Inc, not only was the big picture not filled, the management had lost it when they all attempted to pick up an atom that had just split.
My time at Schmaschmorfsky Inc came fondly back to me as I was driving around my 'hood just the other day. The news was on the wireless, informing me that the government in Baghdad had decided to pass a law banning smoking. That's right, smoking. As in stick it between your lips and smoke it, not, as you might imagine, strap it down with TNT and explode it.
This, as I'm sure you are all aware, is a country where it is likely that smoking is not going to be the thing that kills you, or kill those you may breathe on in the street. No, I'm pretty sure smoking isn't top of the list of hazardous activities in Iraq right now.
I could only think, as I drove, that the Iraqi government must have last been working at Schmaschmorfsky Inc. Why focus on car bombings when you can focus on anti-smoking laws? Why focus on the nepotistically fraudulent management when you can focus on pulling the dresscode into line?
"I can't believe she is wearing open-toed shoes?!"
"Yes, quite, but the CEO has just run off with-"
"OPEN-TOED SHOES!"
Why focus on profits bleeding out of every office orrifice when you can spend money on motivational posters? Why focus on streamlining processes when you can make a hat out of red tape?
Why? Anyone? Does anyone know why? Maybe this is why I am not a CEO - I can't see the tiny, tiny leaves for the big picture forest getting in the way.
~
Want More?
How to... survive office politics
My time at Schmaschmorfsky Inc came fondly back to me as I was driving around my 'hood just the other day. The news was on the wireless, informing me that the government in Baghdad had decided to pass a law banning smoking. That's right, smoking. As in stick it between your lips and smoke it, not, as you might imagine, strap it down with TNT and explode it.
This, as I'm sure you are all aware, is a country where it is likely that smoking is not going to be the thing that kills you, or kill those you may breathe on in the street. No, I'm pretty sure smoking isn't top of the list of hazardous activities in Iraq right now.
I could only think, as I drove, that the Iraqi government must have last been working at Schmaschmorfsky Inc. Why focus on car bombings when you can focus on anti-smoking laws? Why focus on the nepotistically fraudulent management when you can focus on pulling the dresscode into line?
"I can't believe she is wearing open-toed shoes?!"
"Yes, quite, but the CEO has just run off with-"
"OPEN-TOED SHOES!"
Why focus on profits bleeding out of every office orrifice when you can spend money on motivational posters? Why focus on streamlining processes when you can make a hat out of red tape?
Why? Anyone? Does anyone know why? Maybe this is why I am not a CEO - I can't see the tiny, tiny leaves for the big picture forest getting in the way.
~
Want More?
How to... survive office politics
- Whiteboard Face:
cynical - iPod Shuffle:Swing Low, Sweet Chariot: Five Blind Boys of Alabama
One item on the nearly endless list of joys of working in the financial industry is your participation in the group-bonding session known as compliance training. Every month, when that email invitation arrives, you find yourself counting down the hours until Outlook advises you it is time. You bounce up with glee (glee, I tell you), for on this day, a plethora of mysteries await: you will visit another floor, you will sit with unfamiliar people, you will learn the true power that is Microsoft Clipart. And the best part is, you are paid for every second of joy.
Freedictionary.com (don't judge, there is a recession on) defines compliance as: the ability of an object to yield elasticity when a force is applied. I find this an apt definition of compliance training. Let me break it down: the object (that's you and I) yields elasticity (that can sometimes refer to an unfortunate underpant incident, but in this case it generally means you standing up from your desk) when a force is applied.
Ah, the force. This force can vary depending on your company and the level of masochism that exists in the training department. Generally it seems to consist of the thinly disgused threat that a PIECE OF PAPER WITH YOUR NAME ON IT will be distributed for others to look at. I am ashamed to admit that my name ended up on that paper once. Apparently, being overseas is not a good enough reason to miss compliance. How could I have been so foolish?
So what exactly are you complying with after all this training? Well, funnily enough the one thing they generally focus the training on appears to conflict with the manner in which they ensure you are trained. How so, you say? Fraud (as the main topic of compliance training) is defined as: intentional perversion of truth in order to induce another to part with something of value or to surrender a legal right.
The truth? That you will enjoy the endless clipart and witty banter of your colleagues. The something of value? Um, well, there's your time and sanity to name two fairly key items. A legal right? To not have your management inflict intentional perversion on you.
And so we have come full circle: the training begets the topic which is the raison d'etre for the training. Sacrebleu! No wonder they have to do it every month.
Aren't you glad you have me around to uncover the mysteries of the office?
Freedictionary.com (don't judge, there is a recession on) defines compliance as: the ability of an object to yield elasticity when a force is applied. I find this an apt definition of compliance training. Let me break it down: the object (that's you and I) yields elasticity (that can sometimes refer to an unfortunate underpant incident, but in this case it generally means you standing up from your desk) when a force is applied.
Ah, the force. This force can vary depending on your company and the level of masochism that exists in the training department. Generally it seems to consist of the thinly disgused threat that a PIECE OF PAPER WITH YOUR NAME ON IT will be distributed for others to look at. I am ashamed to admit that my name ended up on that paper once. Apparently, being overseas is not a good enough reason to miss compliance. How could I have been so foolish?
