Sometimes, you get a win at work, but it's unseemly to talk about it in case someone thinks (rightly) that you're crowing. Well, screw it... I
am crowing a little.
One of the finance people wanted to put out an internal memo on some corporate actions we had to take recently, and wanted to make it very clear this was in no way related to fraud. So, in a fairly understandable way, they stated that clearly in the memo.
When it came to my desk for review, I nearly fell out. Luckily I had just visited with my friend The Cuban, who showed me some of her media relations training materials. Something I read in that material stuck with me and started flaring as I read the memo.
"You never want to introduce or repeat the negative," The Cuban wrote in her material. "Think of Nixon's famous line: 'I am not a crook.' What everyone remembers is that Nixon was a crook - whether he was or not."
So after I read the memo I picked up the phone and called the author and we had ourselves a nice, polite, slightly passive-aggressive moment (she's a VP+, I am not) but in the end I won - and I managed to get a few more people to my side in the process.
Which tells me that the faster you can get to the essence of your argument, the better chance you have of winning it.
I'm writing to you from the Amtrak 187 to Washington DC. I love wireless broadband. Amtrak isn't so bad either - they have outlets handy for computers and whatnot. My iPod (the new one - the 30-frigging-gig with slideshow ability - is running low on the juice and I forget to bring the usb cable, so I'm plugged into my computer literally. Nice comfy seats, too.
It struck me while waiting for my train to board at Penn Station that we (the people) are so weirdly tribal sometimes. Maybe all the time... but definately while waiting for the train. Penn Station is designed for frequent travelers - not for the once-in-a-while folks like me. There are no Amtrak people roaming the general lobby area, answering questions and otherwise pointing people in a general direction. The Big Board with all the train numbers and track numbers is a study in controlled chaos. Trains don't board until 7 minutes prior to scheduled departure. Or so it seems.
So while all of this is going on, I noticed that there were roughly three types of people waiting in the lobby: 1) People looking to hook verbally with another human life form; 2) Human shells; and 3) Barely contained nerves and energy.
Group 1, if they were there alone, wandered up and down the concourse and somehow managed to have five to eight micro-conversations: "Got the time?" "You know where 243 is boarding?" "Have they called the Acela yet?" I picture these people on the end of a long leash, barely tethered to the Earth - exhilerated by the risk but terrified at the same time. Knive edge, man.
If any Group 1 people were fortunate enough to have a travel companion, they usually were engrossed in dense and intense conversation on amazingly stupid things. Some of these Group 1 conversations took on a slightly aggressive tone in a fake attempt to match emotional and verbal discourse. No dice. Just boring and lame after all that.
Group 2 - human shells. These are the bodies lying across bench seats at the airport, or the slumped over forms on the train on your morning or evening commute. I like human shells, because sleeping people are peaceful. And I like the idea of the body's muscles at rest. I picture big fluffy clouds and a bed of soft grass to lie on.
Group 3 would normally be suspected of narcotics use if they bopped around anywhere except Penn Station. These are the people traveling to meet a lover, quit a job, break good news to friends or attend a funeral. They exist in a high emotional state, and therefore are vulnerable to the slightest provocation. I remember when I left Atlanta the day before I started my new (current) job; I was a total Group 3, and the asshole checking me in curbside said he couldn't find my reservation. I told him, I'm on the flight to New York at 3:50 and he said "There's no 3:50 flight and there's no you in the computer." Which made me so homocidal it still bothers me today that my mood could change so quickly and hotly. Turns out he only checked LaGuardia and not JFK. Total dick. I was crying with anger within three minutes.
So when you run into a Group 3, or if you happen to be one yourself, watch for the signs that it's all going to fall apart and split the scene pronto. If it's happening to you, I suggest you drink heavily or slap on your iPod and tune the world out. Sometimes the world sucks.
I haven't played word of the day for a while, but I started a new game with B at work - hardest working tally. He usually stays later than me, but the last two weeks I've been smoking him, including an all-nighter and three 17 hour days in a row. His title as hardest working is now in jeopardy, so we're starting the official tally on my white board.
The other thing from this week is for the "WTF" file. I got bitch slapped by a VP for issuing a press release on Yom Kippur. My official response was "If the markets are open, we're open, and I'll put out press releases." What I should have said was "Gee, R., that's not very Christian of you." or "Aren't you supposed to be atoning for something?" or "Well, it's in God's hands now." But that's not PC, and it's just not nice either. So there you go.
The kitchen is a mess. A hot tranny mess.
