call it a day: why you leave the bar early

For Drinkers and Nondrinkers alike

Are you ready for part II of the Battleaxe farewell tour? No? Because last night was the external party, when every one who has ever worked for her (and it's a lot, can someone say high turn-over?) showed up to drink to her downfall and murmur to each other how well deserved it was. I was went part out of pity and part as an envoy from the Executive Offices. Which is to say, Earnesto couldn't go, so he sent me. Unfortunately, he wasn't bankrolling the venture.

I don't drink. So happy hour isn't my favorite hangout. I just feel redundant as I sip my coke with grenadine and wish I was somewhere else. For example, last night, in the super-posh Fairmont Hotel Tonga Room, I wished I was at home watching the NBA Draft.

(Sidebar: Draft! I love it, except I really wanted San Antonio to take Jarod Dudley from Boston College, but stupid Michael Jordan picked him. Still, some good trading going on, and as a Portland native, I appreciate efforts to retool the team to bring in some quality. End of Aside)

No, I was in a dark and murky bar that I had heard good things about. I guess it shows that everyone who goes there usually is drunk, because sobriety does not make it a fun place. It makes it dark and kitschy and in this case, full of people I didn't really like before, and drunkenness did not add to their charm. Like a guy who used to have my position and filled the computer with porn and demeaning emails about his then girlfriend, one of my coworkers, that I was forced to clean out. Ohhhh, he's a favorite. Favorite person to build a voodoo doll of, that is.

After drinking my coke, and eating some pretty decent Swiss cheese, it was an hour in and it was getting crowded. I opted out, leaving $25 to cover my tab and get one of Battleaxe's. It was a gesture. I left at 6:30, and after a nice walk and train ride, got home in order to catch the end of the first round of the draft. and I only saw one or two of my coworkers fall-down drunk (fast workers).

I just talked to someone there at the end of the night, and it was a great reminder of the evils of an open tab. Apparently they were $120 short at the end of the night. Not my fault. But it sure made me glad I wasn't there at the end to pick up that tab. A good reason to leave early. Which makes the list this:

1. Even if you like a person sober, drunk may be a different story. Avoid being there when the things get so out of hand that someone tears open Hugh's shirt and that way you can maintain good working relationships as well as your eyesight.
   
2. You don't have to pay for all the cheap people who came for the "free" drinks. Just pay what you own (with tax and tip figured in) and walk away, knowing some other chump can deal with the mess.
3. You can still walk in the city without undue fear, and use mass transit without a taser.
   
4. The evening isn't wasted, and neither are you. Go home and do something cool.
5. You cultivate an air of mystery. People wonder where you went. You don't have to tell them you played computer Yahtzee for hours.
   

And the greatest lesson of all is: Never start an open tab.

The dangers of being overqualified for your job

I would like to think of myself as reasonably intelligent. But as was pointed out by my dearest boss, Earnesto, nearly any sentient body, including furbies, could probably be an executive assistant. It's not a terrible job. It just isn't that great. Part of it is the institution, I know, but really, even fresh out of college, it turns out I was dangerously overqualified for the the position.

I say this because in the stagnant pool that become my mind as I thought of the exigencies of trying to schedule 50 hours worth of meetings into 37.5 hours, last summer I developed a perilous infatuation with Rusty (so named because for reasons unknown, he dyes his hair the exact color of iron oxide, and somehow captures the texture as well)

Okay, now I realize he's just not attractive, but I was sensory deprived, and he seemed so splendidly different from that to which I had become accustomed: the executive. And his hair was also not rusted then, it was my Achilles heel color of feather boa blue. Which is also probably not enticing to you, but work with me.

We met, we were friends, I was really silly, etc, and gory details will not be shared because I do have some dignity I would like to maintain. Anyway, fast-forward months and his contract runs out, and I realize I will never see him again, and I come to my senses. Thank you, blessed October. And I move merrily on with life and back to crushes of guys who are actually in some way shape or form attractive. My acceptance of Rusty's departure was facilitated by his new hair color, which just made me cringe. You can't take hair that color anywhere, unless it's to a stylist to repair the ravages.

And then, in January, back he reappears in my life, wanted to start back where we left off as friends. So not going to happen. I have developed super-skills at ignoring him, and he mopes about when we chance encounter. But in January I was so angry.

