Friday Shirts

Tamara follows up on Kyra's Notes From The Cube yesterday . . .

Today is Friday and we are going to have Casual Day again. I like it, except for . . .

Butt-ugly print shirts.

What is it about men in certain professions - engineers, sales, technical in general - that they all seem to shop in the same store where ugly print, fake "Hawaiian" shirts are apparently the only item on display? It's almost impossible to describe how patterns of drab color can be intermixed with designs of repetitive disdain for form. "Impossible," and yet... it is done so many, many, many times. There is a twisted genius at play here: in a world where originality is such a rare commodity, the designers of these Ugly Shirts seem to find no end of innovative horrors to create.

If there ever was a persuasive argument for uniforms in the office workplace, Friday-God-Awful Shirts would be high on the list.

But where do they come from? There are far too many of these Ugly Shirts in sight to make this mere happenstance. Are these shirts given as gifts to men by wives that hate them? Is there an epidemic in bad taste that takes otherwise reasonable males and, once their waistline starts to bulge, disconnects their sense of style and taste? Do they think these shirts are "fun?

People are pack-oriented, men particularly, following the head wolf. Is there some style-perverted Role Model that these men are emulating? I know that like behavior among men reinforces itself: so when they see someone else in an ugly-as-sin Friday Short, does that support their own lack of taste?

Oh Lord, Deliver us from this evil. Amen.

All Ears: A Woman's View on Male Hygiene

Kyra Notes From The Cube . . .

OK, boys - especially boys above a "certain age" - shave your ear hair.

This is a gross topic. But I have to look at you!

I don't care that you have "given up" on ever having a romantic life again: you work in this office with me and you certainly have a social life, whether you want it or not. A very specific social life: we work in the same office - and because I was taught to be polite I can't turn away when we speak to one another.

I'll give you the stray hair that grows fast since the last time you shaved, but beyond that: No. Look in a mirror and, if your ears are starting to resemble a koala bear's fuzzy wuzzies, know that IT IS NOT ATTRACTIVE.

The "Homeless Bum" look does not go well with your professional position.

Please, pleeeeaaaase don't come to work that way anymore.

I did your job today

Hank writes to June, "who will never read this blog . . . Neither will our boss" . . .

I did your job today. I have no idea why you didn't do it, but you didn't - and I did. Which probably makes me a sucker, because you already know that I won't tell anybody about it: I'll probably even give you credit for it during the weekly department meeting. I just can't go tattletaling to the manager like a 4th grade library monitor. Oh, but you're "nice," and that makes it all right. All right. You smile and talk friendly and do nothing. Certainly not your job, chunks of it. But I guess that's OK because you're on the bottom of the totem pole, and you know it, and you have a home life, and you show it, but damn! I wish you'd do your job so I don't feel protective and cover for you.

The Cube Notes: Sometimes you gotta vent.

Nathan

Whenever there's a front door
Nathan faces it with dread
He'd rather take the back door
Or a side entrance instead.

Nathan knows his duties
Nathan does his job
But he doesn't ever want to
Ever be seen by the boss.

Nathan's proudly independent
More skilled than the rest
More frightened than a bird
With a cat sitting near its nest.

For with every task that Nathan does
Like a well-oiled machine wheel
His eyes contain no confidence
His heartbeat jumps and reels.

Nathan's getting older
Maybe that's his shame
Vulnerable, this is his last job
He'll never get this job again.

Or maybe he was always scared
He'd be the one that's blamed.

Whenever there's a front door
Nathan faces it with dread
He'd rather take the back door
Or a side entrance instead.

And he sits five chairs away from me
And I wonder why he's dead.

Policy Posting: Internal Memos

Internal Memos:
* Should be kept short.
* Should include all necessary detail.
* Should be comprehensive.
* Should include in the heading "CONFIDENTIAL."
* Will rarely be read internally.
* Will always be shared with external people who have no business reading them.

Dangerous Words: Technical

Technical words not to use loosely -
...Snaphole
......Dual Head
.........Hot Stamp
............Assay
...............Tool
..................Screw
Take it as a personal observation and, in some instances, sad experience: these words can cause trouble when used - or heard - the wrong way.

