Acronyms: A

ASAP – As Soon As Possible

ANSI – American National Standards Institute

AMA – American Medical Association

ASS

Bureaucracy: Communist-Style

[The “Bureaucracy” correspondence begins on July 23rd. Begin there for context and continue on.]

Bartek Wołodyjowski writes:

In my native Poland, before freedom, democracy and Pizza Hut replaced the communist regime, we had our own brand of bureaucracy, embodied in the “Biurwa” (byour-vah).

Biuro – an office or administrative section
+
Kurwa – a whore or prostitute
=
Biurwa – Cholera!, she really made your day.

The Biurwa, sadly, alas, and tragically, was not the office slut. She was, instead, the System’s Bitch: screwed daily by a System that had neither logic, reason nor goodwill behind it, she nevertheless was its love slave.

Do you need a permit? The Biurwa is the one who will stand in your way. Not because she is personally or politically oppressive or antagonistic towards you, but because “Those are the rules, panie, the rules.”

Maybe you need to know what “the rules” are, since so many in the West think that godless, oppressive communism “ruled” every aspect of our lives. I am not to speak for the Soviet Union, but in Poland this was not so.

We were fairly lazy communists, oppressive to no one unless you were a Jew in ‘68 through ’72 or a thinking intellectual or sometimes one in the same. God forbid if you were actually a practicing big-C Communist. Those people pointed out things like corruption and vestigial class divisions and started things like the Solidarity trade union movement and demanded equality of Worker and Red Bourgeoisie pay! (We didn’t have a “Religion” problem, since almost everyone in the country was a Roman Catholic, even the Party chiefs, and the Soviets be damned about that.)

But communism was our “System” (officially “socialism,” but we all knew we weren't Swedes) and our System had a rule for everything. You see, in a communist system, ideally, every problem has a solution and we need only make a rule to address that problem/solution.

Now, along the way, sometimes it was “diplomatic” to prefer certain solutions over others. One of the key diplomatic initiatives in the early days of post-World War II “liberation” by the Red Army was to avoid being purged for accidentally-made pro-bourgeois/anti-socialist administrative decisions.

In a brilliant series of maneuvers by committees of anonymous geniuses, we developed The Rule That Makes No Sense But Looks Good On Paper policy. This was coupled with the Do What You Need To Do But Write Up What They Want To Read unwritten rule-of-thumb.

These two guiding principles built us up from the rubble of War and persuaded the Soviets that they could largely leave us alone, confining their “protective” forces to a few self-contained bases – looking West.

A good programme, yes – but they had forgotten to calculate the Biurwa into the equation.

The Biurwa – ah, she of little influence and infinite pedestrian power.

The Biurwa, unthinking whore to the System.

She was not a True Believer in communism. She could never understand an inkling of Marx’s philosophy and certainly did not think of herself as a “worker of the world, unite(d).” “Worker?” – Pah! That would spoil her fingernails and muss her makeup.

But she had a charismatic faith in her rules and regulations and papers.

Those rules. Those regulations. Those papers. True Bureaucracy. Unthinking, dronelike, without recourse to common sense. True Bureaucracy.

Do you want to know what killed communism? Forget popes and presidents and premiers and politics.

It was the Biurwa.

Marx could call it any name:
Kapital, Communist, all the same.
Bureaucracy, it rules the game.


The Cube responds:

Ummmmm………. Sounds like ISO, 5S, Lean Manufacturing and Six Sigma gone awry. But we’re not communists, are we?

Acronyms: M

MIT - Most Important Task

MOW - Movie Of the Week

MOS - Mit Out Sound

MOO

The Good Employee

Her eyes say it all:
something is wrong.
The papers in her hand insist:
something is wrong.
But she is only a clerical -
- and this is Big.
Big.
Beyond her department.
Big.
Beyond her reach.
Big.
It will embarrass or anger
BIG PEOPLE.
And she is only a clerical.
But the papers in her hand insist:
something is wrong.
What if they are mad,
BIG PEOPLE, mad
At her?
She is only a clerical.
It is not her responsibility.
She has been told that often:
"It is not your responsibility,
Not your department,
Not your business
Or pay scale
To think
About."
She binds the papers in her hand
As told
Into a large anonymous file folder
As told
She has done her job
As told
And the day is over,
She goes home.
Overtime has not been authorized,
The deadline for filing was already set.
No time, really,
To bring this up.
No time:
Overtime has not been authorized.
The file was put in its place
On time
Goals met.
She is a Good Employee.

yet ...

