Thursday, February 03, 2005
Under the Big Top, Knives at the Ready
Under the big top of the career world, where we slave away to make a living worthy of sustaining some sort of life for ourselves, we are often confronted by an environment that's less professional, les congenial, and less, well...less. The euphimisms for the working world have been replaced with those of war, where battlelines have been drawn and minefields abound.
To call it cutthroat wouldn't accurately portray the motives of your co-workers.
To call it backstabbing wouldn't cast enough light on the attitude in the workplace .
To call it mean-spirited wouldn't be an all-encompassing enough way of describing the atmosphere.
"Only trust a person as far as you can throw them" is a phrase that often comes to mind.
The people you wave to in the hallway, with whom you take your coffee, share a moment around the water cooler or the copier laughing about a television show, and query for information regarding the latest political gaffe or why the hottest Hollywood power couple of the moment has broken up, they all want you dead.
Welcome back my friends to the show that never ends
We're so glad you could attend
Come inside! Come inside!
Under the big top, these colleagues of yours, these counterparts, are currently dreaming up ways behind your back to plunge the big knife in and twist. Twist hard. And they will. Twisting in the form of promotions and raises. With another twist comes a corner offices with a window and a view. With just a bit more thought and force, the knife can be driven to the hilt, past the flesh and tendon and sinew to where the quarterly raises and the exspense reports lay.
Come inside, the show's about to start, guaranteed to blow your head apart
Rest assured you'll get your money's worth, the greatest show in Heaven, Hell or Earth
They will beg, borrow, and steal for the opportunity to climb over you and ascend a few more rungs on the career ladder. They will sabotage projects and put the blame on you. They will never back you up in the presence of superiors and executives.
To call it scheming wouldn't reflect the round-the-clock nature of their plotting.
To call it undermining wouldn't reveal the totality of their plans.
To call it conniving wouldn't account for the shrewdness of these vocational vultures.
Under the big top, the long hours logged after closing time away from prying eyes are not done because of the perfectionist in them. It's part of a grand design for a future in which they have become successful and now look down on you. That is, if their vision allows you to survive. Their teambuilding is an exercise in manipulation. Their workload and time management, devious at best. Any pledge invoking some altruistic goal of the good of the company and working together as one big team is a blatant lie.
You've got to see the show, it's a dynamo.
You've got to see the show, it's rock and roll
Given the chance, you would probably behave in the same way.
This is the place I call work.
Come and see the show! Come and see the show!
___________________________________________________________________
To say the people who work at the company I'm at are malicious would not be entirely correct. My colleagues and I have no issues with the work or how it gets done. Our problems are with each other. Our office houses the worst kind of murderous treachery, but the knives and munitions have been traded in for far more dangerous items: Armani, Ralph Lauren, Coach, Louis Vuitton, and Jimmy Choo. Guerilla warfare comes in the form of patent leather.
What makes a bad situation worse is the counterproductive structure in place in our office, one that places the older employees in a different camp than their far younger co-workers. The older employees constantly look over their shoulder at the young whippersnappers ready to snatch away their job and cast them out on the street, while the young employees suspiciously eye each other as they piece together their secret plans for office domination in the form of promotions and raises.
"Swimming with sharks" is a phrase that often comes to mind.
To the casual observer none of this would appear to be going on. The mood is genial, the outward attitude friendly. People say hello, volunteer little nuggets of info about their personal life and travels, compare weekend plans, and the like. But closer examination shows cracks in the veneer. People gossip. Spread untruths. Pass judgement without knowing all sides of the story. Speculate. Bicker. A closer look reveals that under the big top, all of this regularly takes place.
Under our big top the big boss upstairs is a woman. I have spoken to her but once, a short introductory conversation following my hiring. I see her in the halls from time to time, offer a "good morning" when I find myself in the elevator with her at the start of the day, but I doubt she knows my name. She just recognizes me enough to know I work there and security need not be called.