So what exactly are you complying with after all this training? Well, funnily enough the one thing they generally focus the training on appears to conflict with the manner in which they ensure you are trained. How so, you say? Fraud (as the main topic of compliance training) is defined as: intentional perversion of truth in order to induce another to part with something of value or to surrender a legal right.
The truth? That you will enjoy the endless clipart and witty banter of your colleagues. The something of value? Um, well, there's your time and sanity to name two fairly key items. A legal right? To not have your management inflict intentional perversion on you.
And so we have come full circle: the training begets the topic which is the raison d'etre for the training. Sacrebleu! No wonder they have to do it every month.
Aren't you glad you have me around to uncover the mysteries of the office?
- Whiteboard Face:
pliant - iPod Shuffle:Fools Gold: The Stone Roses
I work a lot with numbers: manipulating, analysing, debunking. I try and I try, but yet I cannot seem to make a seven anything else. It's very disheartening. However, what it does present to me is the ability to chat about statistics. Gosh, how I love them. I love the authoritative manner it gives to everything you say.
"78% of people think you're a dick. That's down from 84% last week, so you're improving."
"1 in 3 never bring anything to a morning tea. You know who you are. Line up against the wall so I can kick you, you cheating f**ks"
"54% of people hate their job. No, wait, 55%. Wait, sorry, 65%."
Endless, endless fun. I also love the way that when a human inteferes with the beauty of a statistic, it quickly unravels itself, as you shall see.
So, with that in mind I present some office statistics for your perusal. All true, of course. All collated after extensive research dollars were no doubt spent. Worth every penny in my view. Warning, some are of the tawdry persuasion.
1) 75.9% of office grunts (such as myself) are female. 24.1% are male
2) 1 in 3 people are currently out of work. Which begs the question, who in my office is working for free?
3) There is a 1.7% chance of threatened or actual violence occurring to you whilst you are sat in your cubicle
4) Murder is the highest rated killer in the office. It beats unexpected lift shaft plunges hands down.
5) 46% of women have had sex with their boss, which, when you consider the first statistic, you could deduce that 100% of male office workers are getting lucky as you read this sentence
6) 33% of men have had sex on their desk. The statistic is unclear as to whether anyone else was involved.
7) 55% of office romances end in marriage
8) 31% of people said they want to marry the person they are dating at work
9) Which can only lead me to conclude that 17% of office marriages are very awkward and may result in 99% of parties killing the other and 78% sleeping with someone else's boss who may or may not be 50% female
What are you favourite office statistics? Send them my way and there is a chance that 56% will be answered.
"78% of people think you're a dick. That's down from 84% last week, so you're improving."
"1 in 3 never bring anything to a morning tea. You know who you are. Line up against the wall so I can kick you, you cheating f**ks"
"54% of people hate their job. No, wait, 55%. Wait, sorry, 65%."
Endless, endless fun. I also love the way that when a human inteferes with the beauty of a statistic, it quickly unravels itself, as you shall see.
So, with that in mind I present some office statistics for your perusal. All true, of course. All collated after extensive research dollars were no doubt spent. Worth every penny in my view. Warning, some are of the tawdry persuasion.
1) 75.9% of office grunts (such as myself) are female. 24.1% are male
2) 1 in 3 people are currently out of work. Which begs the question, who in my office is working for free?
3) There is a 1.7% chance of threatened or actual violence occurring to you whilst you are sat in your cubicle
4) Murder is the highest rated killer in the office. It beats unexpected lift shaft plunges hands down.
5) 46% of women have had sex with their boss, which, when you consider the first statistic, you could deduce that 100% of male office workers are getting lucky as you read this sentence
6) 33% of men have had sex on their desk. The statistic is unclear as to whether anyone else was involved.
7) 55% of office romances end in marriage
8) 31% of people said they want to marry the person they are dating at work
9) Which can only lead me to conclude that 17% of office marriages are very awkward and may result in 99% of parties killing the other and 78% sleeping with someone else's boss who may or may not be 50% female
What are you favourite office statistics? Send them my way and there is a chance that 56% will be answered.
- Whiteboard Face:
saucy - iPod Shuffle:Feel So Free: Ivy
A while back I spoke on the office phenomenom that is the buzzword. Let's take that chat one step forward shall we and instead focus on the more highbrow analogy. Oh yes, that's right. I'm talking about the high-powered analogies only used behind closed doors where high-powered people are having high-powered meetings, discussing the kind of crazy shit that will blow your mind.
I, however, am not adverse to sharing afore mentioned crazy shit to you as it was with great honour that I attended one of these high-powered meetings just last week. The tension was high, the ties were D&G and the analogies were flowing thick and fast. I felt as if I was in the presence of true genius. For surely, only a true genius can say a complete sentence full of high-powered words, but completely lacking in content or meaning.
