A Bobby Pin and a Bout of Curiosity

The Boss of my Boss, we’ll call him Big Boss, sits right next door to me at work. I get along great with him and respect him immensely. I’ve been at this gig for a year now, and as you spend time in close quarters with someone, you begin to take note of some things.

A few weeks back, someone stopped by my office, asking “hey, have you seen Big Boss this afternoon?”

I replied “Yeah, I saw him walk by about a half hour ago. He was carrying his briefcase, so I suspect he’s gone for the day.”

The guy said thanks and walked on.

But I paused for a bit, pondering the question: “Wait, who carries a briefcase these days?”

The answer is: Big Boss. He carries a briefcase.

Big Boss is a bit of an old fashioned guy. He’s very professional and I get the sense he would have fit in nicely in the 1980’s era IBM culture. Remember those days? Everyone in my business school talked in quiet and earnest tones about IBM’s required dress code. As quoted from Wikipedia: “A dark (or gray) suit, white shirt, and a ‘sincere’ tie.”

That would be Big Boss. Sincere. Ok, he doesn’t wear a suit every day, but he does often enough. Most days are dark slacks, and a crisp pressed white shirt. His clothes are nice but not fancy. His taste is conservative, but cost conscious.

He wears no sideburns, preferring to keep his hair nice and short, cut to the ears.

He drives a Volvo. It’s a top of the line model but with bare bones features. The base model of the best model. See? Cost conscious, yet nice.

He and his wife and two kids (a boy and a girl, naturally) live in a modest home in a decent neighborhood. It’s a really nice middle class place, but nothing too fancy.

He can make a PowerPoint presentation deck of slides like no body’s business. He can get his point across with an economy of words. He’s an excellent negotiator and never gets rattled. He always knows what he needs to achieve and then he achieves it.

He has the utmost and complete respect of his upper management. When I interviewed, the Vice President of the group told me she considers him to be indispensible. She could not go on enough about what a great leader and person he is.

His office is decorated mostly with awards and trophies from his upwardly mobile career. He has one bit of whimsy, a ballpark giveaway from when the Arizona Diamondbacks won the World Series in 2001. He’s from Arizona, Phoenix to be exact. Not Scottsdale. Not Tempe. Phoenix. Just plain Phoenix.

The guy is, by most accounts, unremarkable. And yet, he’s utterly remarkable as a manager of our team.

And he carries that damn briefcase. What’s in that briefcase!?!? It’s not his laptop, that would be too heavy. Plus, he has a separate roller bag for his laptop and computer gear.

It’s not files, we’re a “green” company and thus required to rarely print things out. If I need his approval, I’m to attach the document to an email and he’ll give me approval back electronically. So he’s not pouring over contract files or spreadsheets tucked into his briefcase.

He has been trying to diet lately and he brings in a few cans of Slimfast each day. Maybe those go in the solid old fashioned leather briefcase with the handle and the closer tabs that go “plick!” when you slide the button over.

Ok. So Slimfast. And what else? He keeps his mobile phone in a holster on his belt. His wallet in his back pocket. His files on his computer and his pens in his shirt pocket.

WHAT IS IN THAT BRIEFCASE?

I have to know. Now I’m obsessed about it.





Photo by user name Mattox and used royalty free from stock.xchng.


The Fish Of The Babbling

About a month ago, much to my dismay, my very valued and crucial employee handling business in the Latin American region offered her resignation. She’d found a job at another company where she could make a lot more money. She’s a great employee and it was a super opportunity for her career.

In her absence, I’m recruiting for the role, but that always takes a very long time. So while I search for a suitable replacement, I’m also doing the job. This means now I get a LOT of emails in both Spanish and Portugese. BabelFish and Google Translate have become my closest work friends.

But you know that old saying “something is lost in translation”?

Yup. Since I have a weird sense of humor, I’m actually enjoying sorting out what these oddball translated phrases actually mean.

Here are a few of the greatest hits I’ve seen over the past two weeks:

“The gentility has requested immediate attention to this request”


Um. The gentility? Really? What is this, an Oscar Wilde novel?

This was translated from Portuguese and I’ve now seen this same usage of “gentility” crop up a lot. It must simply be how the language handles the notion of management.

Which might also explain this one:

“Waiting on response from God before proceeding”


Whoa! God? It might be awhile to get an answer from that guy. I bet he’s way behind on his email. Maybe he has an assistant we can call?

I believe this implies approval from the very top officer of the company. Now that’s an honorific!

Or, it’s better explained by:

“On taking drugs the equipment in this situation?”


Ah. That’s it. My computer is on drugs. Yup. And waiting for God to respond in a genteel way.

We never did actually figure this one out. Someone on my team thinks this is a question about how are you using the equipment…and perhaps that term “using” which can mean taking drugs, got confused in the context.

Maybe.

But when it comes to equipment, there is also this advice:

“To remember when arriving at the visited country, extinguishing and to ignite the equipment”


And also please remember to extinguish fully before reigniting. Because reigniting an already ignited device might equal “ouch”.

Especially if you:

“Reset in the heat of the moment”


Best to wait for the heat to pass before resetting or even reigniting.

And by far, my favorite closing sentiment:

“Thanks so much already”


You’re welcome by now.






Image by Jakub Krechowicz and used royalty free from stock.xchng.

Rasty Feline – Come here – I want to see you.

Back in 1876 I would imagine that Mr. Bell had no idea how his invention might take unify the world.