An Appreciation of Executive Ignorance

What didn’t they know
and when didn’t they know it…

There are, lately, some high profile criminal cases going on where the top execs of certain scurrilous companies plead ignorance to the illegal activities of their underlings and same-level colleagues.

Much as The Cube, whose early-career pension plan went down the tubes in one such scam, would love to see those Top E's taken down, it has to be admitted that they may have a point -

- as The Cube must confirm, having stepped into this situation a few too many times when the company's left hand doesn't know what the company's right hand is doing. We see it on the floor every -

What didn’t they know and when didn’t they know it…

They may have a point.

What didn't they know...

And, of course, who can tell when executive incompetence is used to mask willful ignorance? It is not a crime to be a fool. "Fool" is a harsh word, but it is what so many of these bright and brilliant Captains of Industry now claim. And one of them, so far, has gotten off on that defense.

Billions made and a Fool.

This Note, then, is truly an appreciation of executive ignorance.

Bureaucracy: Cross-Cultural Administration

[The "Bureaucracy" correspondence begins on July 23rd. Begin there for context and continue on.]

Abdullah O’Rourke writes:

As the son of an expatriate Irishman married into a Saudi family of Bedouins years before things turned fundamental in our Kingdom, I grew up learning of the bureaucratic perils of:

Cross-Cultural Administration.

Insh’Allah, you have to know that we in the Empty Quarter were once a nomadic people, bound only by the wind, the sun and the shifting desert sands. And then the black pearl of Oil was discovered and the Americans came with their wildcatting ways – and then the British with their colonial ways – and then the Sa’udis with their family ways. (For, don’t you know, we are Saudi Arabians now, but we are not all Sa’ud – a difference.)

There was room, in the beginning, for all three. The Americans built their little enclaves of Southern California suburbia and laid-back administration. The British set up their hidden stills and class-based middle management. And, as long as the income rolled in, the Sa’udi family was content to build their capital in Riyadh, separate from the worker bees and, since their power was based on royalties, becoming ever-more royal themselves.

As for the Yanks and Brits: sure they despised and contradicted one another, but there was so much moolah to mulch that they squashed it between their expat toes like jellyfish on the beach and just spent more moolah to cover up the inconsistencies in everything from bookkeeping to equipment quality standards.

Oi, but the greed of some a the Oil Giants stepped onto the Kingdom’s black pitch shores and threw it all off-kilter. When the infamous Oil Embargo of the 1970s occurred, the Oil Giants took a gander at the Sa’udi indignation over Israel’s once-again-we’ve-beaten-your-pants-off performance against her neighbors in the Yom Kippur War (never mind that the Sa’udis weren’t too friendly with those neighbors either) and the Oil Giants converted the Embargo into a giant Cash Cow.

At that point, King Faisal noticed that his indignation still only owned a pitiful percentage of that Cash Cow and started buying back some of the “Arab” oil producing company from the Americans and British. The goal was to reach the 51% mark, which happened sometime in the mid-1980s. By that time, though, Faisal was assassinated by a disco-loving nephew and the other Sa’udi family members failed to catch on to where the real royalties were buried: not under the desert sands, but in the offshore refineries that the Oil Giants still possessed – elsewhere.

But that’s a different story. What happened as part of this history is that the Kingdom realized that it did not know how to run its own business: everything was handled by Brits and Yanks – or “Other Arab” expats trained in Brit/Yank yank-both-ways-at-once ways.

So it came to pass that, as the Kingdom gradually came to own its own resources, someone – we’ll call him the “Prince” since there were 70-odd Sa’udi princes to choose from – the Prince proposed that “Why don’t we show the Americans and the British, arrogant bastards that they are, that we can use traditional Middle Eastern administrative techniques to run our chief national resource, the Petroleum Industry.”

Huzzah!, went the cry around the campfires. (Well, truly, it was more of a Laa, Insh’Allah, pass the hummus around the air-conditioned banquet tables of the Riyadh Palace, but . . .) We shall build our bureaucracy on our native standards!

Not to put it too delicately, but our native standards were Bedouin and, love my grandfather’s tribe as I do, organization is not our focus in life. Ask a man for charity – it’s yours. As a woman with your dying wish to raise your children – she’s their mother. Fly a falcon, cross the unmapped desert, drive a hard bargain in the souk – come to visit Bedu-land.

Sit at a desk and push a pencil –

I, personally, leave it to my Paki houseboy. He is educated, he is polite, he has patience. He is, in short, not a Bedouin.