Picture the scene, I, the only person in the room without an anacronym seemingly part of their surname, ("Hi, Dave Jenkins, CFO". "Hi, Mary Shmary, CRO". "Hi, Steve Sleeve, COO". "Coo? Like the bird?"), used the only skill I can muster in situations like this. That's right, I got drunk and unbuttoned myself. Oh, I wish I was kidding.
Though really, I nodded along importantly at what felt like the right time, which quickly turned into me nodding non-stop as if my head was loose. I listened to the most high-powered people in my business come to agreements that nobody really could follow:
"Steve, as long as it's all rats and mice, where's the problem?"
"Mary, we both know it's more than rats and mice. It's swings and roundabouts."
"Yes. You're right. Well that puts the cat amongst the pigeons."
I was in awe. My company was in safe hands. I wrote hurriedly, trying to take it all down. Finally, there seemed an impasse, a halt in the flow of parallels between potential rodentsome creatures. I sensed my chance. I could feel them looking for a break in the stalemate and grabbed the horny bull.
"Dammit Dave!" I shouted, banging my fist on the desk and leaping to my feet. "It's all goats and cheese and if you can't see that I have no time for you anymore. NO TIME!"
I left, feeling their admiring glances on my back.
It really is just about taking a risk and putting yourself out there. It may feel uncomfortable, but you know, you can't spell analogy without.... wait, never mind.
I, however, am not adverse to sharing afore mentioned crazy shit to you as it was with great honour that I attended one of these high-powered meetings just last week. The tension was high, the ties were D&G and the analogies were flowing thick and fast. I felt as if I was in the presence of true genius. For surely, only a true genius can say a complete sentence full of high-powered words, but completely lacking in content or meaning.
Picture the scene, I, the only person in the room without an anacronym seemingly part of their surname, ("Hi, Dave Jenkins, CFO". "Hi, Mary Shmary, CRO". "Hi, Steve Sleeve, COO". "Coo? Like the bird?"), used the only skill I can muster in situations like this. That's right, I got drunk and unbuttoned myself. Oh, I wish I was kidding.
Though really, I nodded along importantly at what felt like the right time, which quickly turned into me nodding non-stop as if my head was loose. I listened to the most high-powered people in my business come to agreements that nobody really could follow:
"Steve, as long as it's all rats and mice, where's the problem?"
"Mary, we both know it's more than rats and mice. It's swings and roundabouts."
"Yes. You're right. Well that puts the cat amongst the pigeons."
I was in awe. My company was in safe hands. I wrote hurriedly, trying to take it all down. Finally, there seemed an impasse, a halt in the flow of parallels between potential rodentsome creatures. I sensed my chance. I could feel them looking for a break in the stalemate and grabbed the horny bull.
"Dammit Dave!" I shouted, banging my fist on the desk and leaping to my feet. "It's all goats and cheese and if you can't see that I have no time for you anymore. NO TIME!"
I left, feeling their admiring glances on my back.
It really is just about taking a risk and putting yourself out there. It may feel uncomfortable, but you know, you can't spell analogy without.... wait, never mind.
- Whiteboard Face:
exanimate - iPod Shuffle:I'm Walking on Sunshine: Katrina and the Waves
Two beverage related posts in a row? I must be slipping. This topic, however, deserves comment, as it's mere existing is perhaps the touchstone of any reputable corporation. Forget clients, paper, computers even pens, without this item your business is nothing. What is it? It's the personalised coffee mug. Yes, you heard me. I'm not mistaken. Without this your business is crapper than a broken toilet on a crap heap in shitsville.
Why? You may ask as I have noticed my readership tends to when I lay out my perceived outlandish suggestions. Well, fine, i'll tell you, but sooner or later, reader, you are going to have to do the thinking for yourselves for a change. WIthout the personalised coffee mug how would you ever know anything about your staff? Without their feelings written on ceramic, how would you ever know how they felt about themselves, life, their job even world politics? Your staff aren't going to come up to you, slap you about the face with a wet fish and tell you to go f**k yourself are they? No, they will let their coffee mug speak for them.
Allow me to present some examples from my very own institution:
1) "I'm not fat, I'm just lazy" - hmmm... I think the fact that you can't get even a solitary finger through the handle says that for you. It's unlikely someone had to look past your third chin at your mug to determine that.
2) "You can't fix stupid" - this one can be hard to read as it is generally upside down.
3) "Smart arse" - I made the mistake of accidentally using this one, one morning. The owner really doesn't need a mug to let people know his true personality.
But possible the... "best" mug I ever saw was when I was meeting a client for the first time and she arrived coffee mug in hand. It depicted a scene of a girl child looking down the boy's child pants and saying "huh, so that's why you get paid more than me." As you can imagine, that meeting was filled with light-hearted anecdotes and smiles all round.
Seriously, that woman was filled with so much anger and man-hate I felt the penis I don't own shrivel up and die.
Think about it, what does your coffee mug say about you?
Why? You may ask as I have noticed my readership tends to when I lay out my perceived outlandish suggestions. Well, fine, i'll tell you, but sooner or later, reader, you are going to have to do the thinking for yourselves for a change. WIthout the personalised coffee mug how would you ever know anything about your staff? Without their feelings written on ceramic, how would you ever know how they felt about themselves, life, their job even world politics? Your staff aren't going to come up to you, slap you about the face with a wet fish and tell you to go f**k yourself are they? No, they will let their coffee mug speak for them.