On a Tuesday no more special than any other, I had to do some intern supervising and didn't leave the office that night until after 8. As I spilled out of the elevator in the parking garage I saw a set of tail lights quickly flashing on and off out of the corner of my eye. Late-model BMW. Silver. There was a pause before the lights cut on again and a gasping engine wheeze echoed throughout the empty garage. Then again. Then again. Somebody's car had stalled.
Generally I'll help people out when it looks like they can use it, and since I knew a little something about cars I figured I'd offer my assistance. As I approached the car the lights flashed on and off again, but the click click click coming from the car told me the engine had given up. Could be a dead battery. Maybe the alternator was finished. When I reached the driver's side of the car I noticed a person inside. Female. It was the boss.
I knocked on the window, and not having any power to lower the glass, she opened the door. "Yes?"
"I heard you trying to start your car. Sounds like you are having problems. Anything I can do to help?"
"I don't know. Are you an auto mechanic?"
"No, but I know my way around a car." I looked at her as she got out of the BMW. If I had to guess I'd put her age at early 40s. She was taller than most women, and had a sort of regal air about her. Solemn. Graceful, the sort of grace a beauty queen displays when on the catwalk. Perhaps the Boss Lady was a former beauty queen. She was handsome, but not stunning. It was a simple beauty that has maintained itself over the years. She was not hot-to-trot; those days were solidly behind her. But she held it together well, much better than others in her age bracket. Like Michael Rappaport said in Beautiful Girls, "to somebody she's beautiful."
"Have any thoughts on what it could be?" Boss Lady asked. She looked more concerned than worried. I could tell she didn't know what to make of this vaguely familiar man's offer of help.
"I'll need you to pop the hood of your car," I said. I heard a loud clunk, and then reached down and pried the hood from the grill. Hmm, no engine bay light. Why would BMW skimp on something like that?
"By the way, I'm Reed," I calmly say.
"Yes. Reed, I've seen you before," Boss Lady replied. "Which department are you in?"
"Accounts and promo. I work for Jack." Jack Sterling was director of our department and one of the nicest men you could ever hope to meet. Under the big top a man like that wouldn't ordinarily last very long, but Jack somehow outfought the odds. He also had a porn star-sounding name, something I made fun of quite often.
"Yes, Jack," she said in a cautious tone. She still couldn't place me.
"May I ask you something? How come you don't call the Auto Club?"
"Never joined them. Never saw the use for it. Such poetic justice now, huh?" she replied. I smiled unseen from my spot on the other side of the hood.
Sensing the problem was all the battery's doing, I pried the plastic caps off the battery top and did my best with the lack of light to diagnose the problem. Cables looked fine. There was no acid built up around the terminal posts. I couldn't make out the water levels inside the battery, so I asked for a flashlight.
"That I have," Boss Lady replied, and she went back into her car to fish around the glove compartment. She emerged with a compact flashlight and handed it over. Once the engine bay had some light my suspicion was confirmed.
"Yup, it's the battery."
"Is it dead?" she asked.
"Yes, but it can be brought back to life," I replied. "Here look at this," I said, motioning her closer. "Every battery has water in it to cover the electrolytes. It interacts with them and produces an acid which is the battery's energy."
She inched closer to me and attempted to look at what I was looking at. "See the metallic bars through those holes? I asked. She nodded. "Those are the electrolytes. The chambers they're in need to be covered with water so they can do their thing."
"So it just needs water?" she asked in an incredulous tone. Boss Lady smelled good. Probably Tresor. I needed to focus.
"Not just any water, distilled water."
"Oh, like Evian."
"No that's mineral water, and the minerals will kill the battery. Distilled water, like what you steam clean clothing with."
"A ha! We're in luck - I have a jug in my office." With that I followed her back into the elevator. When walked by the security desk Boss Lady realized she had left her purse and her swipe card inside it, in the car.
"Let me in," she barked at the night security men. They obviously knew who she was based on their response time. They snapped to and opened the doors. That's when they saw me.
For people who don't know what is going on and have no backstory it doesn't take much for them to construct their own theories and put two and two together. After Boss Lady passed through the doors I saw one guard lean towards the other and quickly say something. Then they both looked at me and smiled. Gossip. It had begun. I had briefly forgotten I was still under the big top.