Which is not to say that the Kingdom lacked for Middle Eastern administrative role models. The Ottoman Empire had ruled over us all for half a millennium – but that memory was too recent, many of our grandfathers having still the scars from Turkish boots along their spines. Besides, when Ottoman administration had really worked, it was the result of their policy of putting foreign administrators over us: mainly Mediterranean Jews and Balkan Christians. So, while Israel’s economy was the success story of the Middle East, there were few followers of the Koran looking towards Jerusalem for role models.

“Egypt!” the Prince decided. “Egypt was the Cradle of Civilization – the oldest continuous government – the oldest continuous government administration – indeed, Egyptians have administered their country continuously from the time of the Pharaohs, through the Greeks, Romans, Arabian, Ottoman, British and now, again, Egyptian rule.”

Egypt. Our role model.

And so, in the emerging affirmative action program of let Saudi Be Saudi, the Kingdom imported Egyptian consultants and their administrative models and their business standards, and we became...

A twelve thousand year old bureaucracy.

Yes, the one fly in the ointment, donkey in the stable, fox in the henhouse and other abominable clichés of glitch that, Insh’Allah, it became our fate to experience was the sad old cliché that: Just Because It’s Always Been Done That Way Doesn’t Make It Good.

Egyptian administrative techniques had been founded twelve centuries ago – outliving even their ancient Chinese contemporaries. But, if you look at history, you’ll see that once Egypt developed its Pharaonic (rhymes with “ironic”) administrative bureaucracy, it stagnated at that same place for ten millennia until the Alexander the Great brought in Hellenic energy and innovation – until Egyptian bureaucracy infiltrated their ways and dragged them down to a standstill until the next conquerors, the Romans, roamed in. And then the Arabian jihad and . . .

And we invited them in.

Sp, please, come and visit: In this corner, you’ find an American “manager” who knows his techno-duties and doesn’t understand people. In that corner a British ex-sergeant major runs “his” sand niggers about as he sees fit – no matter what anybody else needs, asks for or expects. And, in every office, you will find a taste of old (Old, OLD) Civilization administration, slowly clogging our arteries with the Bureaucracy of the Ages.

The Cube responds:

Abdullah, your “note” is practically a book, but The Cube is familiar with the practice of cross-cultural bureaucracy: at a recent multinational corporate gig, in Atlanta of all places, an American consultant was advising Dutch corporate management on how to implement a Japanese manufacturing system – at our cross-border plant in Mexico. I truly think the African influence is under-represented.

What Didn't They Know & When Didn't They Know It

One of the biggest lessons we in the cubicles experience early in the days of inhabiting our flexiwall spaces is that thems above us don’t know what’s happening.

Oh, this isn’t a general indictment of management. In fact, it’s not an accusation against middle management at all: I see too too clearly that my immediate supervisor knows what is going on in our area. And, by the way, “What’s going on” isn’t necessarily a whistleblower alarm, either.

It is, literally, What – Is – Going – On.

Things happen in a company.

Usually because we do them.

Without activity, there is no business.

But you’d think sometimes that the executive team doesn’t quite realize this.

We are, for example, building a serializer. This involves Engineering. This involves several engineers. And equipment. And money to pay for the engineers and equipment. This serializer – and, for the record, The Cube has no idea what a serializer is/does/looks like (‘sounds cool, though, yes?) – this wonder of modern technology will be installed on the production floor, where the Operations group will inherit Engineering’s brainchild and exploit the living daylight out of its muscular qualities and boundless youthful energy. Ta-Da!

So it was with a sensation of disconnect that I came across a memo left lying on a copier (left-behind memos are a great source of company news), a correspondence to the effect that Operations had just paid out $XX,XXX for a serializer…?

“Perhaps Operations is paying for the Engineering project?” mused I – but since I knew that the Engineering serializer added up to $YY,YYY, the X and Y of this knowledge did not add up to a coherent Z.

Being a nosy Cube, I “returned” the forgotten memo to the VP of Operations, casually mentioning the Engineering serializer almost-completed.

“Really?” said VP/Ops. “Who’s that for?”

Emmm.

I believe we can all see where this is going.

Despite the fact that every Friday middle management reports to its Veeps – and every Monday the Veeps share donuts with the Prez – somehow, someway VP/Eng and VP/Ops – sitting a loooong five feet apart at the executive conference table – were unable to communicate their knowledge of what their individual departments were doing. Or perhaps the VP/$$$ might have notice the parallel expenditures and brought it up???