Despite my new found ability to deny his entire existence, every time I see Rusty, I wince with the reminder of my terrible mistake, and wish I could undo months of stupidity induced by job dissatisfaction. It was insanity. So when I saw him on the bus this morning, looking just awful, I reiterated my vow to trot out the resumé and start applying for a job where I would use my brain enough to forever hereafter avoid dangerous infatuations.

Let's label this: flirtation

When I'm not busy scheduling, or doing my work, or writing this, I do a little something that brightens my day. It's almost inexplicable how much I enjoy this activity. It is communal flirtation.

Please allow me to explain a little further. Our Accounts Payable is kept in a room slightly larger than a broom closet, but smaller than the executive office, with four of them in there. They are nice people, three girls and a boy who I have determined is crazy (Renaldo). But it is a place of community, you can almost always find a visitor or 6 in there disputing accounts, providing receipts etc. And they have this game they started, which is a really stupid game, when you think about it.

This game is primarily consistent of typing secret words into their label maker, and leaving them for the other people playing. I love it. I love words, they are little gems to play with. The other thing I love about the game is that it allows me to flirt with a specific person, Henry, a very lovely fellow from another department, without actually being held to that flirting. It gives us foundation for some very lively banter, and our face to face interactions have prospered. However, since the basis for the flirtation is done in proxy through the label maker, and is read by more than just Henry and myself, we are not committed to it in the eyes of our peers.

So Henry and I exchange our words and play a game that other people can play too. It's thrilling. I'm sure part of the thrill is that Henry used to date one of my favorite coworkers, so is forbidden fruit. I know the other women who play the game see it as a way to flirt with Henry, but since Henry and I are the wordsmiths now (we hijacked the experience about three weeks ago), they are at most periphery.

I love this, flirtation with plausible deniability, otherwise know henceforth as communal flirtation. See below, the tool for our delicate relationship.

How to throw an uncomfortable party

So, I have mentioned the reorganizational fiesta that has taken place here where I work. The one in which Earnesto pandered to the majority of the people like a middle school kid vying for popularity by shuffling out 2.5 of the most disliked people in positions of authority. These were also the people who had the tendency to rain on the Project Negative Value, throwing unwanted bricks of reality into the mix. Not part of Team Feel-good, not big believers in Boyish Charm or unwarranted optimism. And now, definitely not card-carrying members of the I-Love-Earnesto club.

So, in the beginning of the month we had the first major farewell, celebrated in a low key fashion with a brunch drop-by. I planned it,with the help of some other very useful souls. It was stressful, but simple, and executed with relative ease. Fond Farewells to our HR director, who, despite some people's belief, was not in partnership with the Devil. Best wishes to the Midwest.

Last night we had the second major farewell, our CFO. I generally actually am not a big fan of her. She has been a bit of an old battle-axe, and I can't count how many times she threatened to stop my pay until I did what she wanted. But after 17 years, anyone deserves better than people singing 'Ding Dong, the Witch is Dead.' In fact, I think probably it is an indelible human right not to be treated that shabbily. Plus, it doesn't help that Earnesto announced her pending departure and then expected her to stay in and work harder than ever before on his pet project, Negative Value. I think it is like picking someone's pocket before you throw them overboard. Not fair play.

Again, I was assigned the planning role. Unfortunately Battleaxe had developed some very definite ideas about what it should be, and so had her crazy assistant. Somehow it would come out of my budget, and be the farewell of their dreams. That's not how it works. You take what you are given.

Not if you are Battleaxe. She told us she wanted a wine and cheese night, which really mucked up planning. It had to be after hours. We had to buy wine etc, I won't give you the painful details, but more than once I swore that the Hatchet (Battleaxe's assistant) was going to be the death of me. And last night was the pinnacle of the ridiculosity.

But enough with the Complaining. I said How-To. Here We Go:

• Make sure the person that the party is for is not well liked. It means that the people there will be split between the few that do lie her, those who are obligated, and those who want to make sure the body is cold/dance on the grave.
  
• Make it at an awkward time. Ideally, you would need to reschedule 2-3 other essential meetings to make it happen. It's even batter if you can arrange a meeting that the boss has to go to midway through, so it's a little reminder that the honoree is important, but not that important.
  
