Group hug, anyone?

After the unnecessary roadtrip into the realm of crunchy bedsheets on Tuesday and Wednesday, we were dropped into a strategic planning meeting. It was held off-site on Thursday. Knowing where you’re going is important, and a critical part of my job is to guide investment strategy decisions.

Under a prior organizational regime, this was a vile, evil multi-functional process, consisting of two consecutive weeks of Power Point Poisoning, no written documentation, confused and often conflicting purpose (including annual data-collection, program execution evaluation in addition to strategic planning). Dozens of individuals were derailed from actual work to support “chart making” – both the compulsory charts and those used in the freestyle portion of the competition* for resources.

The architect of the new, improved process is none other than the Chief of Operations – and organizational goose slayer - my friend T.  Since the new process is streamlined and focused, it is tying up far fewer human resources. There were many people** who were apparently miffed at being “left out” of the process.

The day before the big meeting, T shipped an e-mail with logistics for the planning session to those involved.  With more patience than i could muster on my best day - soaking in a tub with vicodin and chocolate - he included the following:

ATTENDEES – Division Chiefs, Portfolio Managers, and a few staff members are the only invitees to the Thursday, 8 May meeting. The Portfolio Managers and a few additional players might be asked to come in on Friday, 9 May. Div Chiefs/Deputies, please be sure other division personnel (such as your Technical Directors, Branch Technical Advisors) know that while they are still cherished members of our team they are not needed for this particular meeting.

* i’ve considered sponsoring an annual event known as “The Program Management Olympics” — and one key challenge is to present information to an unknown audience, using materials prepared by someone else… No doubt, i’d be a gold medalist…

** These are, by the way, many of the same people who whined endlessly about having to do the old process…

How To Get Fired, Part 9

 

On the drive back from Cornhole, TN yesterday, i had an opportunity to share office gossip compare notes with MP, the one colleague* also conscripted for this particular business trip that i was willing to allow in the rental car with me - which i’d rented solely to avoid the Van Full O’Dorks**. 

 

Racing from the meeting at 4:00 pm, our mission was to cover the 300-ish miles in the shortest amount of time possible – and being slightly competitive, i wanted to be the first of the four returning vehicles to make it back.  We left our meeting site a few minutes after the “Executive Car”, driven by The Director, and carrying The Chief Scientist, and P, the Executive Fart-catcher and idiot-boy responsible for trip logistics.  Doing over 80 mph in my rental car*** i expected to pass the Executive Car after the first hour, but we didn’t see them.

 

MP decides to send a text to P – asking their location so we could determine how close we were…  The response told us that they were at least 30 miles behind us!  Not only was i driving faster, but i’d taken a more efficient route back to the highway, and we’d been ahead of them from the outset.

 

Rather than leave it there, MP sends a note to P – “Then that was your car back at the Adult World Sex Superstore” a few miles back…  What did you buy?”****

 

 _________

 

* She’s normal - just like i am.  Yeah, and “normal” as in “twisted, dark, and real”… single Mom, tons of fun.  Works hard, has a life outside the office, and likes beer and trash talk as much as I do.

 

** Generally very nice people.  Kind, thoughtful people.  People who would not be comfortable with my “highway language”, which includes gems such as “Get out of the left lane, you dyslexic motherfucker!” and “Jesus Rock Climbing Christ, where did you learn to drive?” 

*** Cheapest available make/model? An Oscar Meyer Wiener-mobile (aka - “Chevy Aveo”).  Tiny, cheap and shaky above 70 mph.  Top speed tested?  90 mph on the downside of a mountain.  Thought the doors were going to blow off…

 **** Regarding the “getting fired part” - we found out today that P had been reading our messages out loud to The Director and The Chief Scientist.  We also found out today that at least the Chief Scientist found it hysterically funny…

Kicking ‘bot

Last weekend i attended a high school “Battle Bot” competition.  In case you’ve not heard of the Battle Bots, there are some nice examples to be found here, and video from the televised version here.  This is a great way to spend a Saturday afternoon if you are a lifeless geek want to support enterprising students - and see remote-controlled weaponized mini-tanks knock the shit out of each other.