Ambition Has Nothing To Do With It

A Note from The Cube to Texas Slim's letter of yesterday . . .

Don't confusion Ambition with Standards. You give yourself away by writing things like "do" and "accomplish" - those are Standards of performance. Ambition is more about "gain" and "get" - personal possessions that exist outside your job performance.

Be careful, Slim, you also gave yourself away with the confession that your Ambition isn't centered around your Cube. No one nearby and above wants to hear that.

Oh, sure, everyone gives "have a life" lip service, and everyone knows that they would bolt the place in a second if offered something better. But to just do a good job? Don't scare people like that unless you've really got the Ambition to leave your cubicle behind and advance over your boss's body (or in his wake as he climbs the heap). There's not a lot of understanding of the good ol' Work Ethic, unless it's combined with a good ol' Profession of Faith in the Company, repeated like a mantra at an ashram.

And it even makes sense. Hell, who is going to trust anyone talking like you: what do you really want?

That Ambition Done Got Away

Slim from Texas notes to The Cube . . .

It's Friday and ambition's foiled me again.

Y'see, if you've no ambition, you're happy to "settle." I've got no major ambitions about this place, but enough minor ones to keep me running.

But that's the problem: my ambition is to Do This and Accomplish That as something of a "whole" - I know that if I only do a Little Of This and a Bit Of That that it's a waste of time . . . at least as far as my ambitions are concerned.

They tell you in all the time management books to plan out your activities in little "do-able" segments. Here in the trenches, we don't control our time. How do I plan it?

It's Friday and I'm still facing the unstarted "wholes" that I set for myself at week's beginning. I wish I had no ambitions to do a good job, then I could just TGIF and settle for what seems to be good enough for the bosses.

Silicon Vests

Hank notes to The Cube . . .

The following is a true and accurate product description created by our Engineering Department and delivered to the Marketing Communications Department, which was tasked to write a press release in anticipation of a product rollout in November:

"The Silicon Vest is designed as an innovative and structurally significant enhancement of the current vesting line, to be utilized within the parameters of the manufacturing process for silicon-based materials as defined in the accepted dialogue of the trade."

Clarity needs no further explanation.

The P Factor

Kyra notes to The Cube . . .

We've reached a new level here. I'm not quite sure which level, though.

Our cubicles have no walls. This has nothing to do with the story, it's just where we work on our computers, graphic artists one and all, in three shifts per day, six days per week.

As a matter of course, we are paid on an hourly basis - although we are judged on an output basis, since what we do, once the skill is established and verified, is highly repetitive.

Recently, the policy came down that "For all bathroom breaks, the user must log out and, upon return, log on." Since there are several other breaks taken during the shift - to ask about a particular problem, get clarification on a specific point, and the like - we wondered how this would be handled.

They reviewed our logs.

Judy, two places over from me, has a bladder problem. Water runs through her like a sieve. So she pees a lot. She also produces a lot (work, that is). A lot.

Nevertheless, honest little girl that she is, Judy has to log out/on at least twice an hour to take a pee break. Well, it's on record, so it's no secret.

Except that, apparently, we have a Pee Monitor.

I have to point out that we are 2nd shift - 4 PM to 1 AM - so the ranks are thinner than the daytime crew. We notice things like new people. Especially new people who sit at a Corner Cubicle (a real cubicle, with real temporary walls, but made of transparent plastic).

And, we notice, how for the past week every time Judy logs off for a pee break the Corner Cubicle is suddenly empty and it's occupant, oddly enough, has to take a pee break, too.

Oh, we thought it was a coincidence at first. Certainly Judy wasn't paying as much attention as I was (I get bored easily and my eyes wander). But, by mid-week, we were testing the Corner Cubicle and - yes - the woman sitting there was monitoring every time Judy went to take a pee.

This went on for a week, and then the Corner Cubicle was empty.

We have heard nothing more. Apparently Judy has been validated by the Pee Monitor.