• Plan for a ridiculous number of people, and invite the world. We planned for 75 people, in an organization that max employs 375. That way when the majority of people do not show up, it is patently apparent with gobs of space and plates of food and bottle of wine that won't even get close to being touched. I think we maybe had 40 people, including incidental foot traffic. Can you say awkward?
• Have wine. Alcohol is a great social lubricant. It is also a bit tragically hilarious when the institution drunk indulges and gets soused enough to be utterly ridiculous in front of the two or three visiting dignitaries, and then announces he is going to get back to work. Furthermore, it allows for the awkward toasting moment when everyone seems to have a glass, and not one can think of a good reason to hoist it up besides 'Good riddance.'
• Make sure the cohosts at this close to snapping and getting in a fist fight. If one is for some reason unable to lift heavy objects, it helps, because the heavy lifter is then tempted to heave the table into the other person's head, and it shows.
  
• However, to keep it in the realm of party and not bloodsport, put away the corkscrew and dispose of any empty bottles as they arise.
  
• Do not plan a clean up strategy or a closing time. Nothing says uncomfortable like the visible gasps for breath a party has when an hour in the same people are looking desperately around for an excuse to leave, and no one has the courage to kill it.
  
• Finally, plan another going away party for the next night, to be held at a inconvenient location, and frequently have the honoree mention who will be coming to that party in a manner that looks like a desperate bid to prove that they have friends. Nothing shows a lame party for what it is like the comment that the next party will be much better.
  

All I have to say, is in 16 years if I am still here, please just take me out back and shoot me. Then it won't be so strange that m going away party feels like a wake.

That's Hugh to you, two

You know how some people may have at one point been attractive to you, even in a vague way, but without the unwanted and unappreciated assistance of an annoying friend to jog your memory, you couldn't say if you ever did? I mean, because that person's fair visage has been dimmed by reality, tarnished by the simple fact that you would swear in a court of law that he is a flaming idiot. I have a feeling that this is how many women (and maybe some men, who knows) feel about Hugh.

I vehemently disclaim that I was ever attracted to him. you will find no one who would ever say that I did. Mostly I was in awe of his flopsome (floppy+awesome, that's right, his hair gets a portmanteau word, though probably not used in the same way) hair. And then quickly horrified at his reliance on that standby, boyish charm. I am strongly prejudiced against boyish charm when it is the prop and stay of a man's relationships (but not necessarily boyish charms). Develop some substance! Anyway, my disenchantment hit before enchantment even had a chance to start, like in -2 seconds.

So I was astonished to find that one of my more irascible coworkers had a death defying (he's that unrealistically optimistic) crush on Hugh. She said she would go to any meeting he's in, and would take notes or tape it when he presents. I have had the misfortune of seeing his presentations, and organize many meetings he participates in, I would rather lose my one remaining baby tooth than go.

And here is a great story about a great story. I was riding the shuttle home one day with Hugh and another coworker. They decided to try to tell me a tale about a conference they had gone to in October. One of the evenings they had gone out in a large group drinking and dancing. Apparently Hugh is a Dancing Fiend, so talented that another attendee, some random woman he had never met, could no longer resist and tore his shirt right off, popping the buttons down the front. But the best part about the story was his insistence on reenacting it in the aisle way for everyone else on the shuttle. When he got to the ripping bit, he tugged so hard on his shirt he nearly did lose a button. I averted my eyes. After all, I am young and impressionable.

Ok, young and jaded is the official verdict, but no one deserves to see that.

And I'm not saying that Hugh is a flaming idiot. yet.

Not your chem class Eyewash

When you think Eyewash, what crosses your twisted mind? Those stations in chem class in case some idiot decides to apply the acid to his eye? Some backwards person referring to saline solution for contacts? Or is your mind really twisted and in the field of PR, and knowing that Eyewash is a very technical term for what basically amounts to professional sideshows to avoid real issues.

It's like politics, when you see them kissing babies and cutting ribbons. Especially if either event takes place when the politician is trying to avoid dealing with an important issue or is evading a troublesome question. Eyewash.

A picture is worth a thousand words, or even more when it allows you to dodge the fact that you still don't have the answer to the question that the public has been asking you for months. "Oh!! Pretty picture . . . I forgot what I was thinking that might delay your project or absolutely throw a spanner into the works." I am not clear on how well it works.

