New Job Title at Work

Looks like I got a promotion at work today. When the mail came this afternoon, I was pleased to learn that my job should be a lot more "FUN" from this day forward. Or, maybe it will be more FUN for everyone else--depending on how good I am at my job.

Call all the Churches

Well, I suppose it's a good time to bring up ANOTHER one of my former job experiences. This time, I'll pull from the Angry Gun-toting Talk Show Host producer job. Many years ago, I used to produce a syndicated radio talk show. As you can probably guess, the host of the show had a very short fuse and carried a 9mm Glock. He was also extremely greedy, selfish, immature, a womanizer, controlling, etc.--a real piece of work for someone that was idolized by a rather large group of adoring fans who were also convinced that Black Helicopters from the government were spying on them.

Desperate for attention and better ratings, he would purposefully say the most shocking things on the air to get attention (often at the expense of the person he was talking about or talking to). He also wanted his staff to work hard to build up the listener base. Now, there are many tried and true ways of going about this task, but we had to do what the host wanted to do because he was in control. So, one day, when we were brainstorming ideas to grow the show, he walked in and screamed, "Call all the churches!!!" Of course, how could we have missed that? Immediatly we opened the Yellow Pages to the church section and started dialing. Surely, all of these God-fearing churches would want to listen to an angry man spouting off on the radio for three hours every evening.

Actually, we didn't call a single church. We nodded in agreement and waited for him to leave so we could silently laugh. To this day, when I'm not sure what to do, I say to myself, "Call all the churches."

Robot Monkey

Whenever I'm at a job interview and I'm asked to describe myself in two words, I always say, "robot monkey," and then look at the interviewer smugly with one eyebrow raised. The way I figure it, a company that hires me after a stunt like this is a place I'd like to work.

Promoting Creativity

This past Christmas we decided to throw down a few bucks to purchase a digital camera for our 13-year-old. The fun thing about him having a camera is seeing what sort of pictures he takes (and knowing that you didn't have to spend money to get them developed!). This picture will give you an idea of what goes on in his head AND what goes on in our house. I'm not sure what it is or what it's supposed to do but I'm already working on a deal to sell it to the government--they'll buy anything.

Learning from Scissors - more from the Secret Warehouse

It's time to go back once again to one of my former places of employment--what I refer to as the "secret warehouse". This is the same place where I got the Uhhhh.....Larry? story from a few days ago. Truth be told, I'm sure I could write a book from this job alone--and then there was the other job working for a syndicated talk radio host--wow, but I digress.

If you're too lazy to click on the link above (I think it burns 1/16 of a calorie to click once) and you'd like to know what this job was, here's an excerpt from the post:

It was an online men's apparel store specializing in dress shirts and suits. 99% of the online stuff was handled by the owner who trusted practically NO ONE else with this. Thus, the rest of us were relegated to stocking, fulfilling orders, trying to look busy and helping with walk-in guests.

When I first started this job, it looked pretty promising (that's why we take these jobs, right?). I was hired because of my communications and marketing background (or so I thought) and the owner convinced three young smartypants from Rose-Hulman Institute of Technology to spend their summer break working in the secret warehouse (which had no air-conditioning!!!!). One day he sat us all down to go through one of his listen to me sound important* carefully arranged training sessions. These marathon rambling sessions would last for hours and you were expected to take notes on 3x5 cards using only a certain type of pen that was made available in the office. That's where this story is headed.

At some point in the lecture he corrected me on how to properly use scissors to cut the said 3x5 cards. I'm not making this up. It was his theory that we all needed to re-learn just about everything so we could be productive contributors to his little community and the world. I'm not one to stir up trouble, but I called him on this. I was pretty sure that at 28 years of age (that was almost ten years ago) I was incredibly proficient with scissors, breathing through my nose, and walking. It seemed like everything was ok and the rambling went on, as planned, for many more hours.

A few months later he--let's call him Morty just for fun--decided that he'd had it with me and my attitude. He spent four hours on a Saturday screaming at me while blaming me for just about every problem in the office and his personal life. At one point, he blamed me for the fact that he wasn't married and having kids (I later heard from another former employee that he pulled the same stunt with him.). Somewhere in the middle of all of this Morty referenced the now infamous "scissors incident" and that it was what initially set him off. Apparently, he had been stewing over it for months and it finally spilled out on that eventful Saturday in the secret warehouse.