Or maybe they had no knowledge of what their Depts were doing: The Cube isn’t at those Exec Status Meetings, nor inside the Veep thought waves.

What didn’t they know and when didn’t they know it…

Bureaucracy: It Is Written, So It Is

[The "Bureaucracy" correspondence begins on July 23rd. Begin there for context.]

Pierre Dolet writes:

We have, mais oui, the bureaucracy of my cousins in France:

It Is Written, So It Is.

Henri, my cousin, and his dear wife, Henriette, need to update their travel documents – they are French citizens resident in America. This is a regular occurrence (fortunately, not a frequent regular occurrence) and it necessitates the submission of new lifedata change information (if any), new fee payments (always and ever-growing) and new photographs (a sometime traumatic experience, especially for Henriette – Henri, fortunately. having achieved the visage of aged wisdom at the tender year of 24 and remained ever constant ever since).

Eh bien, they present themselves at the consulate, they complete the forms, they provide the pictures – and, several days later, they receive the documents.

Ah, the documents . . .

But – before we look at the documents, we should look at the consulate. This is not a busy consulate. There are no long lines, no masses of émigrés pushing at the doors for their life-saving visas. No real– (well, for lack of a better word) No real work to do. Except for these small, routine and infrequent tasks.

Simple tasks.

. . . documents the, Ah

Beautifully bound little Papers Official, these documents, a tribute to the standards of the professional diplomatic class manning French consulates worldwide.

Which is why, of course, Henri’s photograph is in Henriette’s documents – and vice-versa.

There has been, equally of course, an attempt to return the documents with the opening phrase “I am afraid that there has been a mistake” – but, that is not a phrase that can be heard, because it immediately encounters an upraised hand and the Phrase Official: “Procedure has been followed, there have been no mistakes.”

Missing from the Phrase Official was the Act Logical: to look at the documents.

This cannot be allowed.

This cannot be allowed.

For to allow this would be to admit that, throughout the seventeen-hundred-and-forty-five Officially Decreed Steps for processing this document, no one thought to look at what he or she was doing and to make note (let alone correct) the photographic mismatch. Henri/Henriette – so obviously clear that Henriette has a beard and moustache, that Henri has a feminine side expressive in his rouged and lipsticked visage.

The Steps Official have been followed, the document issued: It Is Written, So It Is.

Vive La France!

The Cube responds:

Do not be so harsh on your French brethren – The Cube was once listed as a “Malamute mix” in the local town census – a mistake repeated ad infinitum by direct mailers for ten years. Small town bureaucracy teamed with mass advertising business smarts: we American can match and surpass anything the French nation can conjure. As a side note: The Malamute mix was quite incensed that I had stolen her identity.

Bureaucracy 1-2-3

1 is an Entrepreneur.

2 is a Team.

3 is a Bureaucracy.

(The Cube would like to hear from others how and why a bureaucracy is.)

Adverse

Adverse
(No, not Ad-Verse: The Cube has nothing to do with commercial jingles - yet. This is a career world where training in 10-key data entry can lead to.... Oz?)

Adverse

We had a group-think meeting yesterday. It was explained to us that Conditions were "adverse to the health of the Company." This we knew, since anyone with eyes (sighted or un-) could see that the Company lost $$$ the last quarter. I understate: the Company lost $$$$$$$$$ last quarter.

In fact, that was the topic of our group-think: to develop contingencies that we ourselves could implement to stop the hemorrhaging. ("We-O" being the middle-management who live in closed-door confines, on down the food chain to the cubicle dwellers of the open range.) First, though, we needed some Facts to work with, and we asked-in the Top Dogs to fill us in on the Facts.

Facts. Much like Conditions , Facts are apparently "adverse to the health of ---" Who?

Hmm.

Hmmmmm.

'Never quite heard a Fact uttered: 'heard about "adverse Conditions," saw a Chart with a beautiful (Beautiful!) matrix-type Chart indicating the "adverse pattern of interlinked Factors (unspecified, tho' several were red), 'learned how our "efforts are appreciated"...

In sum: Nada. Nothing.

Well, in fact, not totally nada Nada -

Somewhere in the subtext - and remember: subtext is never spoken out loud - we nascent problem-solvers understood that "Conditions" was a code-word for "Decisions," as in "Decisions were made adverse to the health of the Company."

And Who made the adverse Decisions?

