The news I have to share is both scary and exciting. After nine and a half years with the same company, I am moving on to a new adventure. I don't want to be too specific about what I've done and where I am going. I have spoke on occasion about my previous job and have even deleted some posts I felt were a bit too revealing or even inflammatory. You can never be too sure. Let's just say it was time to move on to something new.
Even with the new position, I don't want to paint a target on my back. I haven't officially started yet. LOL.
With that being said, I wish my former coworkers all the luck in the world. While I don't wish them to be there for a another ten years, I wish them to be there as long as they choose to. It's been a bittersweet last few days as I have looked back at a quarter of my life dedicated to one company. It's not the same as when I first walked in, green and dumb. I won't say it's better. I won't say it's worse. I will say that I didn't pull any ripcords or pop any emergency slides. I didn't go out like Jerry MaGuire and I didn't go out like Scarface from Half Baked. I spent the better part of today digging up old emails for people who wanted to relive the glory days of when I would come up with a funny top ten list or photoshopped someone's head onto someone else's body.
It's like cutting off my left arm. It's not my predominant limb but it's still very important and special to me. Even though I have the ability to grow it back, I don't know if it will work the same or be as good. I know that analogy makes no sense, but you get the idea. I'm stepping out of my comfort zone and taking a chance on doing something important with a risk of failure. I did the same thing with my last job but even if I would have failed, I probably had a better chance to retain my tenure. It's all new, now, and I have zero credibility.
So, until I get a feel for how well things will work... I'm adding double the drive time I had before... I may be taking a little hiatus, for now. If this is the end of my blog, so be it. I've had a great run even if I never achieved rock star status. I did this for me, no one else.
Thank you and here's to new beginnings.
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Showing posts with label corporate culture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label corporate culture. Show all posts
Friday, January 7, 2011
Friday, September 24, 2010
Parking Lot Dickery
As a self proclaimed prick I take pride in my acts of dickery. However, I at least try to do no harm. It’s all about the absurdity of a situation for me. What’s the one thing that could make an event turn completely on its axis and shoot off into another direction? Kind of like when Christ Pontius, on Jackass, would dress up like a Chippendale dancer and just show up somewhere. Most of my shenanigans are done for comedic effect and usually result in no one being hurt, especially me. And be relieved, no Speedos or thongs are involved. In any case, I was reminded of a particular stunt I pulled, soon after I began working at my current job, after a conversation with one of the people who witnessed it.
It was back in 2001 and our office was in the outskirts of Pittsburgh near the offices of WTAE Channel 4. It was a building that was used, not only by us, but by other companies so the parking lot was full of cars and parking was at a premium. Unfortunately, I was on a later shift since I had just started working there and since I didn’t have to be at work until 10:00 am, I was left with whatever parking space I could find. On the rare occasion that I had to come in for training or had the 11:30 to 8:00 shift, I was able to snag a nice space up front on the top level. I either was there before the rush of people or as those who went out for lunch had left. Parking on top was ideal because it was a short seven or eight steps from the ground while. Otherwise, I was forced to circle the lower level of the parking lot which was tight to maneuver. Luckily, I had a 97 Cavalier which didn’t take up too much space.
Pretty much everyone on my team was screwed because we handled West Coast customers and had that weird 10:00 AM to 6:30 PM shift. Our desks were right up against the window, so we could see all the lucky bastards who had earlier shifts leaving for the day. However, there was this one guy we couldn’t place. He must have worked for one of the other companies in the building because he was always leaving at 4:00. No one had those kind of hours where I was at. We didn’t care who he worked for, he was evil and needed to die for having a life. We sat our desks and when 4:00 hit we’d stare out at the parking lot and fire mind bullets at him.
