Steel Kaleidoscopes

The Office Move

The budgeting process is the same. And the people are the same.

But we're in a new building with a new zip code, even though we're just a few blocks away from the old workshop.

We'll miss the guitar player outside our floor-to-ceiling windows strumming "Dust in the Wind" and "House of the Rising Sun."

We probably won't see the "Spare Change" guy as much anymore.

Starbucks is no longer right across the street. And we can't just walk outside our doors and browse the books at Borders.

But change is good.

We have a view of a park. We have a little more privacy. We have more meeting rooms. We have more company in the building. We have a nicer bathroom.

And the heat works.

Tech Support

"I can't open my browser."

"Hit shift F-9."

"Is the network down?"

"Reboot."

"The 7-11 is out of Diet Coke."

"Argh!"

Call in Sick

 

If you wake up today and look like this, you may have the Swine Flu.

Karaoke

So we're having our summer company outing a little later this year.

In a few short weeks, we'll be asked to participate in karaoke.

I love music, but I'm not a very good singer. I can get through a few notes OK, but when stringing verses together, I would likely make Simon Cowell cringe and Randy Jackson cover his eyes with his notes.

I think I could get through the Beatles' "'Til There Was You" or REM's "World Leader Pretend." I know I could do Marshall Tucker's "Ab's Song" fairly well, as I sing this to my daughter to help her sleep.

But I doubt those songs are on the play list.

So I'll be a team player and take my turn at the microphone. But I'm no Eddie Vedder. Or Michael Stipe. Or Jim Morrison.

Hopefully there will be a few glasses of wine waiting for me.

Onward

It's a new dawn.

A new day.

A new month.

And a time for renewal, rebirth and new opportunities.

Embrace the day, embrace change.

Clueless on the Fitchburg Line

The 5:45 a.m. Fitchburg commuter rail can be a pleasant ride if the train is on time, which is about 30 percent of the time.

It's mellow. Commuters are either quietly reading or catching a last few minutes of sleep.

It's usually quite peaceful.

Enter the middle-age woman who ripped off three phone calls, babbling loudly like it was midday in the Penn Station concourse.

So the car full of 75 or so commuters had to listen to phrases like "I'll round back with you," "let's touch base" and "ping me when you get in" three separate times.

These weren't critical calls. You could tell by the conversation, which we all had to endure. "Ha, ha, ha, ha ... yeah, well, enjoy your weekend."

"Oh,is Brian coming? Good for you! Tell him I said hello."

As we arrive at North Station, commuters looked forward to some peace on the Green or Orange Lines, or perhaps a brisk walk to their office.

Except for the clueless middle-age woman who stops cold on the narrow platform to check her Blackberry, forcing commuters to split into two lines to get by and move on with their day.

Clueless.

Work Stress

"I got my eye on you Wazowski. You didn't get your paperwork done last night."

London

 

Hello again, my friend.

Employee Feedback for a Donut

"There are too many holes in your plans. And I think your ideas are half-baked. You come across as upper-crust, but you're really quite plain.

"For the next quarter, I'd like to see you come to the office with fresh ideas, sprinkled with enthusiasm. Stop using stale methodologies that leave a bad taste with your peers.

"Perhaps I can clarify these points with you over a cup of coffee."

The Deleted Folder

It's so popular it's created as a default.

It resides among the "sales," "marketing" and "tech stuff to know" folders, which get regularly filled with snippets of insightful knowledge that can be recalled at a moment's notice.

As the in-box gets its daily fill, the usual suspects are instantly added to the deleted folder and purged en masse with Niles Crane-like precision.

The important emails are either acted upon or flagged, and eventually find themselves in a personal folder. They almost always avoid the deleted folder.

It's a tedious routine for the deleted folder, getting its fill then purging on a whim in anorexic fashion.

There's no history, no personality, no sense of time and place.

There's no personal touch.

It lives in a bustling neighborhood but has no sense of community.

It's here but it's not.

Like a ghost.