the art of wooing women

There's a girl in our office who prides herself on being up on all of the modern lingo. She's young and highly enjoys throwing around the 'hip' terms that all of the 'in' kids are using. I'd give some examples, but alas, I rarely know what the hell the girl is talking about.

Today, however, she told me that during her break, a new guy named David was talking to her. "Last Friday, I stayed up coding with my boys."

She started to panic, quickly exhausting her impressive stored vocabulary of modern terminology...and she had no idea what the guy was talking about.

Was this a gang thing?

Were they scoping out women?

Was this some type of drug terminology?

She told me that she just didn't know and that she was getting a complex, fearing that she was no longer cool.

"Yeah," David continued, puffing out his chest and briefly pausing to let his attempts at impressing her sink in, "my buddies and me stayed up all Friday night doing some computer programming."

Containing her laughter, she was barely able to excuse herself and rush out of the break room.

And sadly, another computer geek goes down in flames in his attempts to woo women with his Java and C+ skills.

a summary of the week thus far

Monday: Uncovered an unhappy client. My idiot boss, who views my job more as ‘professional tattletale’ rather than ‘manager of customer service’ was ready to fire the unlucky account manager. The complaint from the client, though, had more to deal with the crappy system that my boss has set up than with the account manager. So I stuck up for the account manager on this one.

Tuesday: Called in ‘sick’ from work. My illness? A job interview with another company.

Wednesday: First thing in the morning I’m called into the old twit’s office. “You know,” she told me, “after seeing how you stuck up for the account manager on Monday made me realize that putting you in this position was not a good idea. You have too many ‘attachments’ to the folks ‘downstairs’. So effective Monday, I’m demoting you back down to doing background checks. You’ve done a good job, I just don’t feel that you are what I need in this role,”…because, of course, what she needs is a stool pigeon…”Therefore, I’ve offered your job to Nancy and she has accepted.”

“You offered my job to someone without discussing this with me first?” I asked, rather pissed off that my job would not just be offered up but accepted by someone without being told first that my job was no longer mine.

“I thought it was for the best,” the evil, vile, old twit said, “so on Friday, you will be training your replacement Nancy. She will be getting a raise and I will be giving her an assistant to work under her,”…nothing like rubbing salt into the wound, you know? But she didn’t stop there…”now, if you’d like to make a bid to be Nancy’s assistant, you’re more than welcome to do so.”

Mouth agape, I said, “you’ve got to be kidding? You think I’m going to apply to be the assistant to the job that I’m currently holding?”

To which the old twit said, “well, I guess that would be kind of silly, wouldn’t it?”

So, in the course of three days, I’ve been demoted and told that my replacement…who I will be training to do the same job I did…will have an assistant, be making more money than I was, and will probably be getting my choice parking spot. All this crap packed into only three days! And just think, I still have two days left in the week…boy, I just can’t wait to see how much crappier things will get!

Either way, tomorrow I plan on doing a lot of praying, finger crossing, and rubbing of a lucky rabbit’s foot all while searching for a four-leaf clover that the job interview I had on Tuesday will come through. Because there’s nothing to improve a crappy week than getting to tell your crappy boss to stuff her crappy job up her crappy ass.

dental economics

I just got back from the dentist’s office, and I always find myself torn between two ways of thinking before every visit. On the one hand, I want to get out of there fast. This means that right before going, I brush and floss like the world’s most dentally conscious person. Not to brag, but I truly do put on an Olympic performance of oral hygiene. This way, after a few scraps and a polishing, I’m done. Minimal time. Minimal commitment. Just the way I like my dental visits.

On the other hand, by doing this I’m really not getting my moneys worth. For an x-ray and a couple of scrapes (and a free toothbrush, which I weaseled out of the dentist today) they charge an awful lot for what seems to be very little work. Sure they have to dig around in people’s mouths, but whose choice was this? Don’t ask me to feel sympathy when you’re the one that decided a career of cleaning out past lunches from people’s mouths sounded like a good way to spend the hours between nine and five. So I often feel like, right before going to the dentist, stopping at McDonald’s and getting a super-sized combo meal…Big Mac, large fries, a tooth-rotting soft drink, and an apple pie. At least this way, I’ll be getting top dollar for my dental appointment. The downside to getting the most value for my money, though, is increased time in that chair while the dentist scrapes and drills away. The increased time spent spitting and stuck with that little suction tube hanging out of my mouth isn’t a whole lot of fun either.

In the long run, I opted for the quick…and less painful…visit. True, I didn’t get the best deal possible, but I’m pretty satisfied with my choice. I waited until afterwards to chow down on a Big Mac. Money-wise, I lost. But there’s a certain satisfaction in knowing that I just ruined all of my dentist’s handiwork.

i think that i've just been demoted

So today is the day that the new office manager began her career at the office. A few of us took up a poll during lunch as to how long we thought she would last. She's from out of state, having moved up here thinking that this was a 'career' opportunity. When she realizes that the old twit who owns the place is a complete nimrod and fires people whenever the whim hits her, we're all thinking that she'll move back to more familiar waters. I've chosen the three week mark.