It’s amazing how you can live vicariously through others just by watching the parking lot. There was the people who drove the big SUVs and we imagined they were upper middle class yuppies who had three kids in soccer and after school activities. This was all before 9-11 and life was different. People drove big cars and had big houses and didn’t think in ten years they’d be going through a recession and have to worry whether they still had a mortgage they could afford. Then there was the corvette that belonged to someone who didn’t have a job near important enough to actually own one. It was probably someone compensating for something or having a midlife crisis. But most intriguing was the person who parked far away from everyone else, usually towards the back of the parking lot. With everyone jockeying for prime parking spots, this person was bucking the trend and staying away from people. But why?
It wasn’t the soccer mom with the SUV. It wasn’t the corvette owner. It was a Pontiac Grand Am, for Pete’s sake. It didn’t even look brand new. It looked like a late 90s model. Who the hell owned this thing and felt it was so important that it had to be isolated from the possibility of being breathed on by other people? But all this speculation went away as 4:00 rolled around and our favorite mind bullet target appeared in the parking lot. Tall and skinny, he walked with a nerdy gait and carried a briefcase. Completing his look was a Member’s Only jacket that looked straight out of Burt Reynold’s 80’s collection. As he trotted up the steps he began to pass one row of cars. Then he passed another row. Oh my God! He’s the guy. He walked up to the Pontiac like he was approaching a King Cobra poised to strike. If he moved to fast, the slightest change in wind direction could cause it to age or something. That sealed it for me. In my best Jack Burton voice I said, “Son-of-a-bitch must pay!” [machine gun cock]
The next day I arrived at work to see my new best buddy, once again, parked at the back of the parking lot. I instantly made a bold move. I parked right next to him. There was even a real choice spot up in the front of the lot, next to the steps, but I didn’t care. I was going to be a dick for the sake of being a dick. This was one of my pet peeves. When someone thinks their car is so new and shiny and untouchable that they feel the need to park away from everyone I want to just key the damn thing. Worse yet is those who decide that they don’t want to park far away to prove their point so they take up two spots allowing for extra room on either side of their doors. I’ve always wanted to stop these people and say, “You know what? If you think your car is some inherent danger, you shouldn’t take it out of the garage.”
So, this situation was double jeopardy in that not only did this guy get to leave early, he feels his car is in danger and has to park far away. “Commence dickery,” I thought. I didn’t park right up against him, but close enough to his passenger’s side to give the illusion that I could ding his Pontiac, getting out. Of course, I was very careful in getting out of the car as to not actually hit it. Remember, no one gets hurt. It’s all about the illusion and absurdity. I do another little gag when I’m walking up towards our break room, which has all glass in the front that faces the hallway. When I see someone coming out and they aren’t paying attention to hall traffic, I slightly knock on the door and then hold my nose like I just got hit in the head. It usually gets a reaction of “OMG! I didn’t see you!” Which I let them believe they actually hurt me for like two more seconds then I let them in on the ruse. Like I said, I’m a dick but just for laughs.
After a long day of answering the phone I couldn’t wait until 4:00, even though, I had two and a half more hours to work. I had clued my coworkers into my dickery so we could all watch the show because while our mind bullet sniper sessions were great watching what happened next was priceless.
4:00 on the dot and ‘Member’s Only Man’ began his nerd walk. He made it up the steps and started towards the back of the lot and paused. The lot was half empty on top that day so there was no need to use the back row in the first place. But there my Cavalier was, snuggled up alongside his Grand Am. He took a few seconds and then approached the car. He seemed unsure as to what was happening but it was great to watch. We all laughed out loud at him when he stopped in his tracks. He got in his car and drove away and the joke was over. Or was it? Not by a long shot. He almost escaped. He almost got away unscathed but he made one fatal mistake.
The next day, when I arrived at work, I couldn’t help myself. Once again, the parking lot was half full and the perimeter spaces, along the wall of the lot, were all empty. As I made my way into the lot I saw Member’s Only Man parked on the opposite side, all alone. I couldn’t believe it. He moved. He actually moved because, the day before, I parked next to him. Unreal and opportunistic for me. Not only did I park next to him, again, I parked backwards so that my driver’s side door was facing his. Like before, I was careful not to hit his car, getting out.