Remember: Subtext is never spoken out loud.

I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus
Underneath the mistletoe last night
....
Oh what a joy it would have been
If only Daddy'd been there to see
Mommy kissing Santa Claus
Last Night

What's The Outlook?

What's the Outlook?
Lotus Notes:

Our Project
From Excel
Blessed be the Oracle
The message of PowerPoint
The power of Access
In Linux as it will be networked
And lead us not into Word tables
But deliver us from DOS keystroke commands

For this is the paperless, the powerful, the Office
Today.

No One's To Blame

Yesterday a meeting was set-up, yes:
There was no agreement but "We'll make it work."
Now out-of-sight the principals are where? - Guess:
They're all somewhere but anywhere but here.

And the meetings, they go round-and-round
And the heads go nodding up-and-down
It's easier to pass the buck: "Next time."
We can't escape, we can only shake
Our heads: We're fooled again -
And go round-and-out-and-down
No one's to blame.

Easy Shot #3

Status: The middle-aged middle-management Mustang driver. Polished. BRIGHT red.

Convertible, of course.

Monday Morning Reflection: The Saturday-Sunday 12-Day Week

Once again The Cube has gotten suckered by a failure to add up the numbers.

This is not an Accounting failure - heck, does anyone care if the Company loses another $100K due to a misplaced decimal point or juxtaposition of 6 and 9? (Well, anyone beyond federal auditors, stockholders and, perhaps, the Controller up on Floor 23 ripping his eyes out in disbelief.)

No, this is the kind of addition failure that hits where it hurts - me. I agreed to work over the weekend. Again.

Let's put this in perspective. The Cube likes the work. The Cube's ego loves the attention that goes with "Only you can do it." And, back when The Cube was hourly, the concept of OverTime tripping gaily into DoubleTime was an absolute ecstasy!

And, to be candid, The Cube's social life ain't so hotcha these past few months, so we're not talking loss of Quality Time here. The Cube, too, can rent a DVD online and over the mail: there's no need to sit in a cinema, alone, among squalling babes and make-out middlebrows to watch... well, anything.

But today - this Monday morning - after two fulfilling days of productive enterprise witnessed by only myself and the cockroach in the corner, The Cube is driving to work realizing that "I didn't work an extra two days - I'm working 12 days straight!" It's Monday morning and I wanna go home. I wanna take a day off. I wanna see daylight.

I wanna knock myself in the head with a ballpeen hammer and remind myself for the twenty-fourth time: Live a Life!

The Cube is even growing nostalgic for the sound of cellphones ringing in a darkened theater.

Easy Shot #2

Intestinal Fortitude: Taking the "healthy" selection from the lunchroom junkfood machine.

(Second Note to Myself: 'Needs no further explanation or follow-up - we are all self-delusional when Hunger meets Guilt at 3:30 PM.)

Easy Shot #1

Intestinal Fortitude: Eating from the roach coach.

(Note to Myself: This subject deserves more attention, as it touches upon sado-masochistic subliminal desires within so many of us.)

When You're Gone #4: STOP! - Don't Leave

A Friday Inspirational Message from The Cube -

DISCLAIMER: The following Note is not intended for incompetents, asses or others who make life generally miserable for their coworkers. It is furthermore recognized by The Cube that these people do not know who they are. Such is the tragedy of life - I know no solution...

Well, the last few blurbles have been about your absence from work. Here's a twist: Don't Go.

Now - and this has been observed - there are people (we won't say whom) that the Company would like to leave on their own. Let's be generous and just say "for a variety of reasons."

Leave but not be fired or laid off - "for a variety of reasons" (usually dealing with "excessive" integrity or competency, shifting office politics, or potential whistleblowing - i.e., the designated leavee is usually right and to zap him/her/them would leave the Company open to some expen$ive liabilities, settlement issues, 401k co-pays, unemployment, potential lawsuits and maybe an OSHA inspection or two.)

Anyway, the Company is making this person's life at work a living hell - or at least a Sisyphean nightmare. What to do, what to do?

Obviously, the intelligent thing is to "move on": find another job, a better job somewhere where you are appreciated and not under so much unwarranted pressure and stress.

Less obviously, try sticking around.

But relax and ENJOY it!

Look at 'em, trying, hoping, pushing for you to leave - and you're still there, doing your best, which is a sore stone in their shoes.

Hang in there, buddy! Stay the course, gal! Your existence in their lives is the best revenge and it's cheaper than a lawsuit.