Unambiguous

Pierre Dolet notes to The Cube . . .

We recently completed a product project that had no marketing specs, no definition, no leadership and, once it was completed, no one to sell it.

This was a "legacy" project, inherited from before most of us joined the company 1 - 2 years ago.

Yesterday, I have learned, there was a meeting of the minds - i.e., decision makers - on the next product to develop.

No tape recorders, notes or minutes were allowed.

No project leaders, sales, engineering or production personnel were allowed.

It was decided to initiate a new product project - starting Friday.

Clearly we have cut through the Gordion Knot of past mistakes.

Not Quite Sick Enough

The perversity of the human mind and the individual's capacity for self-inflicted pain are a constant wonder to The Cube. And The Cube is speaking from personal experience.

The Cube feels like crap today. Sick. Not infectious sick, but a wounded weekend warrior suffering from bumps and bruises and possibly a cracked something earned from a Sunday of physical thrills that were not that thrilling when a kid and even less so now. But still we try and convince ourselves that it's fun.

And pay for it. Ohhh, today . . . 'Shouldn't come into work today.

But, you convince yourself that you are needed. That today "it is necessary" to come to the office. That "things won't get done without me." These self-delusions would have been easier to sustain if anyone had noticed that The Cube was in.

But it wouldn't have mattered if they'd noticed in spades, because The Cube was coming in anyway: sure, there are 57 hours of sick pay waiting to be used - but am I sick enough today? What if I get really sick? (We're not talking catastrophic illness here - The Cube is not an alarmist - but the kind of heavy cold/flu/nausea/fever sick that's sure to make the rounds once September drifts into November and runny noses amongst the jungen spread their germs amongst their elders.)

But it wouldn't matter if The Cube was sick in aces, because "is it sick enough" to take off work? The Cube is not a hero. The Cube misses work sometimes. But not when really sick. Something inside keeps perversely preventing that type of logical and well-founded absence. No, we wait until the car breaks down, or we oversleep and would be embarrassed to come dragging in ten minutes after the Important Meeting has ended - then we call in sick.

But not today. Not when actually feeling like refried hell on a stick. Smart us.

The Tragik Komedy of Precision Ben - Part V

[A Tale in 5 Parts: Part I - 8/23, Part II- 8/28, Part III-9/04, Part IV - 9/11]

Impasse
Standstill
Ben you hate me I hate you we
Love
Hate
This place after forty years
It’s been our home our only home our
Child.

Like any good marriage in distress
We sought counseling
and were counseled
to seek
a mediating
Board.

(A Note from The Cube: 'have to stop here - for now - too difficult watching it, remembering it - will try to finish . . .)

Sexual Harassment 6 - Because We Can

Policy

The company wields the threat of dismissal for sexual harassment as an employment termination tool. “Voluntary” termination.

The terms are simple: in return for not dismissing the employee because of sexual harassment, the company will “settle” for the employee’s voluntary termination. There is a paper to sign, of course, leaving the accusation in the ex-employee’s folder but, because he (always a he) left the company before disciplinary action was implemented, all references to other potential employers will state simply that “The employee left of his own choice” and make no mention of the charge.

Oh, and there will also be no unemployment insurance – you left on your “own choice” after all – your 401(k) vestiture will be withdrawn, as well as any sick pay and vacation accrued (unless stupid old state laws get in the way). It also seems to solve and streamline a lot of sticky procedural issues about how the charges are investigated and substantiated.

All in all, whenever the company needs to trim the middle ranks, sexual harassment is an effective hedging tool. It works especially well in conjunction with Zero Tolerance and Promote-Management-Women-From-Within policies.

Oddly, it rarely benefits those women on the line who are harassed by co-workers and management. Only in those rare instances where the woman is strong enough to be forthcoming on her own. But those are bitches, aren't they?, and probably lesbians, too.