By now you should all realize that Morty was not right. Although born into a prominent family and highly educated, he suffered greatly along the way and it made a serious impact on his mental state. By the grace of God (and I mean that), I didn't react the way Morty expected me (or wanted me) to. I stayed calm throughout the entire time and listened to him. I only spoke when I had to and allowed him to get it all out. Ironically, the last hour of that Saturday was spent in deep confession. He asked me to forgive him for the way he talked to me that day and the way he treated me in general. He promised to change and our relationship was different (better) from that day forward. Of course, I still left the secret warehouse for another job as soon as one came up, but when I did finally leave, it was a sad day for Morty. He took me out for sushi and lavished me with some very nice gifts and a cash bonus that really helped our young family.

But to this day, I don't look at a pair of scissors the same way.

(* I'm stealing Toni in the Midst's signature strike-through technique for this post.)

Race Fans

Year after year I attend the Indianapolis 500 and other IndyCar events. I'm hooked. I love the cars, the speed, the competition...and the race fans.

I was RIGHT!!!!!!!

It seems like every few weeks or so I have something to say about driving. Since my work commute (50+ minutes each way per day) is a big part of my day it only makes sense that I'd get inspired to blog about it on occasion. Today is that day.

Part of my drive consists of traveling on a three-lane interstate (i.e. three lanes going each direction). The posted speed limit is 55 mph. This morning, I was in the right lane--let me stress that again: THE RIGHT LANE. This means that there were two, perfectly good lanes to the left of me. I was going 60 mph. If you fancy yourself a student of jurisprudence, then you probably realized that I just willingly admitted to a driving infraction. Now, did I mention that I was in the RIGHT LANE? That's going to be important later on.

So, I'm in the RIGHT LANE going FIVE MILES AN HOUR OVER THE SPEED LIMIT and Mr. Black Ford SUV pulls up behind me (this is the RIGHT LANE in case I didn't mention it). Apparently, I'm not going fast enough for him. The normal reaction in a situation like this would be to turn on your left turn signal, look for oncoming traffic, and then move over to pass in the middle lane (since I was in the RIGHT LANE). However, Mr. Black Ford SUV must have just gotten off a plane from Germany where he was driving on the Autobahn--where there is no speed limit and you indicate your desire to pass by flashing your lights or bright lights at the person in front of you. But wait, I'm pretty sure that even in Germany where people drive really fast (amazingly, they do this safely) they also understand that the RIGHT LANE is where the slower cars drive.

I'm used to people tail-gating me and it's not because I'm one to drive really slow. It's just become accepted in our country that everyone is in so much of a hurry that they don't think about the dangers or riding six inches behind another vehicle while traveling at speeds in excess of 60 m.p.h. Even though I'm used to it, I still don't like it--but I'm willing to let it go without getting upset (within reason). But since Mr. Black Ford SUV decided to flash his lights at me, I was livid. Someone please tell me what it was that I was supposed to do?!?

I'll tell you what I did--I put my arms in the air to indicate, "what am I supposed to do?" His response was to get REALLY MAD. Perhaps now would me a good time for me to point out that I was in the RIGHT LANE. I couldn't move over to the right so he could pass. That's the shoulder of the road and is used for emergencies. This will be helpful to understanding the story. Anyway, he popped into the left lane (didn't use the turn signal) and pulled up beside me. Then, to show his approval, he gave me a simple hand gesture to let me know that I was the "#1" driver. How cool is that?

Arrrrrrrrrgggggggggghhhhhhhh!

Geek Squad...EXTREME

Today I saw one of those Geek Squad vans on the road. If you're not familiar with them, they're a company that goes out and fixes computers--mostly for residential users. I think they've partnered with companies like Best Buy to take over all of their PC repair and installation work.

Anyway, this particular Geek Squad van was loaded up on top with a plethora of long ladders. Now, I've installed and even repaired a bunch of computers in my day. Sure, I can barely change the oil in my own vehicles, but I CAN diagnose and fix a respectable range of PC issues. But I've NEVER, EVER had to use a ladder. These guys must be really serious about fixing computers--or the ladders are just for show.