Showing posts with label office. Show all posts
Showing posts with label office. Show all posts

Thursday, September 28, 2017

What We Talk About When We Talk About Jobs

I extend my apologies to Raymond Carver and Gordon Lish for stealing eight out of nine words from the title of that famous short story.  It started out as a story called “Beginners” by Raymond Carver, but, by the time Gordon Lish got through with the editing job, he almost completely re-wrote the story and changed the title.  It was published his way, since he was a powerful editor and nobody wanted to get on his bad side.  End of American Literature minute.

In my last little article, to be found here, I gave useful tips about how to deal with the availability of workplace restrooms.  In this piece, I would like to cover the availability, restrictions and rules governing free food and free coffee.


In our dreams!

Free Goodies

No employee is ever paid enough.  This fact is so well known it must be scientific.  I would appreciate it if anyone would steer me toward some genuine research.  In the meantime, I am assuming this statement is true.  I know it’s true for me.  I can always come up with a better compensation plan for myself than any employer can come up with.

Because everybody who works is being paid less than they know they should get, everybody who works is entitled to whatever perks they can snatch from under the eyes of their bosses.  Warning:  this does not include larceny, a co-worker’s lunch or anything that will seriously piss off other employees.  In other words, that brand new all-in-one PC sitting in its box waiting to be installed may not be removed and taken home, unless you hate your job so much that going to jail is preferable to showing up at the office.  End of disclaimer.  I am not encouraging anyone to commit crimes.  Leave that to the professionals.

Food that the company has bought and paid for is another thing altogether.  Company food is just waiting to be snatched and devoured.  If the food is meant for a meeting with high-end clients, it is imperative for employees to try to snitch some of it.  If your boss is trying to impress people, the food is bound to be good, even if it is being served in a conference room.

The first, and safest, way to get your share of free conference room food is to watch the closed door of the room like a cat waiting for a mouse to come out of a hole, and make a quick dash into the room after everyone in the meeting has left the area.  If you are clever, you can even dash into the room before they all disappear, claiming it is your turn to clean the room or turn off the equipment in there.  Once you are in the room, you can survey the wreckage on the food table and rescue anything that looks untouched and still edible or drinkable.  This is the honorable way to get free food.

If the meeting attendees were more hungry than usual, or the company was cheap with the amounts and portions, the honorable way won’t work.

Because the honorable way is a crap shoot, it is in an employee’s interest to learn the second way to grab free nourishment, sneaking it out of the room before the meeting starts.  This method requires planning, dexterity and cleverness.  It helps to have the assistance of co-workers, although it will be necessary to share the spoils with any accomplices.  The method used to filch the goodies depends a great deal on the caterer.  If the food is brought in on carts from the company cafeteria, and it is not covered in Saran Wrap, it might be possible to lift it right from the cart, especially if you have made friends with the cafeteria staff and they all know you.  If the person wheeling the cart is a hottie, a bit of flirting can earn you a nice culinary reward, if you are not sued for sexual harassment instead.

If the food is covered in cling wrap, and the wrap is left on it even after it is put down on the table inside the conference room, you have a problem.  For this, you will need great skill in opening cling wrap without tearing it, grabbing something, closing it up again, hiding the loot and leaving the scene.  It is best to practice this at home until you can perform the entire exercise in 10 seconds or less.

When your co-worker comes around with the Girl Scout Cookie order sheet, you are going to look like a stingy jerk if you don’t order at least a couple of boxes.  If you ignore everyone’s advice to get Thin Mints and buy a kind nobody likes, just sneak them onto the food table the next time there is a catered meeting.  Someone will eat them.

If you don't know what this is, you haven't been paying attention.
Free Coffee

Most offices have a pantry or some other space set aside for that honored, sacred institution:  the office coffeemaker.

The job of washing the carafe usually falls, by default, on one of the lower-level female executive assistants.  Women have made great strides in the workplace in the last several decades, but anything involving cleaning up remains firmly in the category of “women’s work.”  If there is no lower level executive assistant available, the unspoken rule says that any female employee can take over the job.  If there is a choice between cleaning up and getting her caffeine fix or not cleaning up and going through minor withdrawal, many women will shut up and wash the f***ing pot.

The quality of office coffee ranges from great to awful.  This depends on the boss.  If the boss is a coffee snob, the stuff will be good.  If the boss doesn’t care what kind of mud is in his/her cup so long as it gives a caffeine kick, it will probably be the cheaper stuff.  My thoughts about this tragic situation are: (1) if it’s the end of the pay period and cash is low, hold your nose and drink the free stuff; and (2) at any other time, go to the Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts up the street.

Executive assistants are not required to fetch the boss’ coffee anymore.  Some bosses take this more seriously than others.  I don’t need to elaborate on this one.

This is the end, at least until I come up with something else to warn everyone about.


Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Watching the Ink Dry

Because of an office date stamper, I have the most colorful hands in New York City.

I am a natural klutz, and I have been one all my life.  If a clumsy move is possible, I’ll find it and execute it with aplomb.  I can do clumsy maneuvers that most people can’t even think of.  There are a number of things I should never be trusted with, including hammers, pull-top cans, paper, stepladders, furniture and date stamper ink.

These have survived for thousands of years because I never touched them.
To make a long story short, the impressions left by our date stamper at work were starting to look sick, and I had to hit the thing pretty hard to get it to print clearly.  My wrist and I were getting tired.  I stopped, got out my little bottles of blue and red ink and went to work.

First, I had to figure out how to get the stamp pad out of the stamper.  This involved pushing the gadget together and locking it, then removing the pad.  I was fine with squeezing the thing together, but it refused to lock for me.  I swear I could hear it laughing.  It took several frustrating tries, but I finally got the freaking thing to stay put and I got the ink pad out.  The next step was to open the little ink bottles and drip enough ink onto the pad to make everything come out nice and clear without being forced to batter the desk to death with the stamper.

I won’t go into all the gory details.  I’ll just say that I ended up with ink not only on the ink pad but also on my desk blotter, a page of blank labels and my hands.  It takes several hand washings to get that stuff off, so I had semi-permanent blue and red tattoos on both hands for the rest of the day.  I looked like I worked in a flag factory.

Oh, but there’s more!

Apparently, I didn’t know the difference between dripping and pouring, because I got too much ink on the pad.

Everyone knows that ink dries faster if you stare at it.  So that’s what I did.  I held my head in my hand and stared down at the pad, willing the ink to dry.  A co-worker saw me and asked me if I was okay.  “Oh yes,” I assured her.  “I’m just watching some ink dry.”

And I wonder why people look at me funny.

Eventually, I got tired of this, blotted off the excess ink with a kleenex and put it back into the stamper – upside down.  I figured this out when it printed even worse than before.  Again, I shoved the stamper together and managed to lock it.  I had to dig to pull out the pad, because it was in upside down, but I got it out and put it back in right.

The ink was still wet, which meant that the date came out looking a little like Rorschach ink blots.  I stamped the date on some scratch paper until it started to come out looking better.


What is the moral of this story?  If you put a klutz in charge of a date stamper, you end up with ink blots and colored fingers.  What did you expect, something philosophical and intelligent?

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