Allow me to present some examples from my very own institution:
1) "I'm not fat, I'm just lazy" - hmmm... I think the fact that you can't get even a solitary finger through the handle says that for you. It's unlikely someone had to look past your third chin at your mug to determine that.
2) "You can't fix stupid" - this one can be hard to read as it is generally upside down.
3) "Smart arse" - I made the mistake of accidentally using this one, one morning. The owner really doesn't need a mug to let people know his true personality.
But possible the... "best" mug I ever saw was when I was meeting a client for the first time and she arrived coffee mug in hand. It depicted a scene of a girl child looking down the boy's child pants and saying "huh, so that's why you get paid more than me." As you can imagine, that meeting was filled with light-hearted anecdotes and smiles all round.
Seriously, that woman was filled with so much anger and man-hate I felt the penis I don't own shrivel up and die.
Think about it, what does your coffee mug say about you?
- Whiteboard Face:
scared - iPod Shuffle:Breaking My Heart Again: Aqualung
I am one of the fortunate few who find the use of caffeine a benefit in my day-to-day living. A morning without coffee may as well be spent under the desk for all the good I am to the administration world without it. Contrary to what you may believe, I am not a complex person and I believe this is best demonstrated by my coffee choice. In fact, I will take that one step further and declare that everything about a person can be uncovered from their caffeinated beverage of choice.
An example you say? Glad you asked. Take yesterday morning for example. There was I, slumped against the wall of the cafe waiting for them to call my order, when an odd thing caught my attention:
"Small soy half-strength decaf mocha for Sarah"
Now, allow me if you will, reader, to dissect this coffee order for you. First, a half-strength decaf. What exactly are you half-strengthing? Does decaf come in levels of strength? "God, no, not a full-strength decaf! I may wee my pants before returning to the office." What seriously, would happen to Sarah if she had a full-strength decaf? Second, a mocha. So, it's actually not even all half-strength decaf coffee, half of it is hot chocolate! The level of anything vaguely resembling coffee has now been reduced to a quarter at most.
And soy. Well, enough said. If your stomach can't cope with lactose then you need to find a new one.
So, how did Sarah look you ask? Well, she looked exactly as you'd expect somebody to look who has spent all their free time coming up with the most convoluted, ridiculous coffee order imaginable. I would've kicked her as she passed, but sadly my caffeine levels were low.
So, what does your coffee order say about you?
Cappucino - I want to be grown-up and drink coffee, but I don't like the taste. Don't skimp on the choco shakings. I collect things compulsively.
Latte - I like the milky goodness with a hint of coffee-adventure. I want to live on the edge, but haven't advanced past pressing the crossing button when I have no intention of crossing the road.
Flat White - I like my coffee like I like my men: less milk, more action. I like to eat cheese when no-ones looking
Short Black - I DON'T HAVE TIME TO HAVE A PERSONALITY
Long Black - I like to think this makes me look hard, but in reality it makes me look like I can't afford milk.
Macchiato - I'm a dick
What coffee do I drink you say? I drink the coffee of champions.
An example you say? Glad you asked. Take yesterday morning for example. There was I, slumped against the wall of the cafe waiting for them to call my order, when an odd thing caught my attention:
"Small soy half-strength decaf mocha for Sarah"
Now, allow me if you will, reader, to dissect this coffee order for you. First, a half-strength decaf. What exactly are you half-strengthing? Does decaf come in levels of strength? "God, no, not a full-strength decaf! I may wee my pants before returning to the office." What seriously, would happen to Sarah if she had a full-strength decaf? Second, a mocha. So, it's actually not even all half-strength decaf coffee, half of it is hot chocolate! The level of anything vaguely resembling coffee has now been reduced to a quarter at most.
And soy. Well, enough said. If your stomach can't cope with lactose then you need to find a new one.
So, how did Sarah look you ask? Well, she looked exactly as you'd expect somebody to look who has spent all their free time coming up with the most convoluted, ridiculous coffee order imaginable. I would've kicked her as she passed, but sadly my caffeine levels were low.
So, what does your coffee order say about you?
Cappucino - I want to be grown-up and drink coffee, but I don't like the taste. Don't skimp on the choco shakings. I collect things compulsively.
Latte - I like the milky goodness with a hint of coffee-adventure. I want to live on the edge, but haven't advanced past pressing the crossing button when I have no intention of crossing the road.
Flat White - I like my coffee like I like my men: less milk, more action. I like to eat cheese when no-ones looking
Short Black - I DON'T HAVE TIME TO HAVE A PERSONALITY
Long Black - I like to think this makes me look hard, but in reality it makes me look like I can't afford milk.
Macchiato - I'm a dick
What coffee do I drink you say? I drink the coffee of champions.