We arrived* in time for the finals, a single elimination tournament pairing up winners from the morning prelim competition.  Sitting ringside, the battles raged a few feet from in front of us - we were protected only by a wall of plexiglass.  Techno-music blared as the competitors lined up their ‘bots, grasped the remote control consoles and buzzed forward into battle.

Had i been on the parental organizing team, i would have been the mother in the back, raising funds through illegal wagers.  The students were brilliant - teams from each school wearing matching shirts and safety goggles (of course) when nearing the arena.  i was blown away by the sophistication of the design and construction!  This was big, sparking, noisy fun!

Given my bug-eyed, salivating fascination obvious engagement in the festivities, my companion suggested that i sponsor my own renegade team next year.  Fabulous idea!  i set to work planning my approach!

The team would be enhanced through diversity - i could bring more of the general student body into the process, using students from band, music and theater.  Our ‘bot would be a much more refined ‘bot than the nasty, brutish things - a ‘bot about town!  Perhaps wearing fashionable gear, color coordinated weapons and performing to Broadway show tunes instead of techno or death metal. 

My student competitors would be wearing costumes from the theater department - perhaps with an Elizibethan theme one year, and a 1950’s sock hop theme the next.  Students from the culinary arts program would be brought in to provide catering for our team, and the cosmetology crew would provide spa services.  Competition is tough, and students would need nourishment and relaxation… Bringing a full service support staff teaches a valuable lesson in strategic thinking!

My friend pointed out that this team would instantaneously become the target of ridicule for every other team.  “Precisely!” i answered!  Which means they’d never see it coming when the fluffy ‘bot facade melted away, revealing a titanium and kevlar “death ‘bot”, shooting flames and sharpened projectiles at the unprepared lesser-bots.  Along the lines of the parade float in Animal House, the “lady ‘bot” would mercilessly destroy all comers - and perhaps bust up a few stereotypes along the way!

Fuzzy cell phone shot of arena - during the six ‘bot “rumble” - a grudge match among those who’d lost in the early rounds!  Shame you can’t see the smoke and sparks flying…

________________

* Much to my surprise, we were the only people in attendance not parenting one of the competitors.  Equally surprised we weren’t arrested for being stalker/molesters…  And yes, it’s kind of an odd date, but it works for me…  

You’ve got to be kidding?

If it’s May, then i’m on the road.  Yet another unnecessary business trip - this one, mandated by The Director for the eight of us with the common job function.  This trip, while of interest, was not time critical.  Given that the eight of us have a rather important product due on Thursday, the timing was pure shit.  Given that this trip requires driving - 300 miles away, with no direct air service - it ends up being two days out of the office.  We won’t return home until late Wednesday… and product delivery starts at 8:00 am Thursday.

The trip was orchestrated by a senior manager, P, who didn’t share our view that this trip wasn’t time critical.  The Director and our Chief Scientist are also along for the visit.  Vans were hired, drivers assigned, and the big ol’ group-grope was underway.

Not feeling particularly sociable, i sneakily made my own arrangements and hired a car.  Told the rest of the group that i’d join them there.  One other woman shares my general world view, and i offered her the chance to avoid the van.  She was grateful, and accepted…

We had a great drive, making amazing time and sharing hardcore work gossip office intelligence along the way.  Arriving at the hotel?  A somewhat run down Days Inn* - a ’park-at-your-door’ place, adjacent to a decent Hampton Inn, and across the street from a lovely Doubletree Hotel.  i had to double check to make sure i had the right place, where P had booked a block of rooms for the 15 travelers.

Confirming the disaster ahead, we checked in, and were a bit incredulous at the quality of the hotel - a place that i would gladly stay at if i were traveling on my own, but NOT a place i want to be on an unwelcome (and inappropriately mandated) business trip.