Often food accompanies it. Nothing says 'we will lull you into complacency' like chevre and other goodies. If you have money, add wine to the menu and watch the descending hordes forget that they ever had a quibble with what you're not saying. But of nearly as distracting quality is a good dessert. Make sure there is plenty of food, but don't set it all out at once. disguising the bounty of the refreshment table will lead to competitive consumers, and in the grip of the fight for the last multi grained cracker, the people will forget that they came to do anything besides box out at the buffet. Then the surge of endorphins the loser receives when you unveil the second platter will also contribute to your cause. Edible Eyewash. Yummy.

Question: Is Eyewash(ing) an ethical practice? I hesitate to answer yes or no. I think it needs to take into account the depth and frequency of the practice. If, say, you are required to hold 5 public meetings and only 1 or 1.73 of them are eyewash, not so bad. It could be that the answers to the probing questions were not yet available. If every meeting has some eyewash and some truth, it's in the gray area of the gray area. But if all 5 are Eyewash-y enough to qualify for FDA labeling, then you are lying to people by gross omission.

These are the things I learn at work, mainly in the execution of Project Negative Value. But don't limit its application to hopeless endeavors. Please, feel free to use it for

• Board meetings (The bottom line is that our budget is not going to break eve . . . Who did the graphics in this powerpoint? I love that dancing guy in the corner. He's hilarious),
  
• Family gatherings (So Honey, when are you going to settle down and marry hi . . . ohh look, brownie bites! And where ever did you get this darling purse? It matches your eyes),
• Meetings with your boss
  
• IRS Audits
• When your girlfriend is pressuring you
• etc.

I hope this empowers you to forsake your qualms about not answering a question and to dodge, duck, evade, and avoid with flair. May the Ends be worthy of this fine Means.

It's a Village People sighting

What more fitting way to start the weekend of the infamous LGBT Pride Festival and Parade than having the "Queen" of the office haul in a collection of classic 45rpm records and putting them on the free table? I just spent 20 minutes perusing the offerings (very voluminous) and was impressed how prolific this spender was. Or maybe it just seems that way because my box of cds is at home and itunes cleverly disguises how much money I've blown on music.

I guess I missed that they were put out yesterday, and someone had already purloined all the Prince. Not that I would have taken it, but for sure those were some classic record labeling. Probably nearly as awesome as the David Lee Roth and Sheena Easton "True Blue" pressed on blue vinyl (we only discovered the color after I haphazardly. As previously reported, there was also a copy of the Village People's "Y.M.C.A." The unexpected bonus was Madonna's flung it to a coworker and it flew out of the packaging. The Brothers Gibb also made an appearance.

It was like a time capsule, one that isn't a rusted hunk of metal that disappoints viewers. I feel a new kinship with the 80s and late 70s. Now I need to make a plan on what to do with the two new copies of The Weather Girls "It's Raining Men." Ok, I confess I left them on the back table.

Your mission, which you should reject and run screaming the other way: Project Negative Value

When I joined this Ship of the Damned more than a year ago, my predecessor made fleeting mention to Project Negative Value as if it was a done deal. It turns out she too was infected with the pernicious optimism that has struck many a coworker in this institution.

For starters, she didn't call it by its proper name, she called it something more like "Daisies and ponies and cupcakes." But let me tell you. Even if you bought a tons of all three, it wouldn't be nearly as expensive or ridiculous as Project Negative Value. In fact, negative value is only one of the valuable phrases I've learnt in my position. The other key phrase is Eyewash, which will be dealt with separately.

Story: When I was younger and still residing in the bosom of my familial unit, my mother told me the cardinal rule of any contractual work is that you should automatically add 50% to the highest bid and assume that is the true cost. That's for work like getting that deck built. I am assuming that large institutional work type projects that involve for serious work would be 75-100% tack on estimate clause. But then again, I was never an optimist.

Cost and practicality were introduced to the project with the last four months or so. That's not fair, there were a couple people who always knew the score, despite the fact that the masses were apparently inhabiting a parallel universe. The savvy persons were told to keep quiet and stop raining on their parade of fools. Even with the recent smack of reality, the majority still maintains plausibility to the project. I am of the opinion that there is equal plausibility to bankruptcy in the near future.