- Whiteboard Face:
coffee'd up - iPod Shuffle:One Week: Barenaked Ladies
Alas, this post is not about my colleague Tool (alas for him that is, not you, reader). No, it is about the common and perhaps lesser known perks of any job: the tool of the trade. I , as yet, do not have a specific tool of the trade, that is, if you don't count my pencil, chair and team building/bonding squeezy ball I have that says 'Go Team!' (good times, good times). I am fortunate enough, however, to have the use of Mr Notthebestjob's tool.... but, that's probably another story for another time.
Thank you, thank you, try the veal.
Instead, let's talk about my use of Mr Notthebestjob's tool of the trade, his car, which I like to call Pete. I take Pete out quite regularly, sometimes when Mr Notthebestjob himself has to get to work. Man, can that guy kick up a stink about the little things: "But I couldn't get to work!","Quit it, bitch, I was pimping my ride", "But I got fired!", "I said quit your whining!" And so on, and so on.
Just this morning I took Pete out for a spin around the mean streets of Indooroopilly. I , of course, was dressed in my work gear, blue-toothing several important conference calls whilst simultaneously gesturing to my fellow drivers that they should take some part of their anatomy and perform a most likely illegal act with their own mother. Papa Notthebestjob, my passenger, spent the entire ride constantly interupting me to ask who I was talking to and why did I have a cardboard cutout of a blue-tooth headset sellotaped to my face.
I tell you , these people know nothing about business.
I am, mostly, grateful that I do not have a work car, or, in fact, that I don't have to drive endlessly for my job. Most mornings, I wake up in the front seat of the car after Mr Notthebestjob has dragged me out there, and see driver after driver screaming at each other and then veer off in to ditches when their head's explode. I do not understand this behaviour at any time of the day, but how people can get so enraged so early I do not understand. I imagine this to be their day planner:
6am - Wake up: "what a beautiful day"
6.30am - Get in car: "you can all go to hell you m*thaf**king bunch of p**cks"
I find it difficult to remember to take the toothbrush out of my mouth most mornings, let alone get that fired up. I expect they had sad childhoods. This is why I prefer to pretend to be a high-end exec. You have all the prestige with none of the actual responsibility.
You just have to be careful that your bluetooth headset doesn't rip in half when you're in the middle of an important call...
Thank you, thank you, try the veal.
Instead, let's talk about my use of Mr Notthebestjob's tool of the trade, his car, which I like to call Pete. I take Pete out quite regularly, sometimes when Mr Notthebestjob himself has to get to work. Man, can that guy kick up a stink about the little things: "But I couldn't get to work!","Quit it, bitch, I was pimping my ride", "But I got fired!", "I said quit your whining!" And so on, and so on.
Just this morning I took Pete out for a spin around the mean streets of Indooroopilly. I , of course, was dressed in my work gear, blue-toothing several important conference calls whilst simultaneously gesturing to my fellow drivers that they should take some part of their anatomy and perform a most likely illegal act with their own mother. Papa Notthebestjob, my passenger, spent the entire ride constantly interupting me to ask who I was talking to and why did I have a cardboard cutout of a blue-tooth headset sellotaped to my face.
I tell you , these people know nothing about business.
I am, mostly, grateful that I do not have a work car, or, in fact, that I don't have to drive endlessly for my job. Most mornings, I wake up in the front seat of the car after Mr Notthebestjob has dragged me out there, and see driver after driver screaming at each other and then veer off in to ditches when their head's explode. I do not understand this behaviour at any time of the day, but how people can get so enraged so early I do not understand. I imagine this to be their day planner:
6am - Wake up: "what a beautiful day"
6.30am - Get in car: "you can all go to hell you m*thaf**king bunch of p**cks"
I find it difficult to remember to take the toothbrush out of my mouth most mornings, let alone get that fired up. I expect they had sad childhoods. This is why I prefer to pretend to be a high-end exec. You have all the prestige with none of the actual responsibility.
You just have to be careful that your bluetooth headset doesn't rip in half when you're in the middle of an important call...
- Whiteboard Face:
scratchy - iPod Shuffle:Winter: Joshua Radin
So, it appears as if my blog has reached the first stage of world domination, a casting call for 60 Minutes. Yes, that's right, you heard it here first. Liz Hayes and her buds are out looking for people who are "living the dream" career-wise, who have taken the bull by the horns, stood up proudly and said "World, check me out. I am doing what I do because I love it and I couldn't imagine anything better."
Well, Liz, I'm frankly quite surprised you felt the need to ask if other people were living the dream, when quite clearly you have your number 1 candidate here. In case you haven't been paying attention, let's see how I well I fit the criteria:
Q) Do you wake up every morning and have to pinch yourself because you can't believe you are doing what you are doing for a living?
A) Oh my God, totally. Sometimes I even ask Mr Notthebestjob to punch me in the face just to make sure.
Q) Do you find it criminal that you actually get paid to do what you do?
A) Oh yeah, I find my pay completely criminal.
Q) Did you make a concious decision to change what you were doing to get this amazing opportunity?