After a quick inspection of the rooms, we hightailed it for the nearest drinking establishment.  We sent an e-mail to P - ”Have you arrived yet?” and he wrote back “Yes, we’re just preparing to head to dinner.  If you’d like to join us, meet outside the hotel”.  i wrote back:  Are you staying at the “park at your door, bring your own sheets, smoke-filled place, or are you at a hotel with real glasses in the bathroom?”.

No response.

We then hoofed it across the parking lot to meet the departing dinner crew… after just two beers and some unbridled outrage, i was pretty lit, and immediately hit P with “You are TOTALLY going to have to smell my sheets, Sir”.  Just as The Director appeared.  My companion said the look on his face was precious!  We had some more “you can’t be serious” discussion, but once i’d confirmed that P and the senior folks were also staying at the same venue, we let them go… 

Oh, and the fact that we were still carrying bottles of beer from the bar?  Probably didn’t go unnoticed.

We wandered across the street and found a nice bar at the Doubletree.  Glass elevators?  Wow.  While knocking back more beer, we sent the e-mail to The Director and Chief Scientist:

Sirs,

We have indeed confirmed a suitable team-building venue exists at the Doubletree Hotel, should you care to join us after dinner.  It’s left to your discretion as to whether to invite P…”. 

Very respectfully,

daisyfae

I copied P… but only at the suggestion of my colleague.   Getting no response, i vaguely wondered if i hadn’t done a little career Hari Kari…

Ater the drink fest, we stumbled back across the street, and ran into some of the other folks who’d been at dinner.  They said that the e-mail was received and both The Director and Chief Scientist snorted appropriately.  As did P.  And once again, i have delayed avoided termination…

_________

* But unlike the Hilton at Tysons Corner, the Days Inn in Cornhole, TN has GREAT wireless.  For $69.00/night.  Amazing….

dignity. and the loss thereof…

A conversation from the past.  Almost a decade ago… Dad was well into chemo, fighting the losing battle against colon cancer.

Mom: We need to stop at the store.  Dad needs more diapers.

daisyfae: The are undergarments, Mom.  Please call them undergarments.

Mom: Well, he calls them his diapers… he doesn’t seem to mind.

daisyfae: i don’t care if he names them after jazz singers, or wants to write the days of the week on them with a marker.  They are undergarments.  We should refer to them as undergarments…

A losing battle. She never really understood my point.  Perhaps not very important in the big picture.  But it is always worthwhile to fight for the dignity of those you love.

__________

A remarkable story from MdW this triggered another buried memory.  Funny how that works, isn’t it? 

And for my next trick…

With two vacations planned to Spanish-speaking countries this year, i want to gain at least a working knowledge of the language prior to departure.  Knowing that i will not commit the time, effort or resources required to do it right, i did what every boneheaded traveler does - went right for the shiny-pretty-easy language CD’s at the bookstore.

“Learn Spanish In Your Car” - hey, that’s a great idea!  My time in the car is usually wasted doing things like sending e-mail, talking on the phone - sometimes even driving.  Why not add language training to the mix?

With several business trips during the month of May, not to mention many hours in the car driving to/from The Park when Mom has surgery mid-month, it seemed to be worth a try.  I’ve studied French - am conversant*, but not fluent.  I generally think it’s polite to learn at least a few basic phrases before visiting a country.  Perhaps automotive exposure will be enough?

Stay tuned for updates.  In the meantime, i’m looking for more “EZ” approaches to the acquisition of difficult skills.  Perhaps i can find “Teach Monkeys To Fly From Your Ass While Doing Laundry”?