4:00 rolled around and a larger crowd now gathered at the windows to watch the show. Nerd walk up to the lot. Pass by rows of cars. Stop dead in tracks. I could only imagine what was going through his mind. “Was this a trap? Is there someone with a camera watching? “ He started looking around the lot for someone, anyone watching from the bushes. He slowly walked up to his car. Now, usually, comedy comes in threes. But I was willing to end the joke right here and now to save on it becoming stale. However, you can’t write this stuff. Sometimes the jokes come right out of the situation and I was inspired to go at least one more day because he actually checked his door for dings. He was honestly afraid that I dinged his precious Pontiac. So, not only did I continue it one more day, I went the rest of the week.
I suspect that he was on to us because the next day he challenged me by not moving. He must have sensed that we would have to be watching him in order to continue carrying out the joke. Eventually, I got tired of parking far away and just ended it. But not before another co-worker joined in and parked on his other side on the third day. That was too funny. He tried to play off the reaction but it was obvious he was beginning to realize he was being made fun of for his parking choices. After that he started parking with everyone else and I felt satisfied in my attempt to be a dick for no reason.
I don’t know what happened to that guy and I’ve stopped doing things like that at work because I usually get in around 7:00 AM, which is before most people. I still see some, parking their shiny new status symbols far away from people, but we are also in a different building with only our company as tenants so it would be pretty easy to figure out who was doing the dickery. Still, it was fun while it lasted.
For those about to mock, we salute you.
It was back in 2001 and our office was in the outskirts of Pittsburgh near the offices of WTAE Channel 4. It was a building that was used, not only by us, but by other companies so the parking lot was full of cars and parking was at a premium. Unfortunately, I was on a later shift since I had just started working there and since I didn’t have to be at work until 10:00 am, I was left with whatever parking space I could find. On the rare occasion that I had to come in for training or had the 11:30 to 8:00 shift, I was able to snag a nice space up front on the top level. I either was there before the rush of people or as those who went out for lunch had left. Parking on top was ideal because it was a short seven or eight steps from the ground while. Otherwise, I was forced to circle the lower level of the parking lot which was tight to maneuver. Luckily, I had a 97 Cavalier which didn’t take up too much space.
Pretty much everyone on my team was screwed because we handled West Coast customers and had that weird 10:00 AM to 6:30 PM shift. Our desks were right up against the window, so we could see all the lucky bastards who had earlier shifts leaving for the day. However, there was this one guy we couldn’t place. He must have worked for one of the other companies in the building because he was always leaving at 4:00. No one had those kind of hours where I was at. We didn’t care who he worked for, he was evil and needed to die for having a life. We sat our desks and when 4:00 hit we’d stare out at the parking lot and fire mind bullets at him.
It’s amazing how you can live vicariously through others just by watching the parking lot. There was the people who drove the big SUVs and we imagined they were upper middle class yuppies who had three kids in soccer and after school activities. This was all before 9-11 and life was different. People drove big cars and had big houses and didn’t think in ten years they’d be going through a recession and have to worry whether they still had a mortgage they could afford. Then there was the corvette that belonged to someone who didn’t have a job near important enough to actually own one. It was probably someone compensating for something or having a midlife crisis. But most intriguing was the person who parked far away from everyone else, usually towards the back of the parking lot. With everyone jockeying for prime parking spots, this person was bucking the trend and staying away from people. But why?