A) Ab-so-lute-ly. Before I was just an administrator, now I'm a senior administrator. I mean, the kudos alone is worth it. It was hard, at first to make the decision, but I thought "Notthebestjob, just do it, it'll be tough, there'll be obstacles, but this is why you have been doing what you do over the years. To get the word 'senior' in your title... think of the glory." And I did. And the glory was good.
Q) How did your family react when you told them about the dramatic career change?
A) Mr Notthebestjob was understandably nervous. He wasn't sure that he could cope with me reaching for the stars and not getting there. He'd knew I'd be crushed and he didn't want the pain for me. The studying took up a lot of time, but eventually I spelled Senior right first time and it was a glorious moment for both of us. We celebrated with cake. I like cake.
Q) Do you think this is it? Or has your achievement given you a taste for more?
A) Liz, it's never enough. Once you have tasted the power you just want more. I hope one day to get to Team Leader, but it's so scary. I can't talk of it for fear I shall jinx it. Just imagine, someone asks you what you do and you can say, "I'm Notthebestjob, TL"
Really it's a no-brainer. I guess the reasoning of having open auditions is so I don't win in a landslide, but really, it's in the bag.
Note for my international followers: 60 Minutes is a TV show (a TV is that box that randomly makes loud noise) where injustices are metted out with the attitude they deserve. Essentially, everyday folk whinge about something that's gone wrong in their life that you've never heard of and then the TV crew find the perpetrators of this injustice and ram microphones and cameras in their face. Generally someone cries. Usually the viewer.
Well, Liz, I'm frankly quite surprised you felt the need to ask if other people were living the dream, when quite clearly you have your number 1 candidate here. In case you haven't been paying attention, let's see how I well I fit the criteria:
Q) Do you wake up every morning and have to pinch yourself because you can't believe you are doing what you are doing for a living?
A) Oh my God, totally. Sometimes I even ask Mr Notthebestjob to punch me in the face just to make sure.
Q) Do you find it criminal that you actually get paid to do what you do?
A) Oh yeah, I find my pay completely criminal.
Q) Did you make a concious decision to change what you were doing to get this amazing opportunity?
A) Ab-so-lute-ly. Before I was just an administrator, now I'm a senior administrator. I mean, the kudos alone is worth it. It was hard, at first to make the decision, but I thought "Notthebestjob, just do it, it'll be tough, there'll be obstacles, but this is why you have been doing what you do over the years. To get the word 'senior' in your title... think of the glory." And I did. And the glory was good.
Q) How did your family react when you told them about the dramatic career change?
A) Mr Notthebestjob was understandably nervous. He wasn't sure that he could cope with me reaching for the stars and not getting there. He'd knew I'd be crushed and he didn't want the pain for me. The studying took up a lot of time, but eventually I spelled Senior right first time and it was a glorious moment for both of us. We celebrated with cake. I like cake.
Q) Do you think this is it? Or has your achievement given you a taste for more?
A) Liz, it's never enough. Once you have tasted the power you just want more. I hope one day to get to Team Leader, but it's so scary. I can't talk of it for fear I shall jinx it. Just imagine, someone asks you what you do and you can say, "I'm Notthebestjob, TL"
Really it's a no-brainer. I guess the reasoning of having open auditions is so I don't win in a landslide, but really, it's in the bag.
Note for my international followers: 60 Minutes is a TV show (a TV is that box that randomly makes loud noise) where injustices are metted out with the attitude they deserve. Essentially, everyday folk whinge about something that's gone wrong in their life that you've never heard of and then the TV crew find the perpetrators of this injustice and ram microphones and cameras in their face. Generally someone cries. Usually the viewer.
- Whiteboard Face:
cold - iPod Shuffle:Neko Case: Hold On, Hold On
If someone could put a soundtrack to your working life what song would you pick?
It is a question that has been haunting me on my walk into work for the last week or so (funnily enough, the exact length since my last blog entry). Some days I imagine a show tune accompanying me between meetings, I mean, we all know there's nothing better than picturing your colleagues in sequins to pass the time. Sometimes it's a little more melancholy, something to cry to like Ice Cube's You Can Do It (Put Your Ass Into It). When I'm upset there's nothing I like more than climbing on to my desk and violently thrusting my hips in my shocked colleague's face, crying 'Huh?! Huh?! How do you like them apples?". Sometimes I smack my own ass, but only if it's been a real bad day.
So what gets your rocks off? What song is going through your head when you bust out those secret moves in the kitchen? And what song do you imagine to be playing when you shake your thang down the corridor with the security camera cause you know that it will give Pete in IT something to pass the day to?
Word to the wise, if you do happen to shake said thang somewhere, and let's say for example you were, I don't know, harmonically extolling the virtues of Beyonce's suggestion to 'put a ring on it', and you just happen to attempt some move with your back against the wall, well, don't. Or at least, if you do, be carrying something which you can drop so you have at least a semi-legitimate reason to be lying on the floor in the event that the dance doesn't turn out so well.
These things happen to good people.