We entered her office and I stood in the cavern she called her workspace. I'd never been inside it. The room looked and smelled like old money. A large mahogany desk anchored one end of the room. Deep-tanned matching leather chairs and a sofa, all looking like their material was collectively ripped from the back of a behemoth yet unfortunate beast, off to the side. One entire wall was a window looking out at downtown. This was what I expected a boss' office to be, an exotic and rich culmination of a life-long pursuit of the top rung on the ladder. I wondered how many daggers Boss Lady had thrown under the big top in order to get to this point. She found her distilled water jug in a closet, quickly held it up for my approval, and we returned to the garage.
I filled the battery chambers and replaced the caps, all the while telling her how these things have to be periodically checked. She stood beside me the whole time and nodded that she understood while I pointed out one thing or another. When confronted by a woman with a car problem, you're likely to encounter two types of women: The kind who realize you are helping them out of a predicament and are patient and calm while you do your thing, and the type who consider the whole thing an imposition that's somebody else's fault and have no time to patiently wait for the repair to be completed. Boss Lady was definitely the former.
I opened a door to her car and checked out the dome light. Faint, not a lot of juice. I turned her lights on and noticed the same.
"Is it fixed?" she asked.
"Almost, I just need to give your car a jump," I replied. I walked over to my car and moved it alongside hers.
"It's a good thing I carry jumper cables in my trunk," I began. "The lasting effects of having parents who worried about me breaking down in the middle of nowhere," I said as I reached deep into my trunk for the cables.
"Well they did an excellent job," she said, and gave me a coy wink.
I attached the cables and told her to sit in her car and start the engine when I gave the signal. I started my car and gave it a couple of revs before getting out and eyeballing the jumper connections to both cars. Then I gave her the signal.
An overzealous roar came from the BMW as it came back to life. Boss Lady gave me the thumbs up, a big grin on her face. I carefully undid the jumper connections, tied the cables and threw them back into my trunk.
"You did it, Reed, you really did it." It was the first time she used my name without any prompting.
"Thankfully it was an easy fix...uh..."
"Gloria. My name is Gloria."
"Of course," I smiled. Having never uttered more than a "good morning" to her I never had the chance to use her name in conversation. I'd almost forgotten it.
"In order to get the chemical reaction going and revive your battery you'll need to drive for about twenty minutes before shutting the car off."
"Shouldn't be a problem." Gloria smiled again. I guess even under the big top a person can use a helping hand from time to time.
"You know what I'm going to do? I've realized tonight that I don't know anybody on my staff. I've been here over five years and I don't know anybody below the level of director. And that is ridiculous. I am going to make an effort to get to know everybody who works for me. We're all here together, you know?"
I wanted to agree, but knowing my theories about career life I knew we weren't really all here together. We were just all here. But I nodded a polite "yes" anyway.
"And I'm going to start with you, Reed. As a thank you for your help this evening, let me buy you a drink. You drink, right?" She gave me a playful smile.
When Boss Lady says jump, you repond with How High? but I was far too tired to be sociable tonight. What happens if I refuse? Okay, calm down, examine this realistically. Just a drink. A reward. She feels badly that I took twenty minutes out of my day to help when I could have been home by now. You don't turn down the boss if you want to remain in good graces. But I just couldn't do it. Not tonight.
I politely thanked her for the offer and told her that though I'd enjoy nothing more, I would have to take a raincheck as I was tired from a long day's work and needed the rest. She said she understood but would hold me to it. I reminded her about keeping the car on for twenty minutes, and as she got back into her BMW, Gloria shouted a "thanks again" and told me she'd see me tomorrow.
Tomorrow. Under the big top. Where people would hear about me and Boss Lady together in the empty garage, about me sheepishly following her up to her office away from prying eyes after hours , and dream up their own perversions of the story and mash it into their grand plans for screwing me, their fellow man, on the way to the top.
Come and see the show.
To call it cutthroat wouldn't accurately portray the motives of your co-workers.