Sexual Harassment 5 - Because We Can

The Ice

Simple explanation, actually: something's screwed up in her life elsewhere, but you're paying for it here. She is beautiful probably. Competent in her field, which will be strong on admin skills, weak on specifics. Career-oriented (though, in that way that hurts, she's been in the same place a bit too long). Unmarried - either never or now - and independent in her ways. Many girlfriends at work. (No, not lesbian: that would be too easy - and she'd be more relaxed.) Somewhere past 30 and below the (visible) radar of 50. Tense as hell inside, about something none of us can know. What you've got to know, though, is: stay away from her. Don't say anything. The same joke you heard from Connie down in AR, if repeated near her listening ears in the copy room, will be taken as an "inappropriate" sexual innuendo. "Oh, but it's innocent!" you protest. They will have no choice but to listen to her, because the statutes say she's right. She has read the statutes, and she knows. She may even be on the company's committee to review "inappropriate" behaviors. 'Made a mistake up above: she's not "The Ice" - because she could have a warm smile, the friendly letter, help a lot - but the eyes are . . . missing something. You can feel sorry for her emptiness, but be very careful if you are male of making any gesture of human warmth. Any.

Sexual Harassment 4 - Because We Can

The Pig

He sits in his office, distant, aloof. He is not one of us. We are not equal to him. Quarterly, he treats us to food and drink at a bar to be nameless because it's rarely the same. But the routine is always the same: a round of drinks, junk food for drinkers, a speech about how far we've come. Then the first group heads home. And another round of drinks. He is friendly now. One of us. "You need something stronger, Sam. C'mon, Phil, you've earned it." Another round. There will be five or six left. Always one or two newbies, pleased to be near the boss. Always one of the newbies will be a woman of not-quite-tender years - i.e. 28-35 - attractive enough after three drinks, maybe even after none. But she will have stuck around. And he will buy her the first of many specialty drinks. And real food - or, maybe, the brandy-dipped strawberries at $5 a pop. And, by eight o'clock, she will be the only one left with him - of her own choice. And within the month, after her embarrassing night, she will have resigned.

Sexual Harassment 3 - Because We Can

This took place about 9 years ago, but I don't think things have changed much.

We were at the federally-mandated Sexual Harassment seminar: the company had grown larger than 100 employees and so, we were told, this is mandatory. (Of course, "we were told" hides its own disavowal of responsibility and knowledge. The memo was unsigned and department-less. But we followed orders and attended.)

Oddly, I can't remember whether the instructor was a man or a woman - or one of each. It was an outsider, though: someone from outside the company and vaguely emitting an aura of officiality. I suppose we all thought it was a government official talking to us, since s/he was very "authoritative" in his (or her) "You cannot" and "It's not allowed" pronunciamentos. There was another seminar held just before ours, for the floor personnel, but they were all men and Latinos and used to nodding "yes" whether or not they understood a word of English. I'm sure the instructor felt that the first seminar was a success.

I'm tired of saying "s/he," so for now we'll remember the instructor as a woman.

And she was a talkative woman. She explained about improper advances, lewd comments and, most nefarious of all, "elevator eyes."

"No man can look up and down as if you were some object for his sexual attention," she said.

At which point Hannah - all 45 mini-skirted, blond bobbed body-to-die-for years of her Hannah - stood up and said: "But what if I want them to look at me."

"That's not allowed in the workplace."

"You mean I have paid for this dress, this hair, these fingernails - and they can't look at me?"

"Not in the workplace: that would be sexual harassment."

"This is stupid."

And with that comment, Hannah led the post-feminist revolution.

Angela stood up, doe-eyed, honey-haired, ruby-lipped, and declared: "I want them to appreciate me: if they can't do that, how do I find a husband here?"

Meylisa, she of the raven complexion and onyx eyes, chimed in: "I look good, why should I care? I'll tell you what I'd care about: if they ignore me, I'll care!"

The company administration and technical personnel, I should note, were 75% Mediterranean and European immigrant employees, all highly educated, mid-career, very smart - and not terribly attuned to the American way of morals. They were a terrible influence on the rest of us, as witnessed when the instructor, flummoxed by a ten minute onslaught of female-led resistance, turned to Fred, our resident Christian Of Good Standing:

"Fred, you said you go to church regularly: how do you think you should respond to Hannah if she comes in dressed up like she says she likes to?"