It is as if the institution has arrived at the point that is similar to in the Wasteland: "What shall I do, whatever shall I do?" They are running around with their heads in the clouds and blithely unaware of the imminent danger posed by Project Negative Value. Or they are playing at this: millions have been spent and they refuse to admit they are throwing the money into the dirty water of the bay hand over fist, so they will soldier on in vain.

Project Negative Value Timeline

I got hit by a car!

Yesterday. In the parking lot of a bart station. and I have to say this: Just because you have a BMW does not mean you have the right of way, jerkface backing up without looking in the mirror. It does mean I am ten times more likely to sue you than I would a guy driving a Prius or Accord.

It was just a tap, which more annoyed me than anything. I bet it scared him to death. Good. I hit the car back, open palmed on the trunk, which resonated with a satisfying thunk and gave him a death-glare version 'I wish you will be put in that circle in the inferno with the tar and the demons with grappling hooks' and then went on.

Not the exact illustration I was looking for, but still, not an enviable fate. Courtesy of Sandro Botticelli





What, you say? This does not sound like me? True, usually I would have totally reamed the guy, but I really had to go to the bathroom, and I didn't feel like stopping a block from home to argue with an idiot. But next time, he better hope there isn't a next time.

All this time I was working?

Today I was talking to my boss (the one who is my titular boss at least) and it revealed something to me I never had realized. All I really need to do is a few token things and sit at my desk all day. He doesn't know what else I do, besides schedule his super-dull Meetings of Doom (Parts I and II). We were talking about how this one lady I work with was driving me nuts about planning a party for someone on their way out. Then it happened, he opens his mouth and says "Why is it bothering you? It's not like you're doing anything besides scheduling."

I tried to explain that I did more and went into details, but his eyes glazed over and I just barely refrained from beating him. Those of you who know me know this is somewhat miraculous. I then went to talk with my boss (the one I don't technically report to anymore, but who actually cares what I do) and she said, "good. Stop working so hard. Do more nothing."

So my new resolution is to stop and smell the roses. Read more ESPN. Take the online pirate quiz. Write more banal emails to vague acquaintances. Brush up my resume and apply for a job that expects more out of me than being a mannequin with a blackberry.

Curling for beginners

Oh, who doesn't love the Winter Olympics? I certainly do. And not just because I will always cherish fond memories of folding nearly 600 paper cranes for a dear friend's wedding in February of 2006 while watching the games. No, I love it because it inspires people to take up sports that seem so much more doable than synchronized swimming, such as curling.

I haven't actually ever curled (played curling, done it, whatever the proper term is). I am not trying to demean curling. There is a lot of strategy that goes into it. And having hefted a curling stone, I know it's not like tiddly-winks. But I have seen curling fever strike. Random people will decide to get together and opine strongly over how great a sport it is and how they have a yen to give it a go.

Be warned. Resist the urge. Curling is not for beginners. It is for people who feel at ease in icy situations. And it should never be attempted in the Workplace.

I know, because I have just watched my boss (Earnesto, let's call him) perform the equivalent of beginner's curling with office arrangements. Let's just say that one hopes that they way an office is set up has more to do with strategy than it does gratuitous movement and the random shifting of heavy objects. I mean, when does it make sense to split up a department and move an office just to move an office? This isn't Art for Art's sake. It's a workplace.

Until now, when it is the office version of curling for beginners.

Name that Buzz Word

For purely archival and amusing purposes, I thought I would share with you the notes I took during the All-Staff meeting that took place on Friday. (I admit to exchanging snarky notes with my colleague who is a cynic/internet dater. Are the two things compatible?)

• Oh, program plans: Evolutionary, not revolutionary. Wonder how long it took him to think of that.
• Name some names! Name Names! Dish!
• I bet you serious money that he says "Creative Engines" (he did, twice, along with the new precious derivative, Creative Engineering)
• Labor lending kept through the next budget year, or until we bring in someone else who can come up with a replacement plan. Maybe forever.
• Management Team: Determines institutional priorities, strategy, responsible for budget reconciliation, new policy APPROVAL, and Delegated Ad-Hoc Decision Making (Earnesto loves the phrase Ad-Hoc. I bet he is dying to work in quid pro quo and other handy Latin.)
• He wants to be the Scientific Godfather!
  