To call it backstabbing wouldn't cast enough light on the attitude in the workplace .
To call it mean-spirited wouldn't be an all-encompassing enough way of describing the atmosphere.
"Only trust a person as far as you can throw them" is a phrase that often comes to mind.
The people you wave to in the hallway, with whom you take your coffee, share a moment around the water cooler or the copier laughing about a television show, and query for information regarding the latest political gaffe or why the hottest Hollywood power couple of the moment has broken up, they all want you dead.
Welcome back my friends to the show that never ends
We're so glad you could attend
Come inside! Come inside!
Under the big top, these colleagues of yours, these counterparts, are currently dreaming up ways behind your back to plunge the big knife in and twist. Twist hard. And they will. Twisting in the form of promotions and raises. With another twist comes a corner offices with a window and a view. With just a bit more thought and force, the knife can be driven to the hilt, past the flesh and tendon and sinew to where the quarterly raises and the exspense reports lay.
Come inside, the show's about to start, guaranteed to blow your head apart
Rest assured you'll get your money's worth, the greatest show in Heaven, Hell or Earth
They will beg, borrow, and steal for the opportunity to climb over you and ascend a few more rungs on the career ladder. They will sabotage projects and put the blame on you. They will never back you up in the presence of superiors and executives.
To call it scheming wouldn't reflect the round-the-clock nature of their plotting.
To call it undermining wouldn't reveal the totality of their plans.
To call it conniving wouldn't account for the shrewdness of these vocational vultures.
Under the big top, the long hours logged after closing time away from prying eyes are not done because of the perfectionist in them. It's part of a grand design for a future in which they have become successful and now look down on you. That is, if their vision allows you to survive. Their teambuilding is an exercise in manipulation. Their workload and time management, devious at best. Any pledge invoking some altruistic goal of the good of the company and working together as one big team is a blatant lie.
You've got to see the show, it's a dynamo.
You've got to see the show, it's rock and roll
Given the chance, you would probably behave in the same way.
This is the place I call work.
Come and see the show! Come and see the show!
___________________________________________________________________
To say the people who work at the company I'm at are malicious would not be entirely correct. My colleagues and I have no issues with the work or how it gets done. Our problems are with each other. Our office houses the worst kind of murderous treachery, but the knives and munitions have been traded in for far more dangerous items: Armani, Ralph Lauren, Coach, Louis Vuitton, and Jimmy Choo. Guerilla warfare comes in the form of patent leather.
What makes a bad situation worse is the counterproductive structure in place in our office, one that places the older employees in a different camp than their far younger co-workers. The older employees constantly look over their shoulder at the young whippersnappers ready to snatch away their job and cast them out on the street, while the young employees suspiciously eye each other as they piece together their secret plans for office domination in the form of promotions and raises.
"Swimming with sharks" is a phrase that often comes to mind.
To the casual observer none of this would appear to be going on. The mood is genial, the outward attitude friendly. People say hello, volunteer little nuggets of info about their personal life and travels, compare weekend plans, and the like. But closer examination shows cracks in the veneer. People gossip. Spread untruths. Pass judgement without knowing all sides of the story. Speculate. Bicker. A closer look reveals that under the big top, all of this regularly takes place.
Under our big top the big boss upstairs is a woman. I have spoken to her but once, a short introductory conversation following my hiring. I see her in the halls from time to time, offer a "good morning" when I find myself in the elevator with her at the start of the day, but I doubt she knows my name. She just recognizes me enough to know I work there and security need not be called.
On a Tuesday no more special than any other, I had to do some intern supervising and didn't leave the office that night until after 8. As I spilled out of the elevator in the parking garage I saw a set of tail lights quickly flashing on and off out of the corner of my eye. Late-model BMW. Silver. There was a pause before the lights cut on again and a gasping engine wheeze echoed throughout the empty garage. Then again. Then again. Somebody's car had stalled.
Generally I'll help people out when it looks like they can use it, and since I knew a little something about cars I figured I'd offer my assistance. As I approached the car the lights flashed on and off again, but the click click click coming from the car told me the engine had given up. Could be a dead battery. Maybe the alternator was finished. When I reached the driver's side of the car I noticed a person inside. Female. It was the boss.