Fred sat in his chair, embarrassed by the question. Then he looked over at Hannah, standing in the doorway, eyes blazing defiantly at the instructor, breasts turned upwards even more defiantly against the claims of gravity and age, her long shapely legs sheathed in jeans tight enough to replace skin. Fred looked at her long and hard, his face turning the color of beets gone wild. Then he gave a long sigh and turned back to the instructor:

"I'll look at her exactly how she wants."

Sexual Harassment 2 - Because We Can

The Cube is not distressed about sexual harassment. The Cube has been sexually harassed. It did not disturb the psyche. It did not destroy the sense of self. It did not inspire devastating dreams nor shatter The Cube's career hopes. It did confirm in The Cube the increasingly obvious suspicion that the job in question was a pithole of inequity and that, if the career had any meaning, then now was the time to climb out of this situation.

The Cube was flattered by the attention - at first. But then, like a blind date developing into an off-step relationship, the awkwardness did not dissolve into comfortable intimacy but, rather, became an oh-my-god embarrassment of uncomfortable moments. There was a sense of pity about the situation, really, and The Cube felt sorry for the harasser.

Pity. Thatsa one of the worst emotions you can have for another human bean who is trying to strike up a sexual relationship with you. When exhibited in a singles bar, it is the inspiration for high cash intake by the establishment owner and many a DUI on the streets thereafter. But, as my Gramma used to say to Cousin Nell: "Nell, you're goin' ta meet some sad characters in your day, who'll look at you like a hungry dawg and maybe even try to give you a touch in the wrong places. Jes' remember, girl: you didn' do nothin' wrong, an' it didn' harm you none, and jes feel sorrowful for them pitiful creatures who's only got that way of feelin' human." (Gramma, alternately known as "Big Mama," "Mamaw" and - by the high church members of the family - "Grandmother," was a European immigrant transplanted to Southern belle philosopher. French-Polish-Jewish-Catholic married to a Creole-Anglican-Baptist. I think she broke the hearts of the local merchants during the Great Depression by sweet-talking them into funding anything she desired when there was no money for anyone. In her era, the aura of her sexual proximity was the only business asset she had to offer but - much like any good Greek goddess - she understood that the temptations of Tantalus had more allure than the consummation. It was business, it was fun, it didn't hurt anyone - especially her today-prized "self-esteem." This is waaaay off-base now, but Gramma would have been proud of The Cube's bragging about her, even if this version of the story isn't as colorful as she told it.)

Sexual Harassment - Because We Can

Let's talk about sexual harassment on the real world level, something we can't do in the cubes. Why here and now? Because we can.

And because the namby-pambies at the Sexual Harassment Seminar we had to attend this afternoon spewed out so many by-the-number platitudes in an hour that The Cube is feeling resentful.

Men shouldn't harass women: Yep, got it the first sentence.

Women harassing men--- Nope, not on the federal guideline agenda, not to discuss.

Men harassing m--- Weren't you listening? "Men should not sexually intimidate women": it's all a one-way street, this sexual harassment stuff as taught at our seminar.

Oh . . . Really?

So whatsa with this sexual harassment stuff really oh wise-ass Cube?

Let's dismiss with the kind of "he/she can't do it unless s/he's butch/gay" type of harassment. That's the type of sexual insecurity that comes in batches of "traditional role" jobs that if you go in to shatter sexual stereotypes you know from the start what you're facing. You like confrontation, whether you admit it or not and, really, you want the attention. Does it make it right? Naw, but it's like the sign says: Beware of Dog. No big surprises when you get bit - 'just gotta worry if the dog's got rabies.

Tomorrow: The Cube's sexual harassment story. Oh . . .

The Tragik Komedy of Precision Ben - Part IV

[A Tale in 5 Parts: Part I - 8/23, Part II- 8/28, Part III-9/04]

I will make my name in futures
I will forget the past

That was Ben's goal
His always plan
Time was short
Growing old man

And besides
I now owned half the present.