I appreciate that telephones and long distance dialing are nothing new, and yet I can still find ways to be amazed.

Since my job is global, I’m often up early in the morning to take conference calls. No matter what time of the dark night I rise, The Feline is always certain that it’s time to be fed.

It doesn’t matter if it’s actually her feeding time. She’s awake. I’m awake. Food. Now.

I usually ignore her until the clock spins around to the right feeding time, but this does not sit well with The Feline. Which means she rather vocally lets me (and The Good Man. And the neighbors) know just what’s on her mind.

I usually keep my phone on mute and I close the door to my home office to keep her out, but that does not deter the persistent one. She’ll get her snout into the gap under the door and let the vocalizations rip.

Through the magic of telephonic technology, my crabby Feline has been heard around the world. London, Singapore, Sydney, Mumbai, São Paulo, Kuala Lumpur, Tokyo, Argentina, Columbia, Sweden, France, Ireland, and more have all heard her pleas.

Two weeks ago, I was on a call with at least six vice presidents and executive vice presidents of my company. I fed the Feline early to pipe her down. I was on mute. I said very little. I made sure she was far away from this call.

Little did I know…

The second I went off mute to give my input to the executive team, The Feline had something to say.

Yes, executives of a multinational company had to hear my damn cat hollering.

Today was a first for The Feline. This morning she was heard in Kenya. Yup, all the way to Nairobi. May all those nice people in central Africa know: “I will not be ignored!!”

*siiiiiigh*

By the way…if it’s seven in the morning and you are stumbling around trying to dial Kenya with a country code of 254 and you forget to dial the 011 first…well, you talk to a really nice lady in Waco, Texas (area code 254) who wants to know why in the heck you are calling her.




Who me?



Photo by Karen Fayeth and taken with the Camera+ app on an iPhone4. Photo subject to the Creative Commons license found in the far right column of this page.


Just Like Evil Large Corporation Used To Make

While in the course of every adult’s life, whether male or female, there inevitably comes a time when you simply think to yourself, “I want my mommy.”

As we’ve become a mobile society, moving around to where opportunity is best, we often find ourselves in a geographical location far removed from mommy. Or for some unfortunate few, mommy has passed along and so there is no mommy to be had.

So in the absence of mommy, we must turn to the food that mommy used to make to help us feel comfort. By eating something familiar, there is a molecular “there, there” and a pet on the fevered head to make it all seem not so bad.

For many of us raised through the seventies, “food like mom used to make” may not have been the fabulous made from scratch homemade stuff of the Pleasantville moms of the fifties.

No, our moms had jobs and so they put on a blouse with the floppy bow at the neck and went to work to earn not only a paycheck but self respect.

And so our moms served us food no less comforting but bit more pre-processed.

As adults we find ourselves craving “mom’s” food that comes from a conglomeration like, say, KRAFT.

Which is not to say that KRAFT equals mom, but sometimes something that KRAFT makes does equal comfort.

I fell into such a KRAFT hole recently when I found myself lost and confused. I became overworked and overtired, low on a variety of essential nutrients and, most concerning, rather dehydrated. I found, in that moment, that all I wanted, needed, craved like the dickens was cheese slices. Good old-fashioned KRAFT cheese food that is neither cheese nor food, and wrapped in thin pieces of plastic.

This is frankenfood, to be sure. But damn it…KRAFT cheese slices make a darn nice grilled cheese sammich. Those fake orange plastic slices melt so nice under the heat of my toaster oven. Pair this with tomato soup and I feel, for a moment, mom’s hug and everything is just simply going to be all right.

Like Pavlov’s dog, I salivate at the sound of the crinkling wrapper, ready to take the first one out of the covering and shove the perfect square whole and intact into my waiting maw. While the toaster oven warms up, another slice goes down the hatch and my comfort-o-meter begins to register that something good is happening.

I feel a moment’s regret. A slight remorse. What IS this crap I’m eating? Then the plastic wrapper rustles again and I’m loading slices up on bread in gleeful anticipation.

My dearest mom would likely shake her head to think that I could possibly equate this crap food with her comfort. It’s a complicated association, and one I’m not proud of. But there is no denying the simple addictive magic of the sugar/fat/salt combination of ingredients that KRAFT loves to peddle to us unsuspecting rubes.

Look, the only KRAFT item I love more than American cheese slices is a nice big brick of Velveeta. Oh yes. Oh so very yes.

There’s a sucker born every minute and I’m standing in that line.





Even Gourmet Magazine understands.


Photo from user name Lazarus-long, used under a Creative Commons license, and found on Wikipedia.

Today’s Theme Thursday is: brick. See how I slipped that one in there? I’m a sly dog.


This Land is *My* Land

I rather enjoy reading The Pioneer Woman’s site. She’s an amazingly versatile woman, and I’m always impressed.

On her homeschooling section of the blog, one of her guest contributors is taking a summertime road trip around the country, and blogging about many of the stops. It’s fun to see all the places where she and her family stop and explore.

But the latest update is the one that caught my attention.

And I quote: “…we weren’t necessarily ready for the looooooong drive through the rather arid, xeriscape of Eastern New Mexico.”

Also: “Not too far outside of Santa Fe, everything looked a bit like this…for about 3 1/2 hours.”



Photo by Heather Sanders



Well….sheeyah! Welcome to the real West.

I love it when people are shocked at the big empty that is New Mexico.

Though I’d rather we all just kept it our little secret.