* My definition of “conversant” involves hand gestures, repeating myself slowly and pointing at nearby objects.  i can generally ‘transmit’ but not ‘receive’.  My greatest linguistic achievement?  At an international conference in Lyon, France a few years back, i was the final speaker at a conference - inviting the attendees to the next event, to be held in the U.S. two years later.  Since this was in the midst of the crazy “Freedom Fry” French-hating frenzy, i decided to do the speech first in French, then in English.  With the help of locals, i was able to polish my delivery enough to avoid an international incident.  The phrase “Rifle-dropping, Cheese-eating Surrender-Monkeys” didn’t make the cut.  My dawg-boy drinking and whoring buddies colleagues from the U.S. were astonished that i appeared to be bilingual.**

**  And of course, my immature, sexually stunted friends turned that into endless sophomoric jokes about lesbitarianism… which is why these particular dawg-boys are my friends!***

*** Footnotes upon footnotes?  Certainly this violates some rule about form and function somewhere.  Arrest me…

Stormy weather

With quiet anxiety i sit at my departure gate at Dulles Airport.  It’s a Friday. Rush hour.  Massive storms through the midwest have begun the magic game of Air Traffic Dominos that can cause horrific air-travel cluster fucks. 

Snuggled in a corner, i’ve staked out my position* - and am prepared for a long night.  I’ve got electrons - sitting by one of the coveted electrical plugs in this particular terminal.  Bought a wireless day pass, with an honest-to-god SIGNAL so i’ve got solid connectivity.  Watching the line at customer service grow as the departure board begins to light up with more delays. 

So i do the work e-mail.  Read the news.  Fart around in the blogosphere.  And watch the weather radar while tracking flight status online.  By all rights, it should be a pretty grim chance that the flight will go on time due to weather.  Yet it’s still showing an on-time departure, and the plane that will potentially carry me home is at the gate and unloaded…

But, since my creature comforts at the airport are good, The Girl is home to take care of the dog if i’m delayed, and i really don’t have to be anywhere tonight?  This will be the one random shot where the flight goes on time, i’m not stranded, and the planets align for me…

Could it be a magical gift from the travel gods? Repayment for all of those times i’ve slept under rows of uncomfortable benches, bathed in restroom sinks and worn the same clothing for days on end due to travel glitches?  And i didn’t even have to offer a sacrifice at the airport chapel….

* Finding the ideal camping spot in an airport is yet another acquired travel skill.  Near the gate podium, so you can overhear idle chatter amongst crew, gate agents.  Line-of-sight to a departure board so you can watch for updates without disconnecting electronics and abandoning luggage.  Avoidance of insurance salesmen looking for love, small, tired children and cell-phone yakkers…

Calling tech support

On the road still again.  Tonight?  In a major city that might be the capital of a large North American country.  Staying in an upscale hotel, that might be somehow related to a skanky celebu-tard known to appear in night-vision pornography. 

You’d think they could get their fucking internet to work…

i called the front desk, after attempting to connect for over an hour with an intermittent wireless connection.  Front desk clerk helpfully handed me off to the tech support line for their internet provider.  In Bangalore.  A wonderfully helpful technician, who quickly realized that i was not an imbecile, suggested i call the front desk and ask for a wireless bridge to get a stronger signal.

Without screaming, i did so, and the front desk clerk helpfully offered to have a bridge sent to my room.

Smiling sweetly as the bellman delivered the bridge - 30 minutes later - i was able to get a box full of random wires and electronic gonads connected properly.  And yet was still unable to get a signal that stayed connected for more than 20 seconds at a time.

Inspired by two women of class and restraint (annie and awalkabout) at no time did i scream SUCK MY DISEASE-RIDDLED SCROTAL SACK, YOU WORTHLESS TECHNO-BAGS OF SHIT!  Although i thought about it several times.  Despite the fact that i have been awake since 3:45 am in order to catch a flight at 6:00 am to get to a meeting by 8:30 am that i don’t really need to attend, i’m trying to do a better job with my anger management than i did yesterday morning.

Instead?  i took some of my frustrations out on a wooden coat hanger in the closet.  One of those nice ones that can actually be removed from the rod… and i wrenched the metal crossbar from the wood.  And being a good little nerd-ette, i have managed to fashion a rather nifty antenna from it. 

