A fun new game!

So a dear colleague of mine at the Ranch come up with a great new game to play. He suggested it as a great way to kill time at those pesky monthly staff meetings we have here. And I have to agree with him, it sounds like great fun. Here's how it works:

Think Bingo. You know, that great game enjoyed by geriatrics, shut-ins and backwoods religious zealots throughout this fair land. You've got your score card with the letter-number combos laid out in a neat and tidy grid pattern, an absolute testament to the beauty of organization and order. You've got your score markers, whether they are plastic, wood or metal; round or square, it doesn't matter. Just so long as you have a sufficient supply to play however many score cards you happen to be playing without having to get up mid-game to collect more in order to keep playing. A bingo novice makes the mistake of not gathering enough score markers once, and once only. And finally, you've got your MC, or barker, whatever you want to call him. He's (I'm using this pronoun in a gender-neutral, non-judgmental sort of way, ladies) the guy (c.f. prev. note) who stands on the stage in front of the assembled Depends-wearing, White trash/Christ loving, welfare/SSI drawing throng, calling out "B-10", "G-32", "N-5" and the like off the dirty, finger grease smeared ping-pong balls which he pulls out of the... what the hell do they call that machine that bounces those balls around like a carnival ride for tiny plastic planets? Anyway, he's up there for hours on end, usually drinking a bottomless cup of coffee and smoking and endless supply of shitty, second rate smokes while the wheezing, burping and bawling crowd happily while away their Thursday nights trying to win back their "pin money" so they can buy more formula for the latest baby, beer for the husband, or prescription drugs which aren't covered by Medicare.

You get the picture. Bingo.

Now that you've got that image firmly implanted in your mental picture show, shift gears to the board room with its shiny glass topped soccer field of a conference table, the comfy leather upholstered ergonomically correct chairs and replete with bookshelves full of important looking tomes, 3-D anatomical models of organs, bones and joints and the sleek computer terminal in the corner. Seated around this table are important looking men and not-so important looking women (sorry gals, in cyberspace, I'm an even bigger dick than I am in real life, but that's another story...), all with important looking papers and various office-type supplies and tools close at hand.

Now for those of you who have actually worked a real job (one job that requires you bathe BEFORE arriving to the "job site", a job whose dress code requires a pressed collar and pants in good condition) for longer than the two days it took to steal all the pens and legal pad you could pilfer from the supply room in your shitty little backpack, then you will be intimately familiar with the pithy words, slogans and catch phrases that dominate the corporate workplace. You know the one's:

- Thinking outside of the box
- Win/Win solution
- paradigm change
- begin with the end in mind
- Awareness wheel

Anyway, you get the idea.

So here's how the game works:

The next time you're stuck in a boring staff meeting, listening to your peers and superiors drone on and on about things the sound important, but really aren't. You're sitting there either thinking about what a waste of time this whole exercise is, and how much REAL work you could be doing if you weren't stuck in this meeting. Or thinking about the dynamic sex you had with that cute (and drunk) blonde the previous night (how DID she get her legs to do that?!?!). Or more likely, you're struggling through the third hangover of the week, and it's only Monday. Whatever the case, take out a piece of paper and, acting like you're taking notes about the important new "process improvement" that is being discussed in detail, draw out your very own Bingo score card. Instead of filling in the squares with "B-13", or "O-7", you complete the card with all of those new age-y corporate slogans designed to get you motivated and jazzed about your crappy job.

Now once you've got your score card, you can't ask the two clowns sitting next to you for their paper clips and sticky notes without raising suspicion, so what do you do about the score counters? Well, since you're playing by yourself, you can simply cross out the appropriate box whenever a given term or phrase is uttered aloud. So whenever that incompetent monkey across the table from you whose mastery of the English language would make Thai whore blush from embarrassment, says something along the lines of "I think we need to rethink our 'action plan' and revise our whole 'customer service paradigm',"; well that's when you cross off the appropriate box.