It wasn’t the soccer mom with the SUV. It wasn’t the corvette owner. It was a Pontiac Grand Am, for Pete’s sake. It didn’t even look brand new. It looked like a late 90s model. Who the hell owned this thing and felt it was so important that it had to be isolated from the possibility of being breathed on by other people? But all this speculation went away as 4:00 rolled around and our favorite mind bullet target appeared in the parking lot. Tall and skinny, he walked with a nerdy gait and carried a briefcase. Completing his look was a Member’s Only jacket that looked straight out of Burt Reynold’s 80’s collection. As he trotted up the steps he began to pass one row of cars. Then he passed another row. Oh my God! He’s the guy. He walked up to the Pontiac like he was approaching a King Cobra poised to strike. If he moved to fast, the slightest change in wind direction could cause it to age or something. That sealed it for me. In my best Jack Burton voice I said, “Son-of-a-bitch must pay!” [machine gun cock]
The next day I arrived at work to see my new best buddy, once again, parked at the back of the parking lot. I instantly made a bold move. I parked right next to him. There was even a real choice spot up in the front of the lot, next to the steps, but I didn’t care. I was going to be a dick for the sake of being a dick. This was one of my pet peeves. When someone thinks their car is so new and shiny and untouchable that they feel the need to park away from everyone I want to just key the damn thing. Worse yet is those who decide that they don’t want to park far away to prove their point so they take up two spots allowing for extra room on either side of their doors. I’ve always wanted to stop these people and say, “You know what? If you think your car is some inherent danger, you shouldn’t take it out of the garage.”
So, this situation was double jeopardy in that not only did this guy get to leave early, he feels his car is in danger and has to park far away. “Commence dickery,” I thought. I didn’t park right up against him, but close enough to his passenger’s side to give the illusion that I could ding his Pontiac, getting out. Of course, I was very careful in getting out of the car as to not actually hit it. Remember, no one gets hurt. It’s all about the illusion and absurdity. I do another little gag when I’m walking up towards our break room, which has all glass in the front that faces the hallway. When I see someone coming out and they aren’t paying attention to hall traffic, I slightly knock on the door and then hold my nose like I just got hit in the head. It usually gets a reaction of “OMG! I didn’t see you!” Which I let them believe they actually hurt me for like two more seconds then I let them in on the ruse. Like I said, I’m a dick but just for laughs.
After a long day of answering the phone I couldn’t wait until 4:00, even though, I had two and a half more hours to work. I had clued my coworkers into my dickery so we could all watch the show because while our mind bullet sniper sessions were great watching what happened next was priceless.
4:00 on the dot and ‘Member’s Only Man’ began his nerd walk. He made it up the steps and started towards the back of the lot and paused. The lot was half empty on top that day so there was no need to use the back row in the first place. But there my Cavalier was, snuggled up alongside his Grand Am. He took a few seconds and then approached the car. He seemed unsure as to what was happening but it was great to watch. We all laughed out loud at him when he stopped in his tracks. He got in his car and drove away and the joke was over. Or was it? Not by a long shot. He almost escaped. He almost got away unscathed but he made one fatal mistake.
The next day, when I arrived at work, I couldn’t help myself. Once again, the parking lot was half full and the perimeter spaces, along the wall of the lot, were all empty. As I made my way into the lot I saw Member’s Only Man parked on the opposite side, all alone. I couldn’t believe it. He moved. He actually moved because, the day before, I parked next to him. Unreal and opportunistic for me. Not only did I park next to him, again, I parked backwards so that my driver’s side door was facing his. Like before, I was careful not to hit his car, getting out.
4:00 rolled around and a larger crowd now gathered at the windows to watch the show. Nerd walk up to the lot. Pass by rows of cars. Stop dead in tracks. I could only imagine what was going through his mind. “Was this a trap? Is there someone with a camera watching? “ He started looking around the lot for someone, anyone watching from the bushes. He slowly walked up to his car. Now, usually, comedy comes in threes. But I was willing to end the joke right here and now to save on it becoming stale. However, you can’t write this stuff. Sometimes the jokes come right out of the situation and I was inspired to go at least one more day because he actually checked his door for dings. He was honestly afraid that I dinged his precious Pontiac. So, not only did I continue it one more day, I went the rest of the week.
I suspect that he was on to us because the next day he challenged me by not moving. He must have sensed that we would have to be watching him in order to continue carrying out the joke. Eventually, I got tired of parking far away and just ended it. But not before another co-worker joined in and parked on his other side on the third day. That was too funny. He tried to play off the reaction but it was obvious he was beginning to realize he was being made fun of for his parking choices. After that he started parking with everyone else and I felt satisfied in my attempt to be a dick for no reason.
