Outsourced!

Recently, several people have brought to my attention that a new show will debut on NBC this fall. The show is called "Outsourced" and the title says it all. Of course I'm very interested in this show and I hope they have a team of informed writers. If not, I know where they can find one...

Reply All? PLEASE Don't!

As an avid emailer, I completely understand why the Reply All option was invented. What I will never understand, however, is why people use the Reply All option on company-wide emails. Do they just not realize the difference between Reply and Reply All? Or, do these individuals think the entire distribution list wants to hear their reasons for not being able to attend a company-wide meeting or event?

I have to think that more often than not, it's a mistake of epic, embarrassing proportions. The best is when multiple people hit Reply All, which usually prompts someone of authority to send out the scolding "Please don't use the reply all button" email to... yep, everyone. This has always been one of my biggest pet peeves in the corporate world. Case in point, my friend Steve Rock Star, who I haven't worked with since 1999, recently told me "For the record, every time we get a 'reply to all' on a company wide e-mail, I still mutter jackass."

Another email pet peeve is the failure to proofread before hitting the dreaded send button. Now, I'm not some weird, OCD lunatic who saves emails by the hundreds. But, I will admit that I have an archive, so to speak, of my all-time favorite emails. Some of them are not suitable to be reprinted, but the majority of them most definitely are, as was apparent with the infamous "Bathroom" email.

Here is another one of my all-time favorites, word for word, from the book publishing days:

Since Beth had suggested team members to come in earlier than normal time they come in so that we can bet any deadlines for packages to go out that day while UPS is on strike. I prefer meeting at 9:30 a.m. daily until communication gap is filled in, to discuss workload. See ya tomorrow morning!

When this appeared in my Inbox, I seriously read it about two dozen times. Finally, I asked for another interpretation from my former coworker, The Goof. I forwarded it to him with the very difficult question of "What the hell is she trying to say?"

And he responded with:

I honestly have no idea. I read it three times, and I think it has something to do with you guys driving for UPS while Beth suggests deadlines for team members' packages?

I think the sender of that email brings a whole new meaning to the UPS slogan "What can Brown do for you?"

Horrendous Holiday Parties

So, I've been to more awful work Christmas parties (aka "Holiday" parties if you want to be PC about it) than I can remember. And once I got married, I then had to attend the Husband's parties, too. And his parties were almost as bad as mine. Almost.

My favorite holiday party was held at a country western bar. With a line-dancing coach. And the rarest prime rib ever served to humans. As the Husband said "Coyotes wouldn't have touched that meat. Even vultures would have kept on going." And he's so not exaggerating. The prime rib literally floated in a pool of blood on the dinner plates. I'm surprised everyone in attendance didn't come down with a killer case of e coli.

A close runner-up would be the Husband's party in 2004. I was 9-months pregnant and gave birth a mere 6 days after the party. His boss, Fur Coat Fashionista, had picked the biggest dive imaginable to host the party. It was a restaurant in the 'hood with a small banquet room, meant for 30 people. Well, 50+ people ended up smashed into that room. And the staff seemed so overwhelmed that one had to wonder whether or not they had been informed about the party. It took 3 hours to get our food. And by then, every single person, with the exception of my pregnant self, was drunk. Wasted. And starving. And wouldn't you know it, the very last person served their dinner was me. I mean really, how does the hugely pregnant woman not get served first? And by the end of the party, my feet were so hideously swollen that I had to drive home in my socks. Awesome. Oh, and the bathroom was so small, that I could barely fit in and close the door. And I was seated in the middle of a very long table and on each of my 17 trips to the bathroom during the night, I managed to knock over drinks, silverware, napkins and anything else that was in my path.

