The Learning Curve

What I like about my current gig in Cube City is how much I've learned in just one year. My career was in "been there, done that" mode for many years. I felt like I knew everything.

When I started my job at the ad agency, it was clear that I knew nothing.

The learning curve can be really painful. My first job was probably the most painful of all because I truly knew nothing. I didn't even know what a database was -- and once I found out, I realized I didn't care to know.

Then I moved on to my second job, where I had to deal with a fair amount of bullshit in addition to the learning curve. I sat in a large room with one of those IT gurus. Circa 1998. Internet just now becoming a big deal. One day, as the IT guru was surfing the web and trying to entice me to play the online version of the You Don't Know Jack game, he slammed his hands on his desk and exclaimed, "I can't believe they didn't give me a cookie."

What the hell was he talking about? Had he forgotten to take his meds again? I offered to bring cookies the next day, which led to him exclaiming that he couldn't believe I didn't know what a cookie was. We didn't have Wikipedia back then. I was back in my "What is a database" learning curve mode.

I got an education there in that big room with nasty old orange shag carpeting. And now I'm in a much cleaner and nicer office space where I'm learning all kinds of new terms. I'm also seeing new people come and go who know nothing...which makes me feel like I know something.

Perhaps I should entice the newbies to play a game of You Don't Know Jack. I'll bring the cookies.

The Mystery Pooper

A mysterious woman from a different Cube City has been using our restroom lately. Whenever I go into the restroom when she is coming out, I am hit with the eye-opening smell of #2. It's like she is doing her business in a place where she won't be recognized by her fellow cube dwellers.

This shituation reminds me of a former job in which every office on the floor shared one set of restrooms. At the time, I worked in a mostly male company with only one other woman. The men knew not what we had to endure when we used the women's restroom. Every morning, we'd go into the restroom and be hit with a very foul smell as well as floating evidence that the person hadn't flushed.

Nice.

It became our quest to uncover and dethrone The Mystery Pooper. That mysterious pooper was a master at entering and exiting without being noticed. Granted, I worked at that company for only 9 months (I got the hint that our company was in the shitter when our paychecks started bouncing on a regular basis), but I never caught The Mystery Pooper.

All I know for sure is that The Mystery Pooper was a real stinker and that I am now faced with a double whammy: Mystery Pooper...#2.

The Resignation Letter

Dear Cube Dwellers,

I like to write resignation letters in Cube City. They are as close to closure as it gets. I usually write my resignation letter a few years before I leave a job. I always write them before I start searching for another job. They just make me feel good, like I have a say in something.

Templates Are Your Friend
My favorite resignation letter was two sentences long. I put no effort or passion into it, probably because I had nothing left to give. I pulled the letter from an online template gallery where hundreds of templates are categorized by occasion and have very descriptive titles like:

• Resignation Due to No Advancement Opportunities
• Resignation On Good Terms
• Resignation Due to Conflict with Boss

The template I chose had a description something like this: Resignation Offering No Explanation. It was as impersonal and bland as a form letter gets. I had been with the company for over five years -- my longest gig in Cube City. I loved the irony of being a long-term writer who submitted a generic resignation letter. Okay, so I was bitter.

Bosses Are Not Your Friend
Okay, so I'm still bitter. I've had three bosses in one year at my current job -- the first being in another city far far away but attentive if I needed anything, the second showing up on the org chart and nowhere else, and the third...well...the third is brand new and therefore in TBD mode. I'll get back to you on #3. But if I were to leave my current gig, I think it would be really funny to submit a resignation letter to my first boss--at her personal email address since she no longer works here--and nobody else.

I'd call that one something like Resignation to Ex-Boss With Motive of Escape Before New Boss Can Lure You Back into the Madness.

Sincerely,
Scissor Girl

Where's My Lunch Box?

Okay, so it's Lunch Box Day in Cube City. Are there any veteran readers out there who know how this works? Do I get my lunch box right away? Do I get a trumpet serenade or anything? Do I have to correctly guess how many peanuts are in the lunch box before I am awarded one? (Are there peanuts in the lunch box?)

On Mondays in Cube City, we get the Family Tree email -- a list of who's joining or departing the company as well as anniversaries and birthdays. Anniversaries are interesting because everybody attends a new-hire orientation their first week on the job and gets to know anybody else starting that week too. Well, there was only one other person from my orientation class on the weekly email. The Family Tree got pruned! I don't know...due to layoffs and attrition of late, it just seems like a really depressing email instead of something to celebrate.

Maybe that explains the one-year anniversary gift: Senior leaders are out to lunch. I question what they can really bring to the table.

