Category: work

Perception is a funny thing

As one part of the work I do, I have the honor of managing a group of ten people who run a help desk. They do phone and email support for people both inside and outside the company.

If you’ve ever worked a help desk, or known someone who has, you know that it’s really not a very rewarding job.

And to do it well is a major feat.

The team I work with was so well put together by my predecessor that I could sometimes weep at how lucky I am to step into a help desk team that hums.

Sadly, most of the people who work the help desk are contractors, and sort of viewed as the “lowest form of life” around here. People treat my team like their personal admins. Like they are dumb. And often worse.

But these folks endure, provide great support, and I’m proud to heck to be affiliated with them.

When I arrived, once they sniffed me out and decided I was ok, they gave me a hoodie sweatshirt that had our team’s name and logo embroidered into it. The median age of the helpdesk is like 25 years old, so the hoodies make them happy.

The one they gave me is like three sizes too big and makes me look like the unibomber. So of course I rather enjoy wearing it over my work clothes on these cold San Francisco summer days. It’s toasty, and plus I like identifying as part of my team.

This afternoon, wearing my hoodie, I went down to the first floor for a fro-yo break. While I was waiting for the elevators, I found myself standing with a group of executives from the European company that just acquired my own.

Four men, all in *very* sharp suits, middle aged, Caucasian, rich.

They looked me over, saw my sweatshirt, and gave me that warm-eyed condescending smile you give your grandmother when she tells you to have another slice of her over-salted, undercooked apple pie.

So at first I got a little ticked. I was thinking, “I should tell those rich fat bastards that I’m a senior manager and they shouldn’t be so quick to judge! I bet those d’bags don’t do any real work! My team works their collective ass off and you sit up there on the twentieth floor deciding who gets to keep their job and who doesn’t, while you cash your bonus check and drink Cristal out of your Mercedes!”

In other words, as they were judging me, I was judging them right back. Judging them from the top of their perfectly coiffed heads, right down to the cuff of their perfectly creased dark blue pinstripe suit pants. Yup.

They may have been looking down at me, but I was looking down at them right back. And we were all wrong in our assessments.

That knife pleat cuts both ways, now doesn’t it?

The Power of Nothing

“Hey Karen, what are you going to do this weekend?”

“Nothing!”

True conversation held last Friday.

The last two and a half months have been nothing short of a rat race. Every weekend something was brewing.

Every. Weekend. Since May.

Most of the stuff was good. Traveling, dinner with friends and family, visiting newly born godbabies, etc.

Also, both The Good Man and I celebrated birthdays over that time span.

There was also some crap stuff, like moving out of our place for termite tenting.

Every weekend was a blur, non-stop, arriving back at work Monday more tired then when I’d left the previous Friday.

I’m a Taurus, and by nature, a bit of an at-home kind of girl. Bonding with the red couch is my sort of speed.

My Gemini love is more of a “let’s GOOOOO” sort of fellow.

So for us, it is about striking a balance.

Combine my natural tendency to lay about with a couple months of mistreatment at the hands of my employers, and you have Little Johnny Karen on the verge of something not pretty.

All work and no play makes Karen a very, very cranky girl.

And so, for the past two and a half months I have been plotting and planning a weekend that included zero plans with anyone other than me, the husband and the feline.

I had targeted this past weekend for some time and was a little bit cranky in defending it. We had no less than FOUR invitations to do something this weekend. All of which, we turned down.

Sure, that may make me a bad friend, but I have my sanity to consider.

So finally, the delicious weekend of July 18th arrived, and good for my word, I did nothing.

Ok, to be fair, I did a few things. Laundry. Landlord came to make some needed repairs. Ran a few errands.

But I also took a *nap* on both Saturday and Sunday. Oh delicious mouth watering naps.

I also made dinner for me and the cutest boy on Saturday night. Took the time and made a genuine homemade dinner! Imgaine that!

You know what else? I *read* a book. My god, it’s like vacation porn. I actually sat on my tush and READ A BOOK. Ay god. Makes me drool just remembering.

So as it will, Monday has returned to my life, but so far so good. I feel a bit rested, calmer, ready to take on the slings and arrows that will inevitably land my way.

Next weekend, it all begins again. Rev up the big machine and start running. Won’t see another break until September…*sigh*

My new motto: Do nothing. And do it *really* well!

P.S. and all those old fashioned “you must get up early and work hard!” because you think it makes you moral-and-just type of folks. To you, I say BAH!

P.P.S. And BAH! again!

Excuse me, your pettiness is showing

I’m going to take a divergence from my usual frivolity and irreverence here on this blog.

Yup, a departure. I’m instead going to sink below all that and slip right over into immature and really, a bit petty.

But I’ll redeem myself by the end. I promise.

Watch me work.

So, last evening I was out and about. I had drinks with a former coworker. A lady who is a friend, a mentor, and someone I respect deeply. It was great to catch up, laugh a little, and have fun.

Later, after we’d parted ways, I wandered over to the ol’ stompin’ grounds located near my former employer. I was looking for a friend I knew would probably be there, having a drink. I was surprised to find not just my buddy, but also a whole group of my former crew from The Company.

These are the folks I worked with, side by side, walking through fire, hand-to-hand combat, and together we had major, major success.