The year after that disaster of a party, the Husband talked me into attending his party again. And just like the year before, location, location, location was an issue. The venue this time was this dark, out-of-the-way, "Good Fellas" type of hole-in-the-wall. It was so far out of the way, that everyone had to stay at a hotel and take a shuttle bus. It was almost like we weren't allowed to know where the hell we were going. When we arrived and asked for menus, we were told by one of the servers "We don't have menus here. We'll verbally tell you the choices." Um, OK. So, once given the choices, everyone ordered and then the manager came out and dropped this bombshell: "Too many people ordered the surf and turf and we don't have enough lobsters. So, each couple can only have one order of surf and turf. The other person needs to order something else. And we're also out of the filet. Thanks." Thank God they didn't run out of beer. Or wine. Or Jack Daniels. Whew.

Another fabulous party involved an "Around the World" food theme. I think it would be safe to say that you don't have to travel the world to taste really crappy food. And it is entirely possible to ruin tiramisu. And tortellini. One coworker ordered a pizza when he got home because he was starving. This was also the party where I swear a coworker wore her prom dress. From 1982.

The last holiday party I attended was in 2008. It was a family party, so the whole family went. As luck would have it, Boss was dressed up like Santa and I had to watch in horror as my daughter sat on his lap and told him what she wanted for Christmas. Granted, he wasn't my boss at the time, but he was definitely an ass at the time, so the whole experience nearly ruined my Christmas.

This year, I'm going to host my own Christmas party. High school formal wear will not be required and I guarantee the food will be awesome, or at least fully cooked and plentiful. And keg stands are welcome. See you in December!

The Great Lunch Dilemma

Lunch is a big deal in corporate America. Now that I'm not working, I can honestly say that one of the things I miss the most is lunch. Of course I still eat lunch, but lunch with a 3-year-old and 5-year-old, while highly entertaining, just isn't the same as lunch with coworkers.

I've always found it hilarious that the lunch discussion begins in the morning. Usually by 9 a.m., the plans are in the works, such as who is going and where are we going and who do we not want to join us. It always seemed so illegal to sneak down the hallway, without a word to anyone, to go to lunch without anyone noticing.

I'm sure all offices have the following people:

• The always inviting themselves along coworker. (Hence the need to sneak down the hallway.)
• The coworker who always wants you to "pick something up" for him or her. These are the people who manage to go entire months without leaving the building for lunch. It's almost like they eavesdrop all morning and then decide what they want picked up based on the options they indirectly hear. Even more annoying is when they give you a high-maintenance list of what they want, similar to Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally. So, not only do you have to pick up lunch for someone, you now have to be completely embarrassed in the process.
• The mooch. You know, the person who is always a $1 short or "borrowing" change. This is usually the person who orders water and then sneaks a soda from the soda machine.
• The spy. This is the person who somehow ends up coming along and nobody feels good about it. So at lunch, there is no work discussion, as the spy's intentions are unclear.
• The clockwatcher. This is the person who constantly looks at their watch as a reminder to the rest of us to hurry up.
• The lunch packer. This is the person who brings their lunch, but is then persuaded to go out to lunch. I was usually that person, as leaving the building always trumped leftovers.

Once upon a time, I went to lunch with a coworker from the bookstore where I worked in college. We were standing in line at Taco Bell and I kept going on and on about what an idiot our boss was. I started to notice that my coworker wasn't saying anything. In fact, he was looking at me with a "Shut the hell up!" expression. I couldn't figure out what was going on. I was like "What, we're in Taco Bell, not Ruth's Chris!" I finally caught on and turned around to find the boss's husband in line behind us. "Hi, Kate" he quietly said. I wanted to disappear in the packets of hot sauce. Lesson learned. When out to lunch, always check the establishment for familiar faces before you start running your mouth.

At any rate, I sure would jump at the chance to ditch the kids and Kraft Mac-n-Cheese for lunch with some grown-ups. Any takers? Oh and Mentor, if you're reading this, in memory of our favorite lunch destination: UNCLE BOB!!!

Potty Talk

Once upon a time at Prison Media, a now notorious email was sent to the entire company. The email was all about the bathroom and I still laugh out loud whenever I read it. (Snippets published at the end of this post.)