Help Wanted

A few months after starting my very first job in Cube City, I posted a HELP WANTED sign above my desk. Fellow cube dwellers weren't sure what to make of it:

• Was there a job opening?
• Was the company too cheap to post the opening on a real job board?
• Wait...how did the new girl get a job opening?
• Was the technical writer freaking out about her workload...or just freaking out?

I didn't bother to explain. To create intrigue was really all I had working for me back then.

I am drowning in work right now, much like I was when I wanted help at my first job. But I have decided that I need new signage. Instead of inviting people into my cubicle with intrigue, I'd like to start driving them away. I wonder if they'd take a detour if I posted this sign: NO PARKING. VIOLATORS WILL BE TOWED AT THEIR OWN EXPENSE.

If you had Cube City signage, what would it be?

Timesheet Mondays

I hate Mondays. We all hate Mondays. But I probably hate Mondays more than people in other Cube Cities.

Monday not only means there are mountains of work to climb all week; it means timesheets are due. At the ad agency, we have a timesheet program in which we track the hours we've billed per client, in 0.25-hour increments. It's a game, and there are a lot of players. Somebody has to add you to a project. Then somebody else adds you to a specific task for that project. This gets bothersome when you complete 8 tasks for one project in a week and you have to hunt down the various players who need to add you to those tasks...because of course they didn't do their job and you have to ride them until they do.

I try to be a team player. I try my best to complete my timesheets on Fridays, but the task masters usually foil my plans. It's like they need at least 7890427 email reminders from me before I can pass go and collect my task.

Add this to the game: Hello, it's Monday! I'm already hitting the ground running, and yet I have to deal with Timesheet Monday?

If you don't complete your timesheet by noon on Monday, you receive a public flogging via email the next day, as does your manager. It's a nastygram to a large group of people that is supposed to motivate you to play by the timesheet rules and get your time submitted, which wouldn't be a problem if task masters did their job. What's really hilarious is when senior leaders get really frustrated, send a self-important message to everyone to explain the urgency of getting timesheets submitted, and then there's still no improvement.

I will continue to play the Timesheet Monday game as well as Lotto Texas. I figure the odds of success for each are about the same.

The Texas Tornado

I've been all work and no say lately, which probably explains the weather theme. When I have nothing to talk about, the weather is always a good topic.

Yesterday I was highly encouraged by a VP to attend the monthly company meeting in Cube City, and I realized that I just couldn't do it. We had recently launched a huge brand site, and the craziest person in the company would be honored and recognized. I couldn't bear the thought of standing there feeling obligated to applaud her and the team members that she's ruined with her psychotic behavior.

I would have forced myself to be a bigger person and attend the meeting if the writer (who is awesome and reports to me) hadn't been on vacation. I need to see about getting her a raise for being on vacation so that I could avoid the meeting without guilt.

The writer has provided some fascinating stories about working with the craziest person in the company. The writer recently confided that our high-profile multimillion-dollar client calls the craziest person in the company "The Texas Tornado." I didn't ask for details. I drew my own conclusions. A tornado perfectly describes the craziest person in the company, who gets so worked up over anything and everything that she spirals out of control and violently destroys everything and everyone in her path as debris spews from her funnel of terror.

The big difference is that a normal tornado goes away. I wish The Texas Tornado would move on and rip the doors off somebody else's Cube City. We deserve a break in the weather around here.

A Storm Is Brewing

Being a writer is painful sometimes -- especially in an ad agency where creativity is the norm. I once read an interesting comparison about authors vs. copywriters from an author's perspective. The author said that he would research a topic for weeks before writing about it, whereas a copywriter would write about something s/he just learned yesterday.

It's hard to rush creativity. It's going to be born when it's ready. There's been a storm brewing in my brain all week. But for some reason, the words don't want to release. So here I sit, struggling and waiting for the ideas and words to start pouring. It's like I'm stuck in an extended stall pattern. My desk looks like it's been struck by a tornado, so I hope the clouds lift soon. I could use clear skies right now.

Tickets On Sale Now!

I want to be a rock star in Cube City. Think about how much fun that would be. Clients would:

• Tell all their friends that they were going to come see me perform -- like it's a good thing.
• Dance, cheer, and punch their fists in the air as I present content to them.
• Chant my amazing and memorable written words in unison.
• Throw roses and other prizes at my feet.
• Long for a backstage pass and my autograph.
• Scream and cry after I bid them farewell, settling down only when I give them an encore.
• Buy a copy of my words on CD and maybe a t-shirt.
• Exit the show feeling satisfied and exhilarated, like they'd just had the best time of their lives.

I'm sure there would be downsides to being a rock star in Cube City. High-profile positions always come with some scrutiny. Cranky journalists would write and publish their opinions about my act. It'd be like getting a performance evaluation every day from somebody who doesn't know me but thinks that they do.

Okay, so being in Cube City is kinda sorta like being a rock star.