Friday Inspiration from The Cube...

When You're Gone #3: Never Coming Back

If you quit your job, you will be missed.

If you are laid off as part of a downsizing or shifting political winds, you will be missed, but no one will admit it out loud.

If you are fired, even if deserved, you will be missed - sometimes with relief.

Once you are gone, no matter how important you were to the workings of the company, things will go on.

When You're Gone #2: Vacation

It can be safely assumed that, if you plan a vacation, every report, quarterly meeting, project deadline and company party - anything that affects you - will be scheduled during that time.

Consequently, when planning vacations of a week or more, you have only a few options:

1) Hope that your company is one of those that never plans in advance, so you don't know about everything due.

2) Hope that your supervisor(s) are the kind who don't look at their calendars and notice what you have due.

3) Pretend that you didn't know that anything was due.

4) Kill yourself getting everything ready before you go on vacation, thereby assuring that everything presented under your name will be premature, outdated by the time it is presented, unpolished, and easily attacked in your absence. You will also be volunteered for several new tasks because of by your combined attributes of Responsibility and Non-Presence.

When You're Gone #1: Sick

When you're not at work unexpectedly - sick - it can usually be counted on that:
a) You missed the important meeting that was circled twice on your calendar;
b) You have been needed at least twice by higher-ups who don't notice you any other day;
c) You did not get any of the free food doled out after the Executive Lunch was cancelled (sometimes related to b), above);
d) You get emails expressing sympathy from coworkers that it's "too bad you're 'sick' today (heh, heh)";
e) You receive phone calls from work asking "Can you just take care of this?" that always come during those few moments of relief when you are not wishing you were dead and are vulnerable to guilt feelings (Note: timeing is often coupled with shame that you are enjoying the TV soap operas) - you foolishly agree and work harder from your sickbed than if you'd been at the office;
f) You didn't miss anything at work, despite all of the above; and
g) You go back to work a day too early to show that you are "responsible" - thereby either:
*** spreading your disease amongst co-workers, or
if you cover up your misery with good cheer,
*** confirming to coworkers that you really were "sick" yesterday.

Self-Righteous Indignantly Wrong

Al Mann, reading yesterday's Note, adds:

He's a self-righteous indignantly-wrong man
Trying to make a living off of what others can -
When there is an excuse
Then he is your man
He's self-righteously indignantly wrong.

Went into the the review unprepared, yes
Tried to finesse it past the others there
Understood that they don't
Ever really care
Passed the buck and let the blame be shared.

He's a self-righteous indignantly-wrong man
Waiting for the shit to hit the fan.
When it finally splatters
He's hiding safely and
He's a self-righteous indignantly wrong man.

You're Right

You've gotta be right!
Even when you're wrong
You're right!
It doesn't matter
If you should have done it right:
Now it's so screwed up, don't admit a mistake
You're right!

You've gotta be right!
Don't face the music, you're right:
Just
Deny the fact
And
Shift the blame
To every other thing in sight
'Cause everyone knows
Everyone knows
You're right -

Yes, you've gotta be right.

Damn, you've gotta be right.

Well, there's no argument here
'Cause everyone knows ---
You're right!

The Never-Read Memo

The Never-Read Memo takes it’s place in business annals as The most popular of literary forms. It is important to write a memo, necessary to receive a memo – but certainly, most assuredly, redoubtably crucial to enterprise and the survival of the free market system to never, ever, neverwhatsoever do you read the damned things.

This makes communications oh so much easier.

Transaction

And so she leaned upon the door
Looking
Longing
Needing more.
“Tell me, Purchase Order Man:
Can this be bought?”

“The BOM—” he began.

“The BOM be damned!”

Within his cell
The said Man’s smile
Glowed.
To her:
“Wait awhile.”

“But now, the BOO,” she whispered,
“—Now.”

“BOM – BOO – Yes, do!” he gloated,
“Do! . . .
Make – your – order.”

“Do? And–?”

“And wait awhile –
Or –
Do you expect my attention in this hell?”

She sighed within the door frame,
“Yes,”
And stepped within his cell.

“Oh,” he answered, “What is this?”
His hand held up the yellow form.
“Your P.O.’s next.”

“Come closer, Next.”

The walls closed in on her.

5S and Streamlining

It’s been a while since one of our correspondents told of us of his company and it’s adventures with “The 5S system for Workplace Organization.” Here is his latest.

Pierre Dolet asks –

Streamlining: explain the appeal in working hard to obsolete your own jobs.

