T's and TC's

My job is one big, gay orgy of conferences. What makes my conferences so gay is that 1) I have no clue what these people are babbling about and 2) Even if I did know what they were babbling about, I still wouldn't understand what they meant because of heavy usage of technical terms and acronyms.

The acronym itself has an interesting background. I spent some time researching the origin of its use, the ways it was used in the past, and the current and possible future usages. After exhaustive research, individual interviews, and personal travel to various lands across the world, I came to some startling conclusions. The first is that the acronym began as a way to shorten words into letters. The second comes from Egyptian culture. King Tutankhamen, or “Tut,” was known for his affinity for the acronym.

And you know what? He died. At age 19.

Anyways, an example of a typical conference goes something like this:

“The LQT of the LCSYT is struggling because of GT. Then, we put in the fact that HMS is squirting fluid onto the faces of Q's, and we have one hell of a P. And my, what a HUGE P it is. It's gonna be long, it's gonna be hard, but we can certainly clean this mess up with some K.....and some lube.”

What was conveyed in that statement, as I read back on my notes from that particular meeting, is that the coffee machine is broken.

Now I promise, if one leaves these conferences without being being furious that they can never have their 2 hours back, then they also likely enjoy being a level 91 druid.........that loves shitty conferences.

Moving down (or up, depending on your tolerance for mental anguish) from the conference, is the teleconference. The teleconference consists of you dialing into a meeting of dozens of people across the country that have vested interest in annoying the hell out of you. A teleconference is you, at a phone, listening just hard enough to realize if someone has said your name, so you can respond. I'm still working on finding a way to have my phone punch me if my name is mentioned so I can go from paying minimal attention to paying absolutely no attention. As it stands now, I have to remain somewhat engaged, and it's just frustrating. It's frustrating because I know I could be facing the back of my cube with the phone gently supporting my head in the perfect “REM sleep” position, and no one would have a clue.

Even better is the teleconference within the conference. A very bright part of my day alludes to my previous phone-punching idea. Obviously, these blokes(I'm a pirate) have not devised the necessary mechanism either: A question is asked to a person. A pause follows. A cough. Then a sentence comes that invariably begins with, “Uh...” But then, the beautiful recovery. “I'm sorry, I was multitasking, can you repeat the question?”

HOME RUN! What a save. The go from zero to, well, 0.1, in the matter of 2 seconds. I've thought about using this technique in future interviews....

Interviewer: “Where do you want to be in 5 years?”

Me: “I was multitasking.”

Interviewer: “Well, the tense of your response doesn't match the tense of my question, but I like you. You've got gusto. And you can multitask! You're hired.”

Me: “I was multitasking”

Interviewer: “HA! Damn you're good! What is your desired salary?”

Me: “I was multi-”

Interviewer: “Don't even say it. Don't even! I'd have to get up, move out of the office, and give you my job immediately.”

Me: “-tasking.”

Interviewer: “Oh boy! Congratulations on your new promotion to my position. I'm headed to the unemployment office.”

Me: (whispering) “Just between you and me...I was MT.”

Interviewer: “What? The coffee machine is broken?”

The Creepiness Factor

The intricacies of the workplace are quite interesting. What makes the office so dynamic is its people. No doubt you've seen the pitches from your boss, your boss's boss, or the guy who watches you while you pee. “Without you, we'd be nothing.” I especially enjoy the sincerity(and the hint of sexiness) in that statement when the guy who watches me pee says it.

I firmly, and unequivocally, believe this is a huge lie. Now as I just said, the workplace has intricacies, and these intricacies are the direct result of the people in the workplace, but these people...how should I put this? Are fucking WEIRD.

In my office....erm...workstation...ahem...cubicle...*cough* ok FINE! In my corner of the floor, we have a rather sizeable contingent of rapists, as first noted by another coworker.

This group, to me, are the Planeteers. There is one, though. One stands out above them all. And he...is...CAPTAIN PLANET!