Now hear comes the really fun part. When you've finally got complete line on your score card crossed out, vertically, horizontally, diagonally, whatever. Well once you've drawn a line through that last box, and you've taken a moment to double check you card to be sure you've got that "bingo", you jump to your feet, draw in a full breathe of air, and shout at the top of your lungs:

"BULLSHIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!"


And before anyone can actually recover from your unexpected intrusion into the stuporous banality of the proceedings, you decisively turn on your heel, and quickly exit the room.

While you're up, you may as well go clean out your desk, because you're going to be out on the streets looking for a job quicker than Courtney Love will have her next fix when she leaves rehab (again).

I'm sure Parker Bros. will want a piece of this action.

This is going to be one for the record books...

So it's 9:30 on a Saturday morning, and I can already tell that this is going to be one of those truly memorable and most likley, miserable days.

First off, it's 9:30 and I'm not only awake, but out of bed and posting an entry on my blog, which I ultimately think is not the best use of my time or energy. I'm a bit of a "numbers guy" (like my boss), and while I am known for over-indulgence and suprefluous action, I like to rationalize my wasteful activities by fooling myself that there is some redemptive aspect which will validate my poor choices. But so be it. I'm going to give this thing a fair shake and see what comes of it.

So yeah, I'm up early on a day off. After what proved to be a rather wierd, awkward, and slightly uncomfortable evening with this woman I've recently started seeing (dare we use the word "dating"?), I had to get up bright and early to take my car in to the shop for service. And it's not just your typical oil change and tire rotation we're talking here. No sir. No, we're taking my less than impressive, typically utilitarian and innocuous compact car (read: Honda) back into the neighborhood grease monkeys yet again. For an issue that has been plaguing me for over a year now.

So I'm pissed off because I know this is going to cost me some real coin, but mostly I'm pissed because, in my opinion, after three visits for the same problem in about a year, I think this issue should be resolved. I mean, this IS THEIR FUCKING JOB, right? In my line of work, you do NOT get three chances to NOT solve a problem for a client. You get one, maybe two, if the oversight isn't too friggin' egregious. Then it's a toss-up between losing the client and getting a serious browbeating from the managing partner, or better yet, a malpractic claim and possible termination of employment. Immediate, and without a severance package. Luckily, I've got one of those bosses that doesn't hastily jump to conclusions or act out of emotion. But I can't say that for the rest of my colleagues. So, I have very little tolerance for ineptitude. Willful ignorance, incompetence and apathy are three of the most disgusting and rancorous attributes in my fellow human kind, and I've got to tell you, friends and neighbors. I am fucking surrounded by it, and I can't stand it.

So, I drag my ass (and my pesky car) to the shop at the appointed early morning hour, and I engage in yet another customer service encounter that further degrades my trust in this particular service facility. I walk in and there's a new "counter person", who happens to be a very sexy young woman of Asian/Pacific Islander decent. Now I'm always up for hot chicks, but I'm not real impressed with this young thing's ability to listen and respond appropriately. You see, I've been going to the same place for car service for well over 6 years. I always call to make an appointment and discuss the issue at hand. I always arrive on time. I am diligent taking my car in for regular maintenance. These people have a file with my history. So why is it that when I go in today, I have to explain, once again, the recurrent issue that I am in for. And when she has to ask me a question, which I have ALREADY ANSWERED NOT 20 SECONDS PRIOR, I come very close to losing my cool. However, realizing that this will not a) solve the car problem, b) she's probably fairly new to the job/industry, and c) my patience is already running out, I chose to refrain from unloading a modest dose of vitriol and attitude, and make haste my departure. You see, I know I'm going to have to deal with someone who has more authority and discretion when they make the "good news/bad news" call. I think I'll just save that pent up aggression for a more appropriate time.