The Cube answers –

Everyone is sure “It won’t be me.”

Says It All #2

Bullets.

Ring Around The Rosie

Yes, The Cube knows what the old nursery rhyme means:

Ring around the rosie
A pocket full of posies
Ashes, ashes
We all fall down!

It's about the Black Death and other horrible things from the Middle Ages.

Now it's back - the horrible things - and it's a-ringing around.

The Cube refers, of course, to the Memo Denial Circle.

Jayzus H. Kuh-righst!, can't people pay attention to what they're saying the first time they say it?!?

No, of course not, that would mean that they are thinking things out instead of speaking from their ass.

Ah, but if it would only end there . . .

First, the Asinine Memo.

It is key to the Asinine Memo that a Self-Important Person, or SIP, send it to a Less Important Person (LIP).

But, sometimes, the memo goes astray. Maybe the SIP mistakenly CC'd a VIP in addition to the LIP. Or the LIP did a FWD to a VIP as an FYI.

So the VIP memos the SIP asking "What is THIS?" To which the SIP replies to the VIP, "I didn't say that" - but forgets that the LIP was CC'd and, to PYA, the LIP FYIs the VIP a CC of the Asinine Memo. But the VIP, who wasn't paying much attention to the first CC, has already CC'd another VIP, usually the SIP's VIP, with an FYI and a "What do you mean the SIP says you said?" So the 2nd VIP responds to the 1st VIP, while the SIP sends the LIP a clarification, which is really a denial, and the denial gets into the Asinine Memo Stream and now everyone is part of the big ASS-E-9 Memo Circle of Denial that goes round and round

And round and

round.

Independence Day or Rebellion - Depends on your POV

Polishing off this "rebellion" string . . .

Well, of course stupid me, I know why now The Cube's been obsessed with "rebellion": it's the 4th of July weekend.

Small historical side note: In America, it's a celebration of the "American Revolution" - in England it's dissed as the "American Rebellion." It all depends on where you're looking from.

The Cube sits in an odd position: somewhere between the ordered and the order-givers, i.e., frequently, Responsibility without Authority.

To get things done, The Cube must generally use persuasion and logic to effect cooperation. This makes The Cube very aware of when there is no logic behind an order that The Cube must get others to implement.

Sometimes humor is used as a persuasive tool, too - especially when the logic is thin but the "get it done" imperative is mighty - but The Cube has noticed that some Management distrusts humor as subversive.

(NOTE to self: Remember - don't use big words in memos - stay away from dictionary. Rely on th word "impact" and let it go at that.)

So... now we go back to our original "rebellion" of three days ago, when Management so blithely spent two hours of our lives in a mandatory-attendance "Team-Building Seminar" where we learned a dozen new "Success Goal Stepping Stones." So far so good . . . The Cube likes to learn. Really. No sarcasm intended.

And there was nothing actually wrong or onerous about the Stepping Stones - beyond a terribly trying trend toward tongue-twisting alliteration. The Cube, for one, believes that we should "Cooperate - Innovate - Initiate."

The problem is: these are Slogans Without Substance.

We spent two hours repeating the slogans, with no time given to exploring the implications of such change from "vertical hierarchy to lateral teamwork." Nowhere did the program indicate that Management would give up its hierarchical, top-to-down directives in deference to a "Team-generated initiative." These were words repeated without meaning - by both Management and Staff. Yes, we repeated and repeated, chanted and clapped our hands, rah-rah-RAH, TEAM! What does it mean?

Since today is the 4th of July, we'll play political analogy and reference this to the Pledge of Allegiance (choose your own version, with or without "under God") . . .

The Pledge is a curious phenomenon. We all learn it in grade school, recite it a million times - and then understand the Pledge so little that most of us can hardly say it without either: (a) 2 or 3 other people saying it with us, or (b) repeating it fast and rhythmic so that the words come out automatically, on their own.

But what does the Pledge mean? And why do we say it?

Oddly enough, it can be read as a pretty scary statement. If The Cube were a Southerner or a Conservative or a Libertarian or any combination of the three (and The Cube has tendencies towards all three at times), then the Pledge certainly sounds very "Soviet" in its collectivization and definitely anti-States Rights. As a Religious-leaning person, The Cube might feel uncomfortable pledging allegiance to "the Flag ... and to the Republic for which it stands" instead of to the principles of the Republic. And where is the word "democracy" in that there Pledge? Finally, as a Democracy, it's uncomfortable that we are the only Democracy that sort of forces our people to pledge to a Flag. The Sons of Liberty, throwing tea overboard in Boston Harbor because it was the symbol of taxation and faceless government, might have a problem with this Pledge.