An Interactive Outlook Exercise

It's almost that time. I'm just about a week shy of my commemorative one-year anniversary lunch box prize at the ad agency.

To celebrate the longest yet fastest year of my life in Cube City, I'm creating an annual event reminder on my calendar called I LOVE LUNCH BOXES!

This is a fun activity that all cube dwellers can enjoy. It reminds me of a time when I was meeting with a co-worker at his desk. We were reviewing a document on his computer screen when suddenly this Outlook reminder popped up: "Why the hell do you still work here?"

The timing seemed cosmic. I thought, "Wow, he must really want me to leave!" But as with most things in Cube City, it wasn't about me. He explained that he'd written that reminder to himself on his first anniversary at the job. I think I saw it on his fifth anniversary.

Now that is a true collector's item.

The Painful Birth of the Written Word

In my Cube City trade, I spend far more time thinking about an idea than I do writing about it. I start with a blank slate -- and an even blanker stare at the computer screen. It's scary. It's how procrastination is born.

I've never given birth to a child, but I've seen the movies. I've read and heard the stories. I just know that writing for a living must certainly be similar to giving birth over and over.

• There's a lot of waiting.


• The mucous plug detaches. Right on.


• More waiting.


• Finally your water breaks.


• But no...there's more waiting.


• Contractions begin -- you feel encouraged because you know you're onto something.


• But no...there's more waiting.


• Contractions continue. Damn them. They're such a tease.


• You hate the person(s) responsible for putting you in this position. You curse the world.


• Finally it's time.


• You push. You push some more. You just keep pushing because it's time to get that idea out of your being.


• Out it comes! You give birth. You're sweaty. You're exhausted. You've created a beautiful thing.


• You'd do it all over again. You were born to do this.

My Piece of the Humble Pie

In Cube City, there are a lot of highs and lows. There are very few middles. This week, I had a few days of really huge highs. The ideas and words were flowing for my projects, the team dynamics were solid, I was feeling the love, and even the challenges I encountered felt like a piece of cake.

And then it happened.

The cake turned into humble pie.

It's amazing how quickly the course can change -- you start to doubt yourself, your work, and even the people who rode the highs with you five minutes ago. Lows are never fun, and they always seem to last a lot longer than the highs. I feel angered sometimes, like I'm not entitled to a few good days without a few bad weeks to follow. How dare I feel good at any time in my unsafe place!

But that's what Cube City is all about. You can have your cake and eat it too...but just know that you'll eventually feel so guilty about enjoying it that you'll be throwing it up.

Anybody want to see the dessert tray?

My Thoughts EXACTLY

Have you ever worked with someone who says the dumbest things in the world -- and says them over and over and over again?

My favorite response from a co-worker is, "My thoughts EXACTLY."

It goes something like this:

Me: "We need to be mindful about tying the indication statement of this drug into the copy. We won't make it through medical legal review if we imply that the drug can alleviate arthritis when it isn't indicated for such a condition."

Co-worker: "My thoughts EXACTLY."

Me (dream response): "Really? Is that EXACTLY what you were thinking? I doubt it...because you don't think."

Words are a big deal to me. In college, my favorite English professor said my chronic problem was that I didn't wait for the right words in my writing. (He was phenomenal with words. He delivered criticism in a kind but firm and effective manner. He made you feel confident that you had the talent but needed to channel it differently. You wanted to become a better writer because of him, and you did.)

I might not wait for the right written words sometimes, but I'd like to think that I don't repeat dumb statements like, "My thoughts EXACTLY" when my thoughts are not, and can never be, exactly like somebody else's.

What is your favorite under-my-skin response from somebody in Cube City? Furthermore, what's your dream response?

Death of the ID Badge

In the elevator this morning, I saw a guy decked out in business casual dress with a really unflattering photo ID badge attached to his pants. He looked about as miserable in person as he did in that photo. I wondered what he was thinking besides, "I don't want to be here."

The experience reminded me of a recent retirement party at work, where a funny and self-proclaimed flat-broke co-worker said, "I'll never have a retirement party. I'll die with an ID badge attached to my pants."

At my last job, we all had photo IDs, and we all looked like we were posing for our mug shots -- all the more evidence that work equals prison. Most of the people I worked with at that company had been there for ten years or more and had never received updated ID badges. It was sometimes fun but usually disturbing to see how they had aged or gained an alarming amount of weight or had somehow given up on happiness over the years.

Rather than dying with ID badges attached to our pants, I think we need to petition the death of the ID badge itself. Are you in?

