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?”
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Monday, September 1, 2008
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.
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.
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