I knocked on the window, and not having any power to lower the glass, she opened the door. "Yes?"
"I heard you trying to start your car. Sounds like you are having problems. Anything I can do to help?"
"I don't know. Are you an auto mechanic?"
"No, but I know my way around a car." I looked at her as she got out of the BMW. If I had to guess I'd put her age at early 40s. She was taller than most women, and had a sort of regal air about her. Solemn. Graceful, the sort of grace a beauty queen displays when on the catwalk. Perhaps the Boss Lady was a former beauty queen. She was handsome, but not stunning. It was a simple beauty that has maintained itself over the years. She was not hot-to-trot; those days were solidly behind her. But she held it together well, much better than others in her age bracket. Like Michael Rappaport said in Beautiful Girls, "to somebody she's beautiful."
"Have any thoughts on what it could be?" Boss Lady asked. She looked more concerned than worried. I could tell she didn't know what to make of this vaguely familiar man's offer of help.
"I'll need you to pop the hood of your car," I said. I heard a loud clunk, and then reached down and pried the hood from the grill. Hmm, no engine bay light. Why would BMW skimp on something like that?
"By the way, I'm Reed," I calmly say.
"Yes. Reed, I've seen you before," Boss Lady replied. "Which department are you in?"
"Accounts and promo. I work for Jack." Jack Sterling was director of our department and one of the nicest men you could ever hope to meet. Under the big top a man like that wouldn't ordinarily last very long, but Jack somehow outfought the odds. He also had a porn star-sounding name, something I made fun of quite often.
"Yes, Jack," she said in a cautious tone. She still couldn't place me.
"May I ask you something? How come you don't call the Auto Club?"
"Never joined them. Never saw the use for it. Such poetic justice now, huh?" she replied. I smiled unseen from my spot on the other side of the hood.
Sensing the problem was all the battery's doing, I pried the plastic caps off the battery top and did my best with the lack of light to diagnose the problem. Cables looked fine. There was no acid built up around the terminal posts. I couldn't make out the water levels inside the battery, so I asked for a flashlight.
"That I have," Boss Lady replied, and she went back into her car to fish around the glove compartment. She emerged with a compact flashlight and handed it over. Once the engine bay had some light my suspicion was confirmed.
"Yup, it's the battery."
"Is it dead?" she asked.
"Yes, but it can be brought back to life," I replied. "Here look at this," I said, motioning her closer. "Every battery has water in it to cover the electrolytes. It interacts with them and produces an acid which is the battery's energy."
She inched closer to me and attempted to look at what I was looking at. "See the metallic bars through those holes? I asked. She nodded. "Those are the electrolytes. The chambers they're in need to be covered with water so they can do their thing."
"So it just needs water?" she asked in an incredulous tone. Boss Lady smelled good. Probably Tresor. I needed to focus.
"Not just any water, distilled water."
"Oh, like Evian."
"No that's mineral water, and the minerals will kill the battery. Distilled water, like what you steam clean clothing with."
"A ha! We're in luck - I have a jug in my office." With that I followed her back into the elevator. When walked by the security desk Boss Lady realized she had left her purse and her swipe card inside it, in the car.
"Let me in," she barked at the night security men. They obviously knew who she was based on their response time. They snapped to and opened the doors. That's when they saw me.
For people who don't know what is going on and have no backstory it doesn't take much for them to construct their own theories and put two and two together. After Boss Lady passed through the doors I saw one guard lean towards the other and quickly say something. Then they both looked at me and smiled. Gossip. It had begun. I had briefly forgotten I was still under the big top.
We entered her office and I stood in the cavern she called her workspace. I'd never been inside it. The room looked and smelled like old money. A large mahogany desk anchored one end of the room. Deep-tanned matching leather chairs and a sofa, all looking like their material was collectively ripped from the back of a behemoth yet unfortunate beast, off to the side. One entire wall was a window looking out at downtown. This was what I expected a boss' office to be, an exotic and rich culmination of a life-long pursuit of the top rung on the ladder. I wondered how many daggers Boss Lady had thrown under the big top in order to get to this point. She found her distilled water jug in a closet, quickly held it up for my approval, and we returned to the garage.