Cube Food

One annoying thing about working in Cube City is that really hungry people are lurking there. Over the years, hungry cube dwellers have examined my lunch on display in the kitchen during the preparation process and have given me all sorts of unsolicited commentary:

• What is that? (hungry people who lack a cultural relationship with food)
• Why would you eat THAT? (picky hungry people)
• Are you sure that's edible? (skeptical hungry people)
• That is TOO HEALTHY! (hungry people who are afraid of baby carrots and greens)
• That looks delicious! (long uncomfortable pause as they wait for a bite that I'm not going to offer because, well, I can't realistically spare a bite of anything that delicious)

Of course, these are the same hungry people who would eat anything free at work. If you want to get rid of food, just take it to work and *poof!* It will magically disappear.

What is it like in your Cube City kitchen?

I Need a Decoy

Why do things blow up when I leave town? There are several climactic moments in Cube City when I'm around, but it's like World War Cubed when I leave. It's like these well-functioning people forget how to think and work when I'm not here. I don't want to be anybody's Homeland Security. Nobody should be that important, perceived or otherwise, in Cube City. It makes me feel uncomfortable, stressed, and burdened.

I despise the regret I feel when I return from a much-needed break. Why did I bother taking time off? I've come back to a field riddled with land mines and terrorists. How did things get so out of control in one day?

I will spend my Monday digging out from the rubble and seeing what I can salvage. It shouldn't have to be this way, but war is senseless. All I can do is try to rebuild. I would give anything for a decoy right now.

Out-of-Office Auto Reply

I am currently out of the office. I'm at the beach...and you aren't. I will respond to your message if I'm so inclined to return on June 9th...or ever.

For any immediate writing concerns, you're most likely out of luck. Two writers are on vacation, another is chained to only one project because of an insecure resource-hoarding nutcase ho-bag bitch, and the only remaining writer is probably too busy searching for another job during work hours. For any escalation needs, good luck. My boss just quit.

Have a nice day!

Doing Time

Cube City bears a striking resemblance to prison:

1. The colors are drab.
2. The small cube cells are lined up in a row.
3. You're told what to do every day.
4. You're told what to wear.
5. You're stuck doing time.
6. The toilets are dirty.

I'm sure there are many more similarities. This is a hot topic among disgruntled cube dwellers who argue that prison is better than Cube City.

But all I really know for sure is that I got my latest Social Security benefits statement in the mail last night, and I'll be doing at least three more life sentences before I'm released from Cube City -- no chance for parole.

Hatchet Man

Many cubicles ago, I worked at a start-up software company and miraculously survived a substantial round of layoffs. The body count went from 120 to 40...in one day. It was probably the worst experience I've ever had in Cube City, and my overly dramatic boss only added to the stress. She'd come out of the meeting room (where they were apparently making decisions on the fly about who to cut) and would say things like, "It's a killing field in there! I'm fighting to protect bodies! I'm fighting for your life!" Sheesh.

One high-level executive delivered the bad news to each person on the cut list that day. Strangely, he wasn't even in Human Resources. He was the Chief Financial Officer! As several of us waited to hear our fate that day, we started referring to him as Hatchet Man. The name couldn't have been more fitting under the circumstances.

Long after the massive layoffs on that doom-filled day (which occurred three days after I had closed on my first house, by the way), the name Hatchet Man lived on. I think many of us even forgot the guy's real name. Of course, word got around that we were calling him Hatchet Man, and he seemed to like it. Many of us concluded that Hatchet Man took great joy in firing people. One of my more daring, or perhaps just stupid, co-workers would even ask him, "Hey, Hatchet Man, why the big grin? Are you firing somebody today?"

He eventually left the company to start his own business, and we were all relieved to bury the hatchet.

Say What?!

Last night, I was in desperate need of post-cubicle brain candy. So I watched The Bachelorette -- the show about finding love after spending a ridiculously short amount of time sucking face (and who knows what else) with 25 people -- and laughed at a lot of the typical asinine comments and antics. As one candidate was sent home, he made the most senseless comment of the night:

"She didn't reject me. She just chose other guys."

Um, hello? That's rejection. That's like going on a series of seemingly successful interviews and coming up empty, only to say, "That company didn't reject me. They just chose another person for the job." Yeaaaaah. Explain that to the rejection letters in your mailbox.
I've received many rejection letters over the years. My favorite is probably the form letter that contains my correct name and mailing address with a "Dear Tina" in the Salutation line. I like to pretend that Tina Turner and I applied for the same job and we both lost out. In Cube City, love's got nothing to do with it.

What's your rejection letter story?

Call for Monday-isms

I saw the Sex and the City movie last night and had a good laugh when Carrie expressed an urgent need to wake up from her Mexicoma (I'm keeping this vague on purpose so as not to spoil the movie for those who haven't yet seen it).

It got me thinking about Mondays, and I'm wondering how you refer to Mondaze? Any A.K.A. names for the worst day of the week, dear cube dwellers?