I don’t know what happened to that guy and I’ve stopped doing things like that at work because I usually get in around 7:00 AM, which is before most people. I still see some, parking their shiny new status symbols far away from people, but we are also in a different building with only our company as tenants so it would be pretty easy to figure out who was doing the dickery. Still, it was fun while it lasted.
For those about to mock, we salute you.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
MyBabysDay Makes My Baby's Day
They say "Mother" is the word for "God" on the lips of children. Although, sometimes, "Father" can translate to "Hero" in the eyes of a child. That's my job. Hero, protector, provider, example, especially in what not to do. It's hard to know what to do when your little one gets hurt or loses something. The last thing you want is for them to be sad or upset but at the same time you don't want to give them an unrealistic vision of what the world is like. I'm not saying sit a three old down and tell them to start studying for college entrance exams and putting away those pennies from Aunt Margie for retirement. I just mean that a kid needs to have a realistic sense of expectations. I learned this when my 11 month old daughter takes a toy or a piece of food while sitting in a high chair and drops over the side, looking to see if it hit the floor. Usually, I manage to catch it and put it back into her path of grasp. Sometimes it hits the floor and I have to say, "It's gone. It hit the floor and now it's dirty." You have to because sooner or later everything ends up in their mouth. I don't intend to take away the object forever, just until I can clean it. Well, except for food. We'll just get another one. However, not everything can be fixed. Broke is broke in the case of some objects. That's when the look of hurt and confusion really makes me get a knot in my throat. Recently, a knot was induced when one of my daughter's favorite toys was broke. It was nothing spectacular other than a miniature beach ball that was given to us.
It was a Saturday maybe two weeks to a month after she was born. We were on our usual Saturday morning breakfast trip to Bob Evans when a lady approached us. As a parent you tend to be wary of people approaching your child. It's a sad commentary on the times where even when you are with your kids you fear that someone will try something inappropriate or just downright sadistic. I try to be a little more optimistic but have my reflexes at the ready. This particular lady didn't set off any red flags in my mind. She merely commented on how adorable our little girl was, I take full credit on that, and gave us this little piece of schwag. For those of you have never heard of the word schwag, take a look at your pen. If it has a company or brand name on it, it's schwag. That coffee mug with some corporate logo, that's schwag. These promotional items that advertise a brand are like Levi jeans and Beatles albums to the Cold War era Russian people. They are inexpensive, but everyone scrambles to get one in the office when someone has them. This particular piece of promotional goodness had a website logo printed on it. http://www.mybabysday.com/. They are a quaint little business outside of Pittsburgh that developed a software program to help track a baby's daily activities. Anyone wondering why their little one is doing what their doing when they break out of their normal routine can find this software useful.
Often when someone offers you a promotional item it becomes more about the actual item than the advertisement. We forgot all about what was written on the beach ball and just loved the fact that our girl was batting it around the room and actually throwing it back and forth between us. She'd chase it around the floor and it's round and smooth texture would slip from her grasp and she'd laugh as it would scoot away from her. Then she would lower her head and charge off again after the ball. I think it was more of a joy to us to watch her play with it then it was for her. Unfortunately, a couple of weeks ago, disaster struck. It was during the Pittsburgh Penguins glorious win in Game 3 of the Stanley Cup finals here in Pittsburgh. We were all sitting on the floor watching the game and playing with the beach ball. It looked as if it needed a little more air so I picked it up and began to inflate it as the Penguins scored. I must have got excited and over inflated the ball because it began to deflate right in front of my daughter's eyes. She looked heart broken as she picked it up and looked at me. I was devastated. Her favorite toy and I had ruined it. She looked at me as if I had told her the truth about Santa Claus, The Easter Bunny, and then took away her puppy all at once. After she had gone to bed I grabbed the ball and decided that I wasn't going to let her down again......this month. I went to my computer and looked up the website on the ball. I sent a message pleading for help and within a week I had two beach balls in the mail. We'll keep one as a backup, well, because it's now Game 6 and I'm afraid I won't be able to control my excitement as the Penguins continue to hold on in the series.