• Guideline relationship (this just reminds me of a story I heard when some rock star wanted to sleep with an under aged girl, so he talked her parents into making him her guardian, and legalizing the whole thing, because of course he approved the sex. That's what the guideline relationship equates, in my mind)
• Pan-Institutional
• Audience Oriented

One hour, One makeover of an entire major organization, and one serious waste of time.

And the Spurs Win!

One miserable day in April, I had to go to a baseball game for work. It's a long story, but for me, it was terrible (akin to being in the Inferno at the level where you are in the giant Iron robes walking around and being roasted). And at the game a fellow tried to point out that a fan is someone who loves a sport; someone whole loves only one team in a sport is a fanatic. And when it comes to NBA basketball, I am a Spurs fanatic. But I also like to think I am a fan of basketball.

And Thursday was a victory for both. With the Spurs winning the championship, my life reached a happy point only exceeded by the time they won it in 2003 on Father's day for David Robinson to retire in style. I loved the whole world (except for Anderson Varejao for being outrageously overrated). For one brief "shining moment" I even didn't want to beat down Eva Longoria for being so ridiculous and having dated J. C. Chasez at the same time she dated Tony (there is no excuse).

Don't tell me that anything detracts from this. Don't talk to me about suspensions and fixing the playoffs. I think that's a lot of sour grapes from Fanatics from other teams. How long must we suffer the whining of Knicks and Celtics fanatics before we realize that just because at one point in time they were great does no entitle them to greatness in perpetuity? I have less sympathy for them than those people who have never reached the elite level.

If you are fans for the sport, then you will accept that the best team won, and they proved they were the best by winning 16 games they had to win, closing out games, having discipline, and otherwise "kickin' them while they're down." The Spurs are not boring. The Spurs didn't break basketball. That was the fanatic.

Really, what you know is if you were a fan you would know that a good solid rebound is great, no matter the uniform. You would appreciate the fact that 82 (I think that is what someone said on the telecast) year-old Robert Horry threw down a fabulous Game 3. You would not write-off the Spurs as what is wrong with Basketball.

Do you really want to know why people like March madness soooo much. Because in general, it is full of 64 teams that you don't have fanatical tendencies towards. How many of us are actually invested in Xavier? No, it is a chance to bet, and watch games without a bunch a bias and be a fan.


So I will wait until October/ November and watch every game on TV next year, and Tivo the Spurs, and in the end, I will be watching the Finals, even if the Spurs by some really twisted reason are not in them. But, if that is the case, know also that the fanatic inside of me is spending the timeouts constructing an effigy of the team that beat the Spurs, and will be burning it during the 3rd quarter break.

But this year, I got what I wanted!! Spurs Win!

That's Hugh to you, part 1

On the final leg of my morning commute, I was seated on the shuttle, which was stopped due to the MUNI bus blocking us in temporarily, when Hugh came pounding on the door like a man being chased by the very hounds of hell. Hugh was referenced in an earlier post about creative engines as the principle perpetuator of the term.

Hugh is not his name, as you might imagine, I try to avoid libel charges in all my hobbies and timekills. But thanks to his tremendously skilled floppy hair, it is the name he will be known on the records of this blog. As a senior staff member, he is someone I interact with on a fairly regular basis. He reminds me of a puppy, one who, when he gets really excited, wets himself. Not that Hugh does. But when in comes to boyish belief structures and faith, he wins the Oscar.

Anyway, to continue the story, Hugh loped onto the bus with his usually irrepressible bounce. He gave me a big goofy smile, and I commented on his ability to make everything a production. Then I retreated behind the sonic wall of my ipod. Not a wonderful story. But what I wanted to comment on was that his hair seems to have regained its previous aggressive flop.

Because there is a difference between Hugh's floppy follicles and those of the average fellow. Hugh's hair seems to be able to convey his overall emotional state. Usually it has a jauntiness to it. However, in March - May his hair flopped feebly, telegraphing his distress at being confronted with the cruel reality that lay behind his pet project at work. The project willed be referred to as Negative Value to maintain confidentiality for work purposes.

As the name indicates, the reality behind Project Negative Value was not a friendly one, and in response to that Hugh's hair deflated into a lifeless rag. He also turned this funny gray/ashen hue that made me wonder if I needed to call in paramedics during some of the Meetings of DOOM.

We are please to report that now, both Hair and Hugh are doing well. (Volumizing Gel?)