I will make my name in futures
I will forget the past

But I had bought it for Ben
...saved it for Ben
...desired it
...fired it
...hired
For Ben.
Everything
...I - we - us did
For Precision Ben
...for his dreams and energy and
...right on eye for detail.
You could hardly find that
Anywhere else
Hardly . . .

But - he - never
Forgave me
...for saving him
...and now
Humiliation
...was the daily mode.

"You do not have equal say."
But I did.
"You do not share the crown."
But I did.
"You do not-"
I did.

And the others
...the watchers
...the believers and the doubters
Divided themselves behind us.

And tho' I did believe
And tho' I did admire the plan
It became my role to defy Ben.

Who else would?

Who else could?

Those behind me feared
Those behind Ben believed
All blindly
...reactive
...pre-emptive
...proactive

We had become an armed camp
...of feudal turfs
...and capital means
...and protocol rockets
...fired at high-walled procedures
Their projections' red glare
Time bombs filled with hot air
As so proudly we failed
At the twilight's last meeting . . .

Impasse.

Precision Ben stared at me
...across the long glass table
...end to end
...a conference room devoid
...of conference.
We could only agree
...that everything had stopped.
...Heavily breathing
Agree
...to bring in a Board
To break our impasse.
...Holy ones
To save our ass.

And Ben retreated
...to his consoling
...mantra
I will make my name in futures
I will forget the past

I licked my wounds
...and wondered
...if I had just destroyed
What I worked so long to save?

French Cow Walked Into An Office

A French cow walked into an office.

"MOU," he said, his accent thick and heavy.

He walked out with a deal to deliver 3,000 gallons of milk a week.

Acronyms We Should Kill:

...

MOU - Memorandum Of Understanding

Chronic Amnesia

'Sat in at one of those meetings again where we rehashed a hash that we'd hashed out about four, five times already.

The scary thing was the look of blank unrecognition in so many eyes: they are either very very good actors or they actually don't remember having discussed, dissected and decided the issue already.

It's very hard, then, to figure out where to begin when one of these meetings starts up and the topic is revived like a new-born blue babe, breathed into life fresh and uninformed by previous knowledge. Too many upper-ups with the blank-eyed stare of innocence - too many fellow Cubes smiling the baby's daft smile of benign ignorance.

Maybe it's The Cube's problem: this never happened before, this discussion, this topic. This is deja vu, not reality. It must have been dreamed, like when you were a kid and dreamed that you had already gone to the dentist, then woke up to find that the day still had to happen. There is no way so many people could have forgotten that this...existed.

Except for the damn notebook. The notebook shows that we have all been here before. So why...?

The Cube is lost again...

The Box

Bob writes to The Cube . . .

It seems that we are working inside a "box."

We weren't aware of our box, but we were advised/ordered/berated/seminared/solicited yesterday to "challenge the box."

So I kicked-in a cardboard box to fulfill expectations.

That wasn't enough.

"Think outside the box, Bob," I was told.

OK: 2 + 2 = 5.

Nope (although it seems to be how Sales calculates it's accomplishments when year-end Boast Time, er, "Assessment Review" comes around).

"Don't let your thinking become trapped inside the box, Bob," and I realized that the Box Top telling me this was outside the box. Yes, he was. He was a consultant and he couldn't be inside my box, er, job.

Satori - Enlightenment.

I am box-ed in. There are four walls around me, cutting off my view of the rest of the company, of the window, of the world.

"Focus on the box, Bob, break out of it - the company needs you to break out of the box."

I don't think they want that.

"What if we... thinking outside the box... gave you our creative ideas... without restraint? What if we... acting outside the box... performed our jobs... as our combined experience/inspiration... told us would be most effective? What if we... looking outside the box... found the flaw... in the workflow our bosses created years ago... and corrected it? What if we... challenging the box... got rid of those obstacles... that are the flaw... that are our bosses? What if we... outside the box..."

"Bob, focus. Concentrate. You're wandering. Keep your goals directed."

Oh, yes - I forgot. This is a seminar: the words are just words. They mean nothing. They sound good, though. Inspirational.