Me, personally, I have a new song for this week. It loses something without the actual tune, but I think you get the general idea:
And the best thing about this place
Is it looks good from outer space
Because nothing's here for me
Is there some place somewhere
Because the best thing around
Is the road that leads out of here
And then my favourite part of the song that has all the hidden subtext about my feelings:
Na na na na na naaaa nununu na na naaaa nu na na naaaaaaaa nu na na na nu nu nunu naaaaaaaa nunu naaaaaaaaaaaa
If you don't know the song then there's probably some security footage of me busting it out just outside the disabled toilet that you can watch.
Dear reader, don't hold back this week. That inner song wants to come out and play. Send me a comment and tell me what your song is, then I can keep an ear out for it.
It is a question that has been haunting me on my walk into work for the last week or so (funnily enough, the exact length since my last blog entry). Some days I imagine a show tune accompanying me between meetings, I mean, we all know there's nothing better than picturing your colleagues in sequins to pass the time. Sometimes it's a little more melancholy, something to cry to like Ice Cube's You Can Do It (Put Your Ass Into It). When I'm upset there's nothing I like more than climbing on to my desk and violently thrusting my hips in my shocked colleague's face, crying 'Huh?! Huh?! How do you like them apples?". Sometimes I smack my own ass, but only if it's been a real bad day.
So what gets your rocks off? What song is going through your head when you bust out those secret moves in the kitchen? And what song do you imagine to be playing when you shake your thang down the corridor with the security camera cause you know that it will give Pete in IT something to pass the day to?
Word to the wise, if you do happen to shake said thang somewhere, and let's say for example you were, I don't know, harmonically extolling the virtues of Beyonce's suggestion to 'put a ring on it', and you just happen to attempt some move with your back against the wall, well, don't. Or at least, if you do, be carrying something which you can drop so you have at least a semi-legitimate reason to be lying on the floor in the event that the dance doesn't turn out so well.
These things happen to good people.
Me, personally, I have a new song for this week. It loses something without the actual tune, but I think you get the general idea:
And the best thing about this place
Is it looks good from outer space
Because nothing's here for me
Is there some place somewhere
Because the best thing around
Is the road that leads out of here
And then my favourite part of the song that has all the hidden subtext about my feelings:
Na na na na na naaaa nununu na na naaaa nu na na naaaaaaaa nu na na na nu nu nunu naaaaaaaa nunu naaaaaaaaaaaa
If you don't know the song then there's probably some security footage of me busting it out just outside the disabled toilet that you can watch.
Dear reader, don't hold back this week. That inner song wants to come out and play. Send me a comment and tell me what your song is, then I can keep an ear out for it.
- Whiteboard Face:
ring on it - iPod Shuffle:All I Want Is You: Barry Louis Polisar
When I eventually become CEO of a company (any company, I’m not fussy. It says as much on my CV), the first thing I will do is hire all the people I dislike, insist as part of their employment they mortgage themselves to the hilt and then fire them.
The second thing I will do (after all their wailing has finally died down), is visit every single floor of my empire and remove all the pointless signs that some wastrel with too much laminating time has created. In my time in offices across the globe I have seen a plethora of these signs. What signs? Those of you who do not have the pleasure of working in an office may cry. Don’t panic, I am not referring to the “Fire Escape” sign, or even the “Button for aborting self-destruct” sign. Their removal would be cruel, and I am anything but cruel. See my first point: that’s not cruel, I don’t like these people... Keep up.
No the signs I am referring to imply that you do not know how to load a dishwasher, or flush a toilet. That you need to be told to not let masked terrorists into the building. “I would love nothing more than to let you in, strange, bearded fellow, but look at this lamination. It told me not to. And look! Look at the little clipart at the bottom! See the smiley face isn’t smiling and it has a big finger waving no? You don’t want me to argue with that face do you?”
I would also love to know when the fable of the “cleaning fairy” was first told. Every kitchen in every office in every country has this sign. Some write their message as a poem, some in prose, but the basics are always there: “There is no cleaning fairy so clean up your own mess”. Well, that’s just mean. What if I believed in the cleaning fairy? I don’t go round to the homes of cleaners and put laminated signs on the bunk above their children’s heads that read “There is no Father Christmas so buy your own gifts”. Maybe I should.
The absolute cream of the laminated sign crop though had to be one I saw in the bathroom of our partner office in another state. It read (and I quote): “Ladies, please spend some time to clean the bathroom after use in deference to the cleaners”. Ummm... what? Let me get this straight, helpful notice, you want me to clean the bathroom after I use it in order to help the cleaners? Surely if I take the clean out of their title they just become ‘ers’ and nobody wants to answer the question of “What do you do for a living?” with “Er”.
So, in actual deference to the cleaners and to keep them in a job, I pulled all the toilet roll out of its holder and let the sinks overflow. I saw the gratitude in their eyes as they came in that evening. Their looks said “Thank you. A sign was laminated for us and we couldn’t laminate a sign in reply. You have set us free. Thank you hero. Thank you”
I’m not a hero. I’m just an everyday office worker.
- Whiteboard Face: cynical
- iPod Shuffle:The Dandy Warhols: We Used to Be Friends
If Hollywood has taught me anything, and dear God it has, it is that:
- One should never say goodbye at the end of a phone call, nor, in fact, should you finalise any arrangements whatsoever. A simple, potentially flirtatious, “see you then” is more than enough. Perhaps too much.