Now I must give just a little insight into this guy, so lets call him, oh, I don't know, CAPTAIN MOTHERFUCKING PLANET! Captain Motherfucking Planet once walked up to the urinal next to me and exhaled in a manner that sounded as if he'd just blown his load. But it wouldn't even be an appropriate sound for blowing a load into a partner. This is the kind of ejaculation that would only be appropriate for when you are at home, and are also 100% positive that your neighbors are in the Bahamas. No one should ever hear this sound of satisfaction. But I did. The worst part, though, is that he repeated. Throughout approximately 20 seconds of urination, Captain Motherfucking Planet exhaled in this manner 4 times. And I also don't know who it was that told him ascots and halfway unbuttoned shirts are in style, but I'd like to shake their hand.

Upon further research, I have been able to confirm that these men, the Planeteers, have in fact been spotted at costume parties hosted by area fraternities, dressed as none other than “that creepy ass guy in the office who looks like a rapist.” (These men aren't the cream of the crop when it comes to creating original costumes.) Naturally, when you have what, to a frat douche, looks like an ingenious costume, you will win the costume contest. We all know what comes next. The guy who wins the costume contest always gets the ladies. Or was it the guy who had a shit-ton of money? I can't remember, I always get the two confused.

Upon gaining the talking point of winning the costume contest, these deviants enact their plan. They get a college-aged woman, who is undoubtedly dressed as a skank, since “costume party” to a college girl gets translated into “a justifiable reason for me to dress as a complete slut.” (On a personal note, when I attended these parties in college, I knew that all decency was gone in our nation when I came across a girl dressed as “a sexy nun.”) Then, once they have picked their target, they engage in banter that goes something like this:

Rapist: You from around here?

Girl: FUCK ME! FUCK ME NOW!

Rapist: I'm 70 years old and have the uncanny ability to creep anyone one who comes close to me. Are you sure?

Girl: LOOK AT ME, I'M A SEXY LEOPARD! LOOK AT MY EARS! THAT MAKES ME A LEOPARD! AND LOOK AT MY VAGINA! THAT MAKES ME SEXY!

Now one wouldn't necessarily think that this would be rape, but herein lies the trickiness in the situation. The Planeteers then offer a ride to their sluts, and then the most horrible thing that could ever happen to a woman occurs....












They all get together and SAVE THE PLANET!

Recycle, reduce, reuse. Close the loop.

What Have I Done?

So I've begun. I've begun the portion of my life known as the time when: “I'd rather be pounded from behind by a goat than think about the fact that I've entered the realm of business for 35 years.” For any naysayers, that IS a well-known term.

As things stand right now, I'm in a seat, I have a phone, and I have a non-functional computer. When the government knows you are coming for 6 months, all it means is that some idiot has 6 more months to peruse the latest gossip from Perez Hilton (I hate the fact that I know who that is, and even more so I hate that he is alive) rather than get you into a system that allows you to do *gasp* work. I can't even access the basic necessities of modern business.

And as a side note, I also have the sneaking suspicion that the guys two rows from me wants to wear my skin as a pirate hat. That whole "skin as an overcoat" thing from Silence of the Lambs is way overrated. Pirates hats are totally in style.

With the passing minutes, hours, and days, I'm beginning to realize that I am in it for the long haul. The long haul is actually a specific amount of time somewhere between “the time when I start contemplating leaping out the 4^th floor window,” and “the time when I realize that falling 4 stories won't necessarily kill me.” If I reach the latter point, at least I know I can look forward to being a vegetable. Hey, I'll get all the gelatin I can eat! Grape is my favorite!

Aside from delicious gelatin, I can only look forward to when I reach that glorious time when I can depart for the day (although technically my brain leaves at approximately 7:46am).

When you've spent 25 years of your life never taking yourself seriously, it's a difficult adjustment. All of a sudden, you are supposed to kiss the ass of the socially retarded people, you're supposed to bite your tongue when someone says something moronic, and you are supposed to keep your pants on at work. What bullshit.