The box.

Really just a fairy tale. No one would want to go outside the box. It's a wilderness out there. You never know what may happen. You never know, outside the box...

Big Red's His Own Man

Big Red he is his own man
Give him a job and he says "I can"
Give him a tool he'll fix it fine
And he'll do it right on time

So give him a raise!
Big Red's due one
He's the man to get the job done
Job's now done and ever'one's cookin'
Cause things go fast when Big Red's bookin'.

They made Big Red to a manager man
Figured they needed Big Red's hand
But Big Red didn't know what to do
Without a boss he hadn't a clue.

So give him a team!
Big Red needs one
With a team he'll get more things done
Job' not done? Say, what's the matter?
With Big Red in charge, things shoulda gone better.

Big Red started to prevaricate
Said one thing to Jim and another to Jake
Said "Yes, we'll do it" to everyone he knew
Then went on vacation and it came unglued.

So whatever happened
To Big Red's word?
It's lyin' there stinkin' like a great big turd.
Big Red's got in over his head
Now he faces each day like the zombie dead.

Again now:

So they gave him a raise!
Big Red was due one
He once was the man to get the job done
But now he doesn't know what he's doin'
(slowly)
So he spends most days just tryin' to fool us.

Catchphrases To Remember

Here are some newly Noted catchphrases that left The Cube amazed, amused or a-wondering . . .

Low hanging fruit - 'Heard this one in a meeting with our President. A bit scary when you think about it, because it's what you did as a kid when passing someone else's house and stealing their oranges. He doesn't mean that, of course. He means . . . What does he mean?

Follow the blood - Another overheard from a Presidential meeting. Something of a trend is developing here, one that is not too reassuring.

Velocity of the enterprise - Whew, finally!, a Prez saying that is clear and easy to understand. It seems that we have this business, and we're rushing forward like a bullet, and we're going to smash into . . . oh.

Terminal decisions - Maybe, once upon a time, this meant something like "The buck stops here." However, put altogether with the above catchphrases, here's the paragraph that our President constructed at the most recent shareholders' meeting.

"When you brought me aboard to shape things up, I told you we would go after the low hanging fruit, and then follow the blood to the best profit margin areas, letting the velocity of the enterprise carry us through - but now, I see, we'll have to make some terminal decisions about this plant."

A Convenient Career Decision

Well, there are smart guys and there are smart guys. Art is Smart.

Art(hur) was brought in as an "outside sales consultant" almost two years ago by our newly installed Exec Team. What does an "outside sales consultant" do? Well, in our context he draws down a salary for advising our Exec Team on What This Company Is Doing Wrong and How I Can Set It Right - while remaining anonymous to the current company sales force.

Not surprisingly, after a half year or so, Art's advice led the Exec Team to the logical and well-considered conclusion that We Need Him.

As a Valuable Asset, though, Art negotiated a contract that preserved My Ability To Perform. Notable clauses included: * Only occasional appearances at the company per se (he needed to stay based at his out-of-our-state home in Austin to Maintain My Contacts), * Managerial powers of I Say-You Do to whichever staff he chose for his flexible Impact Teams, * Freedom from the restraints of administrative responsibilities, such in-the-way things as market analyses and specs.

The next months were a bullet train ride of activity and increasing anticipation of the New Fields We're Entering. Art had us drop the core products, amend the current pipeline and - most important for Our Future - start The Big One.

The Big One. This would be the breakthrough to spawn an entire line of high profit margin products. Art didn't originate The Big One - the core idea came from our newly-created R&D department (a VP Art had worked with previously - curiously, one of the Exec Team who recommended Art). No, Art didn't come up with the idea, but he recognized the gold there.

For the past 18 months, then, Art's Big One has been the motivator behind hiring from scratch the R&D staff (curiously, almost all the same people the VP and Art had worked with previously), then putting all the company's resources behind developing an entirely new manufacturing model, and - while Art was out Developing The Field - designing our marketing strategies as he saw necessary. Was it mentioned that Art worked from inspiration, without the bureaucratic drag-downs of Marketing product specs? So we had to re-design the molds a few times to meet his evolving concept of The Big One, big deal: the Sales Projections were impressive.