These are some of the best folks, and it was great to see them!

Among those present was a gentleman (using that term loosely) that I worked with pretty closely back in the day. This was quite a few years ago, well before The Good Man.

For the sake of anonymity, let’s call him…Sporto.

Back then, I sorta had a little crush on the guy. Yes, I’ll admit it, I liked ol’ Sporto a lot and might have chased him a little bit. I think he might have liked me a little too, but just a little. He actually liked it better when I was chasing him around.

So of course, I never got any traction there, and eventually gave up.

Whatever.

So last night, there Sporto was, and seemed really happy to see me. He gave me a big hug, a “how *are* you?” and that ol’ charming smile…the one like a ferret about to devour the alligator egg.

After hugs all around the group, we all got a drink and settled around a table. We quickly fell back into our old ways, teasing each other mercilessly and laughing a lot.

At one point, I said to the group something like, “yeah, my husband told me blah blah blah.”

What I said doesn’t matter.

What *does* matter is that when I said the phrase “my husband”, ol’ Sporto’s ears perked up, and he gave me a look like someone had shot his dog.

He caught my eye across the table and mouthed, “You got married?”

I nodded eagerly and held up my ring hand.

And I grinned a Cheshire smile.

Later he caught me aside, “uh…when did you get married? I mean, last time I saw you…you were….”

He left that space empty to imply, “last time I saw you, you were into ME”

Whatever.

I laughed and said, “Yeah, I got married about a year ago, he’s great, we’re having a lot of fun.”

And here’s where I got petty.

I then said to him, concerned hand on his shoulder, “Why do you look so sad?”

He mumbled, “I don’t know…..I guess…..just another good one off the market.”

What I *should* have replied was “YOU HAD YOUR CHANCE, DILLWEED!!”

Here’s where I redeem myself.

What I did reply was, “thanks for saying that…”

He then shuffled off, shot-dog look and shoulder slumped, over to the bar, and ordered another beer.

I went back to my friends and picked up where we left off.

I also *might* have engaged in a small, yet subtle vindication dance.

Dear Canadian Hiring Managers:

It’s ok. Unclench. You might like it.

“A telephone survey of 100 senior Canadian executives showed that more than a fifth of executives said a single typo on a resume or cover letter could cost a potential employee a job, while 28 percent said two mistakes would kill their chances.”

Wow, really? I’m a hiring manager. I went through a two year period where I was constantly hiring. I’ve probably looked at over a thousand resumes. All were done to greater and lesser degree. Yes, some were so sloppy it wasn’t worth taking a look, but a minor error here or there, especially if it’s a common typo, teh for the, for instance, is certainly acceptable.

I agree that job seekers need to put a best foot forward all of the time. I agree with polishing the resume, having someone else read it, making it clean and crisp. This is your sales pitch and you need to get it right.

But for me and for the hiring managers I know, one typo doesn’t kill anyone’s chances. Unless this is a job for the typing pool where accuracy matters, it’s more about the qualities of the person, not their keyboarding skills. I think if that’s the view the company takes of minor human error, then who would want to work there anyway?

Source.

Mua ha hahaha ah ah!

I have turned my minions into zombies! Zombies, I tell you!

I have shared with the minions my little addiction, and they have succumbed as have I, their mighty leader!

Oh yes.

See, while on road trip over the Fourth of July, in some forgotten town off of Highway 5, with snackies on my mind, I picked up two packs of these little beauties:

I took them and squirreled them into our car and I ATE them. Oh yes I did. Every one of them. I didn’t even offer one to The Good Man. I just ate ’em and ate ’em until they were gone.

Like that first hit off a crack pipe, I was done. I succumbed. First taste is free….then you’re gonna pay.

While devouring these nutty little heroin balls, I saw that the Pnuttles people had a website where they vend their product. Then, I thought…maybe I can save a couple bucks by ordering from Amazon.

To Amazon I went and YES! there they were. Only…it’s more complicated. I found the butter toffee almonds….but with *cinnamon* added. I didn’t even look at price, I one-click ordered those bad boys so fast your head would swim!

Oh my.

Last evening I arrived home from a difficult day at work to find that my precious had been delivered to the front door step. Yes!

I tore into the box like a wild animal to discover that I had purchased not one but TWO jars of my addiction. WHAT!?!?

Turns out I ordered 1 each of a two pack. Good lord.

The Husbandnator looked in askance (remember, at this point he was not yet a Pnuttles zombie), “we can’t eat all of those” he told me.

I shrank back, protecting my precious. But then cooler heads prevailed, and I realized he’s right.

“I’ll take one to work,” I replied.

That seemed reasonable, we agreed, then cracked open the jar we were keeping.

Husband took a few bites and declared “EVIL!”

Umm hmmm…..

We sat on the couch, feeding our addiction, watching who cares what on the television. Didn’t matter, only the constant crunch crunch of not-too-sweet delicious toffee almonds.

Today, I brought the other jar to work. I posted a note, “These are very addictive. Enjoy!”

That was twenty minutes ago and there is now a line of zombie minions coming to my door exclaiming “these are sooooo goooood”

Yup.

My Pnuttles army of zombies increases. We are unstoppable! (except for when the jar runs out and we all flop over in sugar coma)

Here’s where you too can succumb and become a member:

Link