Weak, but stable signal.

Geeks rock. 

The Hilton in Tysons Corner, Virginia?  Not so much.

It’s a good thing…

My relatively new boss has a sense of humor, and just perhaps understands redneck women…

Frazzled and sleep deprived at my desk this morning, i was halfway through the tempermental web-based process we use for making travel arrangements.  A four-day, two-city trip toward the end of the month, with enough options to require both hands on the keyboard and both active brain cells focused on the task at hand…

The boss stepped into the office at the most critical juncture in my travel preparation process — the moment i was about to hit the “accept” button.  This is the magical make-or-break point when you learn whether the system has arbitrarily hacked up an ether-loogie forcing you to start over, or you get a happy, smiling screen of success.

We all know this dance, and seeing what was on the screen in front of me, he waited quietly behind me as i did a last check for accuracy before pulling the lever on the “Travel Slot Machine”. 

Lemons. 

daisyfae:  “Suck. My. DICK!”*  i said it before thinking.  Took a breath.  Cringed.  Then turned around to face the boss, apologetic look on my face, knowing that it is possible to cross the line.  And perhaps i had just done so…

boss:  “Too much information!” while fighting back the grin… followed quickly with “Did you get the request from…”

He’s ok. 

____________

* Once, while dealing with a freakishly annoying series of asshole drivers, i directed this phrase toward another driver.  With my 16 year old son in the car.  He simply said “Um, Mom… That’s pretty freaky… Can you come up with something else?”

An alarming trend…

My daily lunch break provides respite from mind-numbing meetings, endless annoying interchanges with colleagues* and the general cacophony that is my day-to-day existence.  There has been a frightening trend of late - regularly scheduled “brown bag lunch” meetings - and i must take action.  Nine - ten hours without escape will destroy my remaining nerve.

My Friday two-hour drinking lunch has been replaced with a weekly “seminar” - mandatory persecution and torment professional development coursework.  This will continue through late November, unless the seminar group disbands in a fit of salivating rage at the injustice wrought from far above our pay grades.

Another “informal brown bagger”** has encroached on my Tuesday lunch hour… Within the organization, there are eight of us with a common job function.  Four of us fully comprehend what is expected of us.  The other four special needs children individuals argued for a weekly communal lunch - to “share best practices” and “develop common vision” - both phrases that strike fear in the heart of a burnt out, cynical seasoned professional. 

And the latest?  A Monday meeting, every other week, with a group of young, impressionable colleagues - where i am one of the old fucks “mentors” shaping their professional development, sharing hopes and dreams and imparting useful nuggets of wisdom from my playbook.  Seriously, do you expect me not to be cranky on Monday without a dirty martini in my hand?

The loss of my lunch hour is bad enough.  Even scarier?  Being too lazy disorganized to bring suitable food from home, i am at the mercy of our in-house cafeteria, lovingly named The Ptomaine Palace.  While the helpful tapeworm to assist me with my weight loss goals lurks in the pantry, i would like to avoid contracting something that will lead to a massive colon blow during an afternoon meeting.  There are some incidents in the workplace from which there is no recovery.

On a good day, i dive on the pre-packaged food - yogurt and fresh fruit are sometimes available if i get there early enough.  By mid-week the salad selection is somewhat dessicated - but will do if i’m in the mood for lettuce with the texture of old chewing gum.  The soup is always dicey - recycled lumps of mystery meat bobbing on the surface of grey broth nearly sweats dysentery.

For now there is only one option.  Get organized.  Pack that lunch.  And include a flask… i am supposed to be setting an example for the young ‘uns.  Being resourceful?  Priceless…

* An example?  The senior scientist who will appear in my doorway exactly one minute after i receive an e-mail from him.  He then says “I sent you an e-mail… ” and proceeds to tell me what was in it.  For thirty minutes.

** Not to be confused with at “tea-bagger”.  We have those too.  One particular supply closet is rumored to need weekly disinfection…