Upon returning to domicile, I begin the work for the day which I have laid out for myself. Namely laundry and a stack of shit I brought home from The Ranch. Alright, I've sorted out the clothes into appropriate categories and have those machines a-humming, when I log on to the Ranch's network. Lo, and behold, but what should I find sitting in my inbox, but a notice from a national testing agency with the results of a VERY IMPROTANT EXAMINATION that I took a few weeks ago. Now mind you, this is the second time I have taken this exam, and obviously the results were not sufficient for my needs a year ago. So therefore, I subjected myself to its rigors once again. Well, well, well. Surprise, surprise! I did not expect to have the scores back quite so soon. They weren't due until the 25th, and here it is, the 22nd.

A little backstory: This exam, this significant bane to my current personal and professional exisitence, this monkey on my back that has more power than the finest China White in all the shooting galleries of Seattle, New York and San Fransisco combined, has me wrapped up like a pretzel worse than TomKat. To me, it's the gateway to a bigger and better life. And a daunting hurdle that must be overcome before I can continue my persoanl evolution into that which I desire for myself.

In other words, it's kind of important to me.

I realize that this is mostly a matter of my own personal hang ups and I shouldn't invest so much, emotionally, into a standardized test. A test, which once taken (and adequate results acheived, of course), has little to no meaning for the rest of eternity. It's simply a gateway. A test for test's sake. And that, friends and neighbors, burns my ass to no end.

So, with some trepidation, I move the mouse and place my cursor over the emblazoned email title which informs me that my "Result Are In". Upon clicking, I look upon the information ensconced within the electronic missive with the eager anticipation of a 14 year old who gets his first real live look at a woman's Most Holy of Holies; and the dread of Galileo brought before the Spanish Inquisition. And what do I see?

152.

152? Wha- (the fuck?)

152!! Christ on a cross.

You mean, I waited a full year, subjected myself to a "prep" class taught by some twit who is 7 years younger than I, who doesn't seem able to respond to even the most direct questioning reagrding the material that she is supposed to be teaching. At a modest $700 price tag. Not to mention the hefty speeding ticket I got on the way to the airport to get back to Seattle to take the damn test. Or the fact that, be it right or wrong, in my mind's eye, this test will set the tone for the next 3-5 years of my petty, insignificant existence.

And for what? 1 point. 1 measly fucking point increase from last year's score. In other words, kids, all that effort, time, energy, worry and money. All for ONE FUCKING POINT!!!!

Fuck.

Or as my buddy Rob likes to mock: "god DAMmit!"

So yeah, it's going to be one of those days.... And I won't even get into the "good news/bad news" call I got from the head grease monkey while typing this rant. Suffice to say, the gentleman had NO IDEA what he was walking into when he picked up that phone.

So, with that. Let the drinking begin. And by the way, where DID I put my shotgun...?

Don't look a gift horse in the ass

So I get this email from my boss today advising the staff of the central office that he's spring for pizza for everyone for lunch. Which is nice. Now my boss is a pretty cool cat, and I dig working for him. And he's pretty generous, when he wants to be. Which isn't often when it comes to money or expenses. This is not to say that he's any miserly Scrooge, or tightfisted bastard, even though he IS an attorney. Au contrare, he'll spend the dough when it's merited. But he's a bit of a numbers guy, and he does expect some form of return on his investment, (Remember, he's an attorney).

But you see, the thing is, he's not even in the office today. He's SUPPOSED to be in another town across the state visiting his youngest (hot) duaghter with his wife and eldest (SUPER HOT, HOT, HOT) daughter. He's supposed to be enjoying some time away from the office and the stacks of work that he has, and bonding with his daughters who are in their 1st and 2nd year of colllege (dDid I mention how gorgeous these little birds are?). He is NOT supposed to be in front of a computer, sending out emails to his hard working staff about friggin' pizza lunches.

Now this man can literally move mountains. I've seen him do it myself. And he's certainly dedicated to his work, but come on dude, take a break. Enjoy the sunshine, and forget about us drones for a day or two.

Yep, I've succumbed

That's right, bitches. I've finally given up all resistance and decided to join the club and start posting my own rants, raves, observations and errata in the Ether.

And just so there's no misunderstandings, I titled my very onw blog with the two aspects which denote my persona the best.

This is going to be the best writing exercise and waste of time I have ever been involved in.