- If you believe someone is about to deliver bad news to you simply interject with “Please, let me just say this first, I cannot tell you how happy you make me feel/less dependent on drugs I am/less likely to murder someone when you’re around” etc etc. Guilt is your friend in these situations.
- (Perhaps more blog-relevant) Colleagues are undeniably more attractive/better dressed/socially acceptable on the silver screen.
Dear readers, do not think that my final point is in anyway disrespectful to Tiger, Tim, Tool, Trouble & Tara. They are, of course... beautiful... in their own ways. Sometimes though it is like watching a primary school nativity play: you feel sorry for them in the awkward way they go about things, but you’re not going to smash their head on the keyboard for it.
No *sigh*, it’s a sad fact of life that if I worked in any of the offices portrayed in Hollywood then hot dang you could pay me pittance for doing triviality and as long as I had Jake Gyllenhaal and/or Jason Dohring and/or David Duchovny as water-cooler buddies, then in the immortal words of Dolly Parton, I wouldn’t give a f**k.
Woah, sorry, I went into some sort of bliss coma then.
It is my personal belief that before you accept any job you should be shown photos of your potential fellow colleagues: “You know, I just don’t think this job is going to work out for me, sorry” one might say as they look at Simon from accounting. Or not. Maybe the wobbly eye does it for you. And that’s what makes my plan foolproof - I could work with the... finer specimens... and the rest of you could all work in one office somewhere together. Far away.
This blog entry is dedicated to Tool who is in the final stages of producing baby Tool. Stay at the wicketkeeper’s end Tool. The wicketkeeper's end.
- Whiteboard Face:
sleep deprived - iPod Shuffle:Toto: Africa
Hilarity Duff put it best when she sang:
"You took a holiday from us
Took a trip & left your love
You took a holiday from me
I guess you needed to be free
& now you got me asking
Where (where did you go huh? where did you go huh?)"
Well, Duffster, since you asked twice and with vaguely threatening undertones, I will confirm that yes, I did take a holiday and yes, it was hard to leave my 'love' behind, but I did it and I can't begin to tell you for 3 weeks how much I suffered...
So, for all those other unfortunates who have leave rushing up on them much too fast, here are some tips for surviving the holiday without your corporate 'love':
- Encourage your holidaying partner to support you through this period. For example, Mr Notthebestjob would thoughtfully (and regularly) change our original plan at the last minute to engage in unnecessariness, thereby increasing the budget, skewing the project plan, upsetting the client, but ultimately making me feel more at home in this scary outside world. If you are travelling alone I have found that many a stranger will assist you with this, mostly inadvertently but always welcome.
- The tedium and mediocrity of midweek drinking sessions, wine tastings and happy hours can be made more enjoyable by knowing that most likely you will soon ‘throw it at the wall and see if it sticks’.
- Decorate your side of the car/tent/caravan/boat etc to resemble your office cubicle. This can be as simple as a laminated sign denoting your name and title stuck to the window all the way up to packing the sandwich guy in the back seat and requesting he ring his bell everyday at 10am. Innuendo optional.
- An electronic labeler should be the first (and potentially only) thing you pack. Many, many a crisis was averted between Mr Notthebestjob and I, due to the ability to instantly ascertain whose stapler was whose. Laugh now, but you have been warned.
- Whiteboard Face:
eye-weeped - iPod Shuffle:The Kinks: Waterloo Sunset
My colleague Tool is always at me to draw analogies on my blog "Tool," I say "when you have control of an award winning, global blog maybe you can dictate its ebbs and flows, until then be quiet and make me a coffee."
Unfortunately, Tool makes a quick coffee so he's soon back at my side banging on about analogies and the like. So in the interest of maintaining the delicate balance of love and hate that exists in every corporate office, here is an entry chock full of analogousness to keep the peace.
*cough* I would like to draw an analogy between work and exercise if I may. I have to say, this is mainly because for some foolish reason I attempted said exercise this week and have self-diagnosed my resulting injury as kneeexcrutiatingpainprobablygoingtoexplo
Anyway, analogising commencing... Work is like sport. It is something one feels they should do but is generally not enjoyable, it takes up free time, results in ruptured ligaments and/or brain rot and you are generally playing with at least one person who is abiding by the rules of an entirely different game. Those who are deemed to be "in charge" are generally pathologically insane and seem to glean zero pleasure from what they are doing, other than when interpreting the rules to suit their argument at any given time.
I'm on a roll here.
Work is like sport. Those who speak up, argue the interpretation of the rules or punch a colleague in the face are usually "sent off". Most of the time this is an unfair dismissal: the rules should be questioned and some colleagues deserve a good smack-down. I can think of 3 candidates off the top of my head right now. You know who you are bitches...
Work is like sport. It is much better to sit on the sofa, drink a beer and watch someone else do it.
By the way, does anyone actually know what an analogy is?
- Whiteboard Face: broken
- iPod Shuffle:The Shining: Badly Drawn Boy