So, as the old twit owner is giving the new office manager a 'tour' of the place, she comes across my cube and introduces me as 'Mario's assistant'...Mario is the Sales Manager...and left me thinking, 'what the hell is this f#cking sh#t all about!?' First off, Mario is one of the laziest bastards I know. But more importantly, I'm not this guy's assistant. She 'promoted' me and gave me the title, 'Manager of Customer and Sales Support', which, in my mind at least, is not even remotely close to, 'Mario's Assistant'. The previous title makes me sound at least somewhat respectable. The latter makes me sound like some big haired, blond floozy with huge fake breasts who's main responsibility is answering the phone and ordering pastramis on rye for Mario's lunch.

Now, I realize that the old twit who runs the place is really into demoralization in a major way...her whole business is run on this very principle...but still, if she thinks that this job title she told to the new office manager is synonymous with the one I originally agreed to...I'm going to have to serious start re-evaluating my employment here. More so than I already have been, that is.

Besides, after working as 'Mario's Assistant', how much of a drop in prestige would it really be to go from that title to 'Burger Flipper' or 'Lawn Mower Guy' or even 'Elephant Excrement Remover'?

what the hell is wrong with these people?!

The people that I am referring to are the folks at Adelphia Cable. This was the phone call I had with one of their representatives today on the phone...

Me: "I just recently moved into a new apartment and I need to change the name on the account from the previous tenant to my name and add cable internet."

Adelphia: "Certainly sir, can I have the name of the account and the account number."

Me: "I just moved in and I don't know who's name would be on the account and I have no idea what the account number is. Here's the address for you to verify that my apartment is getting cable, though."

Adelphia: (after a five minute pause in which she had to search her database) "Yes sir, you are currently signed up with our basic cable package. However, to change the name on the account, we're going to have to have the previous account holder call and do that."

Me: "Okay, listen...she's not there anymore. I don't even no who it was. That's what I'm trying to explain here, I'm the new resident in the apartment. I don't want to cancel the service...actually, I want to add to it. I just need to get my name on the account so that I'll be billed for the services."

Adelphia: "I see sir, but we will need to have the previous account holder call to institute these changes."

Me: "Well what is her name...the rental office may have her new address. Then I can call her and have her contact you guys."

Adelphia: "I can't release that information to you sir."

Me: "Well can you at least tell me when the last bill was paid?"

Adelphia: "My records show that the bill hasn't been paid for the past two months, sir."

Me: "THAT'S BECAUSE SHE HASN'T BEEN THERE FOR THE LAST TWO MONTHS!! This is what I've been trying to tell you...SHE IS NOT THERE ANY LONGER! I need to change the name on the account so that you guys will get paid."

Adelphia: "Without her authorization sir, there is nothing I can do for you. If you would like, I could fax a request to your local cable office to perform a site survey for your apartment so that they can verify that that you have access to our services and they can set up a new account for you at that time."

Me: "I don't need a site survey. I've got cable now, everyone on the floor has cable now, you don't need to verify that my apartment is within your service providing area! Look, just give me the number of my local office and I'll contact them directly."

Adelphia: "I'm sorry sir, but I am not authorized to release that number. I will however fax that request in for a site survey, and someone should be contacting you within two to three weeks. Now, is there anything else that I can do for you today?"

It was at this point that I requested she do something that was beyond her physical capabilities.

How is it possible that with all of our modern day advances in technology and medicine people are actual getting dumber?

F@ck!ng morons. In any event, I'm now in the market for a pair of good old-fashioned rabbit ears...just like grandma used to have atop her TV set. I somehow doubt that Best Buy carries this item, however.

valued information

One of the several employees that have been fired over the last few months by the old twit that I work for was Eric. Eric was a quasi-tech person whose actual job function I'm still a bit fuzzy on. Among other things, Eric would repair broken desk chairs and move computers from cube to cube...largely due to our boss' frequent 'restructuring' of the office. Eric was also the only person who knew how to change the names on the office phone system...so that when you phoned someone a few cubes over, your name appeared on their phone's console so they knew who was calling.

Once Eric was fired, the names on the phone were pretty much stuck. This being the case, Peggy, who was moved to a new cube, is now 'Carol'. And Terri has become 'Brian'. I am now known as '286' when calling anyone in the office. Now, it's not that it takes an engineering guru to figure this out, rather it's due to the fact that, once fired, Eric took the phone system manual with him. And all those sequences of numbers that have to be entered in order to make the phone system do all those neat little things that phone systems do, such as checking voice mail, changing voice mail greetings, and correcting the employee names to match their new extension, were lost. I had been thinking just the other week that Eric could have had quite a bit of fun with the phone system before he left...perhaps forever changing our boss' real name to something like Jabba the Hutt...forever sealing her fate when she would page anyone in the office.