I guess one good part of the day is when I sit down and write an essay such as this, because it sure looks like I'm putting together one hell of a report.

“My!” the supervisors say, “The new guy has written an entire report about an Excel spreadsheet that outlines cost estimates! What an employee! Maybe I should read it. Or maybe I should write my own...Oh God I'm going to be fired and he's going to take my position. I can't let that happen...maybe I should just end this misery. GOODBYE CRUEL WORLD!” Then, naturally, they leap out the 4^th floor window. Looks like I'm not the only one who loves grape gelatin.

It figures that someone would steal my idea.

Day 1

6:00am. This ungodly hour exists? Shower. Shave. Clothes. Tie that beautiful tie you handsome devil. Grind the coffee, start the maker, pour a bowl of cereal. Or scotch. Whatever.

Make the first bag lunch you've seen since 5^th grade. Make that PB&J, boy, make it! Throw in that apple. Go on girl! Oh no. No he isn't. Not the...OH GOD HE'S PUTTING IN THE CARROTS! GET IT! UH! YEEEAHHH!

Out the door we go, to catch that train to the nation's capitol. Rise from the gloomy, depressing underground, following a thousand others just like you. Except, they aren't like you. They all seem far less happy and optimistic than you. Most faces have the look that says, “I could have jumped in front of the train, damn it!” But you...you have the look that says, “Hey look at me! I've lived here for 2 weeks and my spirit hasn't been broken!”

Look at you, you've been hired to work in one of the most recognized cities in the world. You've made it to the top! Of the escalator. At the metro station.

Good for you!

It's beautiful, it's sunny, it's...7:02? Go on and kill that extra hour, boy! Walk to the Starbucks. Read that newspaper. Walk outside and...ah shit it's only 7:31. Pace around for 30 minutes...

As I walk in the door I take in the scene. I spent 4...okay, 5 years at college for this. I put in the time, did the projects, the extracurriculars, the crystal meth...wait, shit, scratch that....Busy little bees they are... Apparently most of the work around this office gets done via CNN.com. I begin with a hearty “Good morning! I'm the new guy here complete your work for you!” I know the most important thing about starting a new job is to make a strong first impression. Nothing goes over better than a painted smile and a slight erection. It goes over well. Immediately I receive a response. “Why yes, good man! Here! Take this spreadsheet and transfer numbers from one cell to the other for 3 hours. One at a time please...I don't trust the copy function on these computers.”

It's a different world, this world of business. It's a world that I just don't recognize. There wasn't such a thing as "cutthroat" when I was bartending. Back then it was, "make this drink while simultaneously making fun of the drunk frat boy buying shots for the girls that resemble pygmy hippos." It's a world where the using the term "cumshot" will more than likely get you reprimanded or fired. What the hell is up with that?

3 hours and 1000 Excel spreadsheet cells later, and I've made it. Lunchtime!

I eat my pathetic bag lunch at my desk. I know no one else, I have no responsibilities, and my boss isn't actually in the office. Yeah, that's right, my boss isn't there on my first day. I haven't got much of a choice other than sit and wonder where I'm headed. Hmm............... PB&J just isn't quite as delectable as I remember...

I hang around for another hour and am informed that I can leave for the day. When I come in as the low man, I expect to be there 2 hours after everyone else leaves. I'm leaving at 1pm?

PEACE OUT SUCKAS!

This is a year in the life of a new hire. Some things may relate to your experience in this new and unforgiving world of business, and some may not. This isn't just a year in the life of a new hire, though. This is a year in the life of a new hire...in the government.

As I walk out the door, contemplating the first day, I run into the man who was orienting me with the facilities. We exchange pleasantries for a moment, and I walk off, headed towards the metro. As I'm walking away, I'm startled when I hear my name yelled from behind me. The man is still standing there, and he sends me off with a glorious bid farewell...."Hey! Don't take a cumshot on your way home!"

Maybe this won't be so bad after all...or will it?