But, in the end, The Cube just doesn't think that much about it, puts hand over heart, and says the words in rote repetition like everybody else. I dunno, though: is that what we're supposed to do?

'Same question goes for business and our chanted Stepping Stones: rote repetition without meaning - is that what we're supposed to do?

Do They Know What They Said?

The Cube is obsessed with the "rebellion" string of the past two days . . .

It hit me, after yesterday's thoughts, that maybe Management actually has no idea What is inside its words.

Maybe Management Will Understand

A follow-up to yesterday's "rebellion" . . .

Maybe Management will understand that How you convey directives is as important as What is inside the words?

Is it necessary to provoke unnecessary resistance?

Do even they see it . . . ?

Oh That Archangel Understood

What is it - Why - does this meeting, this training session, reek with such self-righteousness? They know better. And, I have to admit, They may even be - right. It's just that, it's just that . . .

Oh that Archangel understood
Why God's right
Required rebellion.

Very bad attitude. Why? I don't know.

From my side or theirs? I don't know.

Meeting: THE ATTENTION

Excellent meeting yesterday. I'm sure we scared the hell out of the Chinese.

Wanting to do business on The Mainland - aka outsource our manufacturing operations - we are desperate to find a partner in the Land Of The Red to pony up the cash that will allow our rinky dink operation to gear up to full speed and sell in massive quantities the sort of cheapjack ripoffs of our own products that we accuse others of doing in violation of the trade laws, our patents, and good ol' American patriotism.

So far, we have hired three Chinese-speaking consultants who talk among themselves and tell whoever is listening either: (a) whatever the listener wants to hear, or (b) how "This is difficult, y'know, I need this company's commitment (aka more $$$ for me) if you want results." So, far, many many trips.

Oh, and the consultants have convinced the execs that the Chinese-speaking employees already on staff should be let go as "negative influences." I supposed their feng shui aura was bad. (Or they understood what the consultants were really saying on the phone and. . . Nope: must have been the feng shui.)

But, even phony rainmakers' gobbledygook gesticulations eventually coincide with precipitation, and so it is now with our consultants and some real "Chinese businessmen." I can't give short shrift to the Chinese bizmen: they're real. 'Even have a website in English and a lotta lotta presence in the U.S. stock market. I think they could eat us for breakfast without too much heartburn.

So, yesterday, we brought them to our facilities. We have 700 employees, so it ain't a shabby sight - especially not with the brand new coat of paint slapped on last fall. And we make pretty decent product. Great product, actually.

But we've got "Date sweat." Maybe a little over-anxious. Maybe a little worried that the exec bonuses paid out the past three years have been based more on phantoms than fact. Maybe we really really need this deal. . . Soon.

Or maybe the Creator has a great sense of visual humor.

It was great fun watching the little Chinese bizman step out of the block-long black limo we sent for him. It was a bit frightening (from a medical perspective) looking at our five overweight sausages stuff themselves into tight suits and ties, their faces turning red, looking just like they probably did on Junior Prom night.

Most beautifully bizarre, though, was the four-hour marathon meeting, where the Chinese businessman had to be scared out of his wits.

We could watch it all, like on a huge wide-screen TV. They all sat in a large conference room, glass wall open to the White Collar Floor. (Yes, we were all dressed up, too.)

Hands were shaken with increasing fervor on our side. Presentations were thrown up on the wall, each succeeding speaker trying to top the one before in enthusiasm. Eyes began to bulge from the efforts to illuminate the businessman in the wonders of our company. From what little I know of Chinese mythology, I believe the businessman realized fairly early that he was dealing with earth-bound Demons.

Most unsettling of all, however, must have been The Attention.

The Attention. For the entire afternoon, every one of our five execs sat forward in their chairs, eyes virtually glued on the Chinese businessman, their breaths in sync with his, the Prez literally leaning-in to drink in every word the man uttered: sincere, oh so sincere in his attention to the man's needs, desires, thoughts, breaths - heartbeat.

Oh, and they forgot to ask for the food to be brought in. The poor man was probably starved and thirsty by the end of this marathon, but we - like Greek gods punishing Tantalus - kept an array of delicious foods, prepared by an excellent deli, sitting in a closet . . . waiting . . . just out of reach.

It was, they reported later, "a good meeting."