We all have corporate America bathroom stories. It's unavoidable. For the sake of taste, I won't go into much detail regarding what goes on in the bathroom. But I will say that one of my ultimate pet peeves is people who don't wash their hands after using the restroom. For example, if I'm in a stall and someone in the stall next to me flushes and promptly exits the bathroom without stopping at the sink, I spend the rest of the day wondering who the hell that was. And is that person going to hand me a piece of paper later with their unwashed hands? And, for the record, I'm not a germaphobe. I stood in ankle deep sewage and vomit on Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras and lived to tell about it.

I remember the day when the plungers appeared in every bathroom stall. They almost screamed "We can no longer afford to pay a plumber, so if you plug up the toilet, fix it." Sorry, but I draw the line at fixing the work toilet.

I also started to notice the quality of toilet paper decreasing on a daily basis. It was almost like the company bought in bulk at a Home Depot sandpaper sale. Ouch.

(On a side note, I recently spotted a roll of Charmin in the Husband's work bag. When I inquired as to why he's hoarding toilet paper, he explained to me how awful the toilet paper is at his company, which resulted in this conversation:)

Me (giant smirk on my face): "You don't walk down the hall, toting the roll of Charmin, right?"

Husband (clearly annoyed): "NO! I tear some off and put it in my pocket."

Me: "Good to know." (And thinking to myself how much that conversation resembled the "Spare a Square" Seinfeld episode.)

Then there was the time the entire building smelled like raw sewage and a company-wide email went out warning employees not to light matches in the bathroom. Talk about explosive consequences! Imagine that news story...

So, here are the best lines from a REAL email dated Tuesday, August 27, 2002

Subject line: Building Maintenance Issues

OK folks, I've had it — with all of you!!!!

It's only Tuesday and I've already had to call the plumbers twice. Yes, that's right, twice. Once for the garbage disposal in the cafe and once for a clogged toilet in the ladies bathroom on the first floor.

And while I'm on the subject of bathrooms…how hard is it for you all to wipe up the water that you spill on the counter???? Or pick up that piece of toilet paper that you ripped off the roll and it fell to the floor? Ladies, it looks like a public restroom you might find at a truck stop!

And while I'm on the subject of pigs…let's talk about keeping the cafe clean, shall we??? Please DO NOT leave your dirty dishes in the sink, even for five minutes while you run to the bathroom (because then you'll forget about your dirty dishes while you're happily slopping water on the counter and sneaking out before anyone can see you).

Here's the rules:

1. Don't use so darned much toilet paper…if you must, then do it two or three loads.
2. Don't flush paper towels or your "feminine hygiene products" down the toilet. If you need a further explanation, please call me.
3. Don't slop water on the counters. If you do, then wipe it up.
4. If you don't do the three above, the next stop is port-a-potties in the parking lot.

Those are the best parts. After this email blasted into my Inbox, I really wanted to get a further explanation on items 1 and 2. That conversation could have been a YouTube instant classic! I also remember how juvenile and fun it became to splash water all over the counters and then sneak out of the bathroom. (Yes, I admit to being juvenile.) I still think it's the funniest email I received in 15 years in corporate America. I wonder if the author remembers writing it?

Every Office Has One...

Obviously, I find many things about corporate America to be completely absurd. Ridiculous. Just plain stupid. But, if I had to make a list of my biggest annoyances, there would be a hand's down winner for number one:

The office suck-up. Butt kisser. Brown noser.

You know the type:

• Play every angle to get ahead.
• Have zero loyalty to anyone.
• Go over the top to make themselves look good.
• Constantly seek affirmation and pay undo compliments to get it.
• Take credit for everything, regardless of level of involvement.
• Just generally being someone you constantly want to run over in the parking lot or shove down the elevator shaft.

There is at least one in every department. My personal favorite story about the resident brown noser involves this coworker who literally invented the "Look How Busy I Am" game. I think I'll call her Sludge. I've never met anyone who whined and cried and sobbed about how busy she constantly was, when in reality, she maybe had 90 minutes of work to keep her busy each day. She played the game so well that even her boss bought it.