I filled the battery chambers and replaced the caps, all the while telling her how these things have to be periodically checked. She stood beside me the whole time and nodded that she understood while I pointed out one thing or another. When confronted by a woman with a car problem, you're likely to encounter two types of women: The kind who realize you are helping them out of a predicament and are patient and calm while you do your thing, and the type who consider the whole thing an imposition that's somebody else's fault and have no time to patiently wait for the repair to be completed. Boss Lady was definitely the former.
I opened a door to her car and checked out the dome light. Faint, not a lot of juice. I turned her lights on and noticed the same.
"Is it fixed?" she asked.
"Almost, I just need to give your car a jump," I replied. I walked over to my car and moved it alongside hers.
"It's a good thing I carry jumper cables in my trunk," I began. "The lasting effects of having parents who worried about me breaking down in the middle of nowhere," I said as I reached deep into my trunk for the cables.
"Well they did an excellent job," she said, and gave me a coy wink.
I attached the cables and told her to sit in her car and start the engine when I gave the signal. I started my car and gave it a couple of revs before getting out and eyeballing the jumper connections to both cars. Then I gave her the signal.
An overzealous roar came from the BMW as it came back to life. Boss Lady gave me the thumbs up, a big grin on her face. I carefully undid the jumper connections, tied the cables and threw them back into my trunk.
"You did it, Reed, you really did it." It was the first time she used my name without any prompting.
"Thankfully it was an easy fix...uh..."
"Gloria. My name is Gloria."
"Of course," I smiled. Having never uttered more than a "good morning" to her I never had the chance to use her name in conversation. I'd almost forgotten it.
"In order to get the chemical reaction going and revive your battery you'll need to drive for about twenty minutes before shutting the car off."
"Shouldn't be a problem." Gloria smiled again. I guess even under the big top a person can use a helping hand from time to time.
"You know what I'm going to do? I've realized tonight that I don't know anybody on my staff. I've been here over five years and I don't know anybody below the level of director. And that is ridiculous. I am going to make an effort to get to know everybody who works for me. We're all here together, you know?"
I wanted to agree, but knowing my theories about career life I knew we weren't really all here together. We were just all here. But I nodded a polite "yes" anyway.
"And I'm going to start with you, Reed. As a thank you for your help this evening, let me buy you a drink. You drink, right?" She gave me a playful smile.
When Boss Lady says jump, you repond with How High? but I was far too tired to be sociable tonight. What happens if I refuse? Okay, calm down, examine this realistically. Just a drink. A reward. She feels badly that I took twenty minutes out of my day to help when I could have been home by now. You don't turn down the boss if you want to remain in good graces. But I just couldn't do it. Not tonight.
I politely thanked her for the offer and told her that though I'd enjoy nothing more, I would have to take a raincheck as I was tired from a long day's work and needed the rest. She said she understood but would hold me to it. I reminded her about keeping the car on for twenty minutes, and as she got back into her BMW, Gloria shouted a "thanks again" and told me she'd see me tomorrow.
Tomorrow. Under the big top. Where people would hear about me and Boss Lady together in the empty garage, about me sheepishly following her up to her office away from prying eyes after hours , and dream up their own perversions of the story and mash it into their grand plans for screwing me, their fellow man, on the way to the top.
Come and see the show.
2 Comments:
Hmm... I hope this is headed towards "Reed learns that not all women are trying to get into his pants," not "Reed gets it on with The Boss." :) I can't wait for the day his ego gets flattened a little. :)
You may be interested to know that your literary skill almost made a difference in my life! I'm going to buy a dog and your Sophia is so cool, I seriously contemplated a shar-pei! No cigar though, looks like I'm going for an English cocker spaniel instead. :)
This isn't that different from anywhere else people work. It's all cut throat and a untrusting atmosphere.
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