And, as if some primitive phone god heard my thoughts, this Friday the old twit put a photocopied sheet of paper in everyone's mailbox. This paper contained the instructions on how to change the name function on your phone extension.

And what you need to understand is that providing me with this information is much like locking a group of third graders on a tenth story balcony over a busy street corner along with hundreds of water balloons.

The temptation was simply too great...so I changed my name, and the remainder of my Friday afternoon was spent placing calls to people around the office and hanging up before saying anything. These people would then wander around asking, 'what the hell is going on around here?! Someone named Superman just paged me.' Later in the day 'Jim Beam' phoned our company party girl/most mornings I'm hung over behind my desk girl.

Personally, I found this all to be quite amusing. And in all honesty, I'll probably find this to be quite amusing for the next several weeks. And I'm anxiously awaiting the day that our old twit boss is out of the office. Because, if the phone gods are smiling on me that day, I'll get a chance to spend a few seconds of quality time with her phone.

Of course, the following day when I get a page from 'Jabba the Hutt' to report to her office, I'll know that I'm being fired.

But at least I'll be chuckling on my way out.

a self-help book that would actually help

Life is cyclic in nature. High points follow low points. Famines will follow feasts. And slow periods of business will give way to busier times. Most people know this, hence they would not get rid of about a fifth of their staff during a slow period in business. Unfortunately, the old twit that I work for is a moron and fired a fifth of the staff is about a month ago. Technically, she 'laid them off', but once gone from her company, you don't return. It's sort of like the 'laid-off' equivalent of the Bermuda Triangle.

So suddenly, my desk was filled with a week's worth of work that was due in about two days time. 'Don't worry, though,' she told me, 'I plan on bringing in some temps next week.' Again, stupid idea. By the time they're trained and actually ready to start taking on a full work load, we'll be well into next week. How this will make me 'less worried' I have no idea. And I fully expect that once the temps are up to speed, we'll probably enter into a slow period, meaning the old twit will fire...or 'lay-off'...the temps, or perhaps either full-time staff, once again. Why she didn't simply call back some of the previous folks she laid-off is beyond me. They knew the job, could've taken on more work, more quickly, and fit right back into the swing of things. This, though, makes too much sense. And nothing my dimwit boss does makes sense.

So for a while at least, I'm back to background checking and getting reacquainted with the idiots that we help place back into the work force. This being said, I'd like to introduce you to Devon Tressle. Devon listed on his job application that he was earning $14 an hour as a heavy equipment operator while working for an independently owned small business. I called the person he listed as his supervisor and found some small discrepancies in his application.

While he was an 'operator of heavy machinery' it wasn't so much a 'job' as it was an 'apprenticeship'. He wasn't skilled in it, rather, he was just learning it. He was also off a bit in his salary. It seems that he wasn't earning $14 an hour but was earning $2 a day. This sounds like slave labor, I know...but in a sense it sort of was. You see, he wasn't working for a small company. Devon was in jail. This was a training program that he took while incarcerated in the state pen, or, as the politically correct refer to it, a 'correctional institute'. He wrote that he left the job because he 'relocated'...which, I guess, was technically accurate, because his last day on the job was the day that he was released from prison.

These people need help, and I'm beginning to think I may be just the person to enlighten them. Not quite Dr. Phil, but his more shady, and devious second cousin, perhaps. I see the solution to my string of sucky jobs in the form of a book and touring on the college and high school lecture circuit. Not once in college was I taught, told, or sold anything that would eventually help me in the 'real world'. I figure a book and lecture series on 'how to embellish (lie) on your resume and not get caught' might be the perfect thing to actually make some cash. I feel pretty confident that I could adequately fudge someone's resume enough so as to slide them past most of the people that would eventually hire them.

I only wish that there was someone like me to talk to me back when I was still in college so that I wouldn't end up like the me nowadays but more like the me that was talking to me then. Get it?

If not, don't worry too much. Just keep looking in your local bookstore for my do-it-yourself book on resume enhancement.

breakfast buffet

There seems to have been a breakfast buffet for birds in the tree above my car this morning. And while I have no idea what these birds were eating, apparently they were not lacking in fiber.

couchless

Today was 'furniture arrival' day. The same furniture that, a day before, my Marketing Management professor described as being 'a step above suck' because it was purchased and being delivered by those nice folks at Levin. New furniture was needed, you see, because the place in DC where I had previously been for the last couple of years, was fully furnished. After moving out of a furnished apartment, you soon realize just how little you have. Sure there's the TV set and computer...but no stand or desk to put those things on and no couch or chair to watch them from. While I find floors to be perfect for walking on, I prefer not to watch TV from them, check email from them, and sleep on them. Minimalism is not what I look for in an apartment.