The other I quickly inflated and walked up into our living room where my daughter was climbing all over her grandfather. She looked at me and saw what I had. She instantly smiled and scrunched up her nose in that all too familiar look that made me smile. She got down on the floor, I tossed the ball onto the carpet, and off she went leaving her Pappy to recover from the attack. She raced around the room batting the ball everywhere. Once again she was the gleefully playful child I always love her to be. This was all thanks to a hopeful plea and a piece of promotional material. So, thank you MyBabysDay. You made me a hero in my daughter's eyes once again. I don't suppose you brand ponies, do you? Her first birthday is coming up in a couple of months.
P.S. Let's go Pens.
It was a Saturday maybe two weeks to a month after she was born. We were on our usual Saturday morning breakfast trip to Bob Evans when a lady approached us. As a parent you tend to be wary of people approaching your child. It's a sad commentary on the times where even when you are with your kids you fear that someone will try something inappropriate or just downright sadistic. I try to be a little more optimistic but have my reflexes at the ready. This particular lady didn't set off any red flags in my mind. She merely commented on how adorable our little girl was, I take full credit on that, and gave us this little piece of schwag. For those of you have never heard of the word schwag, take a look at your pen. If it has a company or brand name on it, it's schwag. That coffee mug with some corporate logo, that's schwag. These promotional items that advertise a brand are like Levi jeans and Beatles albums to the Cold War era Russian people. They are inexpensive, but everyone scrambles to get one in the office when someone has them. This particular piece of promotional goodness had a website logo printed on it. http://www.mybabysday.com/. They are a quaint little business outside of Pittsburgh that developed a software program to help track a baby's daily activities. Anyone wondering why their little one is doing what their doing when they break out of their normal routine can find this software useful.
Often when someone offers you a promotional item it becomes more about the actual item than the advertisement. We forgot all about what was written on the beach ball and just loved the fact that our girl was batting it around the room and actually throwing it back and forth between us. She'd chase it around the floor and it's round and smooth texture would slip from her grasp and she'd laugh as it would scoot away from her. Then she would lower her head and charge off again after the ball. I think it was more of a joy to us to watch her play with it then it was for her. Unfortunately, a couple of weeks ago, disaster struck. It was during the Pittsburgh Penguins glorious win in Game 3 of the Stanley Cup finals here in Pittsburgh. We were all sitting on the floor watching the game and playing with the beach ball. It looked as if it needed a little more air so I picked it up and began to inflate it as the Penguins scored. I must have got excited and over inflated the ball because it began to deflate right in front of my daughter's eyes. She looked heart broken as she picked it up and looked at me. I was devastated. Her favorite toy and I had ruined it. She looked at me as if I had told her the truth about Santa Claus, The Easter Bunny, and then took away her puppy all at once. After she had gone to bed I grabbed the ball and decided that I wasn't going to let her down again......this month. I went to my computer and looked up the website on the ball. I sent a message pleading for help and within a week I had two beach balls in the mail. We'll keep one as a backup, well, because it's now Game 6 and I'm afraid I won't be able to control my excitement as the Penguins continue to hold on in the series.
The other I quickly inflated and walked up into our living room where my daughter was climbing all over her grandfather. She looked at me and saw what I had. She instantly smiled and scrunched up her nose in that all too familiar look that made me smile. She got down on the floor, I tossed the ball onto the carpet, and off she went leaving her Pappy to recover from the attack. She raced around the room batting the ball everywhere. Once again she was the gleefully playful child I always love her to be. This was all thanks to a hopeful plea and a piece of promotional material. So, thank you MyBabysDay. You made me a hero in my daughter's eyes once again. I don't suppose you brand ponies, do you? Her first birthday is coming up in a couple of months.
P.S. Let's go Pens.
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