She was a brown noser because she took credit for *everything.* I'm surprised she didn't expect thanks for making the sun rise each morning. Part of what made Sludge the ultimate brown noser was her ability to take on the extra projects and make it seem like a total sacrifice on her end. In reality, she could have taken on every extra project in the building, including cleaning the bathrooms, because she didn't have any work to do.

During one meeting with the publisher, Sludge dominated the conversation for 15 minutes, talking about how her "team" did pretty much everything except run the printing press. The rest of us at the table just stared in disbelief, wondering what kind of alternate universe Sludge actually lived in. I was really wondering which "team" she was referring to. She didn't manage anyone, and we didn't work in "teams," so unless she had a family of mice under her desk, the team reference was quite idiotic.

As luck would have it, Sludge was constantly so busy and overwhelmed with work, that she couldn't find the time to learn the new software that had just been implemented. And during all of her extreme busyness, she never stopped to think that she might just "work" herself right out of a job. Which is exactly what happened. She's probably still convinced that she was wrongfully terminated.

I mean really, how often does the office suck-up get what's coming to them? Unfortunately, not often enough.

Food Horror Stories from the Office

So, a long time ago, right out of college, I was a coffee drinker. I would drink my morning coffee at work, poured from the community coffee pot, into my favorite coffee mug, and happily start my day. When I was done with my coffee, I would wash my mug at the community sink and set it on my desk to dry. The community sink was shared by the entire first floor. The sink had one of those sponges that was attached to a handle filled with soap. I used that sponge every day for almost two years.

One morning, I arrived at work a little earlier that usual. I walked down the hall, past the sink, and happened to glance over and see one of the proofreaders at the sink. She was washing her fish bowl. She was washing her fish bowl WITH THE SPONGE THAT WAS ATTACHED TO A HANDLE FILLED WITH SOAP!

I stopped and stared and pictured what that fish bowl had looked like the day before when I had been in her cube. Let's just say that it was nearly impossible to see from one side of the bowl to the other because it was so cloudy with fish poop and slime. And then I started to dry heave and nearly tossed up my Cheerios.

And that is why I stopped drinking coffee for several years. I kept seeing fish bowl floaties in my coffee and I just couldn't drink it. Is there a moral to the story? I think it would have to be to use extreme caution when utilizing any kind of "community" anything at the office.

I've always been very bewildered by the lunch stealers at the office. You know, the people who help themselves to whatever they want in the 'fridge. I mean really, how the heck do you know what you're getting?! And then you have the annoying people who reheat fish in the microwave and make the entire building smell like Shedds Aquarium. And how can anyone forget the smell of burned microwave popcorn? How hard is it to cook microwave popcorn appropriately? Very, apparently. That's a smell that tends to linger. For days.

Speaking of the microwave, what about the people who put their lunch in the microwave and then disappear? I remember when I lived in the dorm at college and the unwritten rule was if you left your laundry in the washer or dryer, it was fair game. Does the same rule apply to Lean Cuisines in the office microwave?

One of my favorite work food stories involves the case of the disappearing fruit. Whenever I would leave a piece of fruit in my cube, it would always be gone the next morning. And it wasn't just me, it was happening to all of my coworkers. We finally figured out that it had to be the cleaning crew. And that's when a brilliant idea popped into my head. A few years back, I had my wisdom teeth removed and for some reason, I had saved the giant plastic syringe that was included with my surgery. I filled the syringe with Tabasco sauce and injected an apple. I left it on my desk, feeling like the mean witch about to poison Snow White. Well, let's just say that the disappearing fruit stopped disappearing. Mystery solved.

Now that I have my own fish bowl, I have regular flashbacks to the sponge incident. I think The Husband is lucky enough to hear the story every single time he cleans the fish bowl. It kind of gives a whole new meaning to sponge worthy...