And we did it. Late last month, as may have been read from the Deadline series of entries in these Notes, we plowed through hell and high water to Make This Happen. The Big One will be unveiled this month. Art will go out to a series of industry trade shows and deliver The Big One that he has told us they are all eagerly anticipating for the past year and a half.

Art resigned last Thursday.

He didn't feel the company was Behind Him Enough. The Big One doesn't Meet His Expectations.

It was a career move, nothing personal. Art won't hold it against the company that he Lost Time Treading Water while we got our act together.

The Tragik Komedy of Precision Ben - Part III

[Part II was on Sunday, August 28th; Part I was Sunday, August 21st]

We did not really fight
We never really fought
Over who was boss
.................was king
.................was genius
.................was The Reason:
Ben was.
I never had the ideas
...only How To Do
...the dull How To
...the drone Do
...the red ink black ink
Ledger that always stood
...between Precision Ben's dreams and
...our reality.

Precision Ben had asked me back
And I came
I missed the game. His game was so much better.
Precision Ben was the same:
...I will make my name in futures
...I will forget the past

But the past was biting at our heels
...and corrupting the present
...and "Yes" was not enough
To save Ben's dream.

"Yes" was not enough.

Shout slam scream
...It wasn't a fight
...Precision Ben's dream
It was a war.
...We were allies
...Commies and Capitalists to beat the Nazies
Allies
...until it was over
...paper over silence over unsaid over
...everything
Until we'd won.

We lied
...To win
...To ourselves
...Ben to me; Me to Ben; Us to everybody
That we agreed

And I saved the company for Ben
...Ben's dream
...Now my dream too.

Precision Ben never forgave me for that.
Bastard
It's my dream too
Now.

Punk Hierarchy

Pierre Dolet
writes to The Cube . . .

Here is another Note I found in an old stenopad: copied down from a whiteboard, it was somebody's description of the Company hierarchy:

Absolute Minimum - Explained

Pierre Dolet writes . . .

As I have Noted to The Cube a few times, our company has had a fairly recent change of executive management, followed by 5S and Lean Manufacturing programs, and so on. (Actually, the Lean Manufacturing has sort of been forgotten mid-way through, but it may rear its head again: you never know.)

Having pitched out most of my paper trails during the 5S era (it's been mostly forgotten, too, except for the fading posters and occasional visits from a "5S Review Team" that seems to change composition every time it comes around - we ignore their memos, nothing happens, and life goes on), I was surprised to come across my little top-bound steno notebook from the time when our new President first arrived. I love those little top-bound steno notebooks: reminds me of grade school without the bulkiness of a 3-ring binder to go with it. Oh, we have 3-ring binders here, too, but I have so far avoided them. My last one was in high school, held together with plastic tape to get it through the entire school term because it was bulging like a pregnant pause by year's end. Here they use them to file reports in, label them, put them on shelves and let them look impressively pristine and unread - until the 5S slaughter hacked them into red-tagged debris. Oddly enough, we never needed them until they were gone.

My stenopad had one page almost entirely filled with this one note:

President's style:

ABSOLUTE MINIMUM

Waaay down on the bottom of the page I had scrawled in little letters:

What does that mean?

Flash forward two years later ---

* Wholesale slaughter of the VP and upper management ranks (replaced by friends from his old company on a "Fire 3 Old - Get 1 New" basis)
* Close down of an entire factory in the Midwest (moved to Mexico for a "25 cents on the dollar" hiring standard)
* Layoffs of in-house line workers by 20% (because, well, we have to protect the annual Executive Bonus Plan in order to attract Talent, don't you know)

--- and I think I understand what he meant now.

BS not PS

Today The Cube had the pleasure of adding the following Management-dictated Post Script to a letter being written to another company:

We are formulating a considered response in light of recent information.

Translation: Even though this is our business, we've never bothered to think about that and, wow!, now that you bring it up --- we still won't, but buy this stall for now.