So seating and sleeping were the main furnishings being provided by Levin. The remainder was supplied by those nice Swedes at IKEA...who, as my Marketing Manager told us all, sells furniture that is on the same level as dog crap. Personally, I think our Swedish friends are quite ingenious. Seriously now, where else are you going to buy coffee tables and bookshelves that you build using a little piece of metal that resembles the letter 'S'?

The van arrived, the furniture began it's procession up the elevator...bed, dresser, chair...and then an unusually long lull in the action. A phone call soon followed.

"Hi, this is Joe, the guy who's been moving your furniture in? We've got a problem down here." I told him I'd be right down, noticed that no elevators were working, and descended eight flights of steps to the lobby.

This is when I saw that one of the two apartment elevators were partially disassembled with my couch sticking about half way out.

"We're having trouble fitting this thing in the elevator," Joe told me, though I'd pretty much gathered this from the assortment of items he had laying around him on the floor. This included the legs of my couch, the drop down ceiling of the elevator, and all of the lights from the elevator as well.

"I guess what I need to know is how bad you want this thing," Joe said, "you see, we can get the couch up there, the only problem is that to get it in the elevator we'll have to mess it up a little bit. The bottom will probably get ripped up and we might have to break some of the boards in the back of the couch to squeeze it into the elevator...but nobody will be seeing the back of the couch anyway, so it might not be too bad."

I almost started laughing until I realized that Joe was serious. He wasn't being nasty or rude, though. The guy had a job to do and this was the best solution he could think up.

"You know Joe, let's take the couch back to the store. I'll head up later today, get my refund and pick a new one that will fit in the elevator."

"Yeah, that'll work too," Joe answered. So back on the truck went the couch. Back to Levin went I. And a different couch will be arriving in two weeks. Hopefully this one will fit. And hopefully someone new will be delivering it. It's nothing against Joe, mind you, I just prefer my furniture to be in one piece with everything intact by the time it reaches my apartment. Call me picky, but I guess it's just one of those peculiar quirks that I have.

mr. harpy 101

The first class of the new semester last night has shown me that this is going to be a long eight weeks. After an accounting class last semester, I figured that a brain dead, only paper writing class for the next few weeks was in order. Well, I got my wish...and brain dead is exactly what I'll be by the time this one is done. I have quickly discovered that when a college course is described as 'night class for working professionals' what what it means is 'a class taught by an idiot who fancies him/herself as a 'professor'. Inevitably, these four hour, once a week classes end up being less about the subject and more about how great the instructor thinks that he or she really is. And that always turns out to be, 'very great'.

Last's night class, entitled 'Marketing Management', was really just a thinly veiled veneer for what the class is truly about, namely, the first of an eight part series on, "Mr. Harpy: The Greatest Man Alive!". High points of the class included:

Mr. Harpy's rescue of his wife's business by cutting costs by 75%!
"I told her, you only use that truck twice a month! So I sold it the next day! Why pay the driver now that the truck is gone? So I fired him!"

Mr. Harpy clearly showed his financial prowess by these crafty and ingenious cost-cutting moves.

Mr. Harpy's Porsche!
"One of my clients saw my Porsche...of which I've had six...and said to me, I bought you that car, didn't I? And I told him, 'yes'. But when you pay me, you know that you're getting the best! And the best doesn't come cheap!"

Clearly, modesty doesn't play into Mr. Harpy's business strategy.

Mr. Harpy's selling of pew cushions to a church!
"Good Shepherd hired me to buy cushions for their pews! They should have come to me for the carpet as well, because it was hideous! Obviously they went to a terrible designer when they bought that garbage! So my job was even tougher, because I had to find quality and fashionable cushions that matched this horrid carpet! Well I did it, and the biggest compliment I could get was that seven women in the congregation commented on how stunning the pew cushions were!"

And what, I ask you, adds more to a total religious experience then posh pew cushions? Mr. Harpy has truly earned a place in heaven with this one!

Mr. Harpy's incredibly fabulous interior decorating business!
"We only sell high quality furniture! You'll only get the best from us! None of that IKEA crap! That's bottom of the barrel stuff! And not that Levin Furniture junk either! Which is second rate and only a step above IKEA! Granted, these two stores suit a purpose, but I don't want to cater to the welfare crowd!"

Funny thing is, two weeks ago I bought quite a bit of furniture from both Levin and IKEA. I'm quite sure that Mr. Harpy would greatly disapproval of my 'welfare' taste in decorating. Lucky for him, I have no plans on ever inviting him over...even if I do someday buy a church pew that needs a cushion.