Thursday, June 29, 2006

Secret pleasures

The Finance Manager stormed into my office this morning. Slammed the door shut behind him with a resonating wham.

I looked up questionningly. Calmly. (That's what I do as an HR bod, sit there like a sedate sloth).

"I can't believe these people!" he raged.
I raised my eyebrows.
"We've got to quit offering free food in our kitchen. The staff here eat so much! We're burning through thousands of dollars in free food every week!"
"It's ridiculous," I said. "The amount people are willing to eat, just cos it's free." I shook my head incredulously.

"I knew you'd understand." Done with his rant, he gave me a curt nod and stormed back out and away.

I poked my head around the corner. Made sure that he had gone safely back to his desk. And snuck to the kitchen to grab another packet of dried fruit and nuts.

Heh heh heh.

Wednesday, June 28, 2006

Ficali McPipe, Olympic Heroine


Let it forever be known, that there was a hero (super human, practically) who completed 5k in the Corporate Challenge last Thursday. On the hottest day in the history of the world. Amongst an asphysixiating 10,000 other people. Through hell and high waters.

And emerged triumphant.

Well, emerged alive, anyway.

Thursday, June 22, 2006

Automation

Welcome to American Airlines Automatic Reservations System. Are you looking to make a flight reservation? Say 'Yes' or 'No'.
"Yes"
I heard 'yes'. Is that correct?
"Yes"
Please tell me your departure location.
"London"
I heard Chicago. Is this correct?
"No"
Please tell me your departure location.
"London"
I heard Chicago. Is this correct?
"No"
Sorry, I can't understand you. Would you like to speak to a representative?
"Yes"
I heard 'yes'. Is that correct?
"Yes"
Sorry, there is no representative available. Would you like to try again?
"No"
I heard 'yes'. Is that correct?
"No"
Sorry, I can't understand you. Would you like to try again?
"I WANT TO SPEAK TO A REPRESENTATIVE!!!!"
Sorry, I can't understand you. Would you like to try again?

GAH.

Ironic

I've been particularly proud of myself - I signed up for the JP Morgan Chase Corporate Challenge, a 5k run in Central Park. Seasoned runners will naturally pshaw at my creating such a palaver over just 5k, but this is the first time I've entered into an official run - I do have the right, don't I?

I've been doing little practice jogs on the treadmill in my gym, and I figure, if I can run 5k on a machine, through the din of my ipod + gym music + gym TVs, watching myself in horror on the mirrored walls, surreptitiously checking out the other joggers in envy, then I can definitely pull it off in the relative freshness of Central Park. Right?

But I've been setting stringent expectations with my colleagues: "Will probably end up walking the whole thing, heh heh," I kept saying. The strategy being they'd be blown away when I coolly jogged (maybe even with a dramatic sprint for the final bit!) the entire race. Fool proof strategy. Right?

This is how I establish my self-proclaimed heroism.

So, today is D-day. And what happens? I wake up in the morning with a terrible cold, coughing and spluttering about, feeling like the living dead. A firm dose of cough syrup, and I'm moonwalking about the office. Energy and adrenaline are just wishful pipedreams.

Dammit. Now I AM going to have to walk through the entire bloody race. And my colleagues will never know that I could have jogged it, any other day. Dammit. I will forever remain the undiscovered hero.

Monday, June 19, 2006

A useful use of time

Everything was going just so well, perfectly skimming along, until this afternoon. And then, I was overcome with a sudden, overpowering, debilitating, intoxicating craving for a brownie. Just-HAD-to-have-one-or-I'd-DIE kind of overpowering.

So I poked my head surreptitiously out of my office door. There's usually some enticing little teatime indulgence lying around near the kitchen area. And indeed - there was a plate of brownies on a table outside one of the meeting rooms.

Casually, I strolled towards, and past, the brownies, tryng to scope out the area. Were they meant for someone in particular? Would someone reprimand me if they caught me sneaking a brownie off the plate? It wouldn't do at all to have the HR bod caught filching food.

A quick walk (feigned stroll) with an air of affected nonchalance to and fro in the general vicinity of the brownie plate revealed that (a) the brownies were for the group having a meeting in the room; and (b) the fact that they were not paying attention to the brownies meant in my mind that it was a free for all. So, very slowly, very casually (no one could have guessed my intentions, honestly), I approached the brownie table. Glanced at the people in the meeting room, all intently staring at their screens. Glanced left and right down the corridor. Felt my hand drawn, as though by an external force beyond my control, towards the plate.

And the meetingroom door opened and the party burst forth. "Let's take a break for a brownie snack!" I heard one of them say in general congenial chatter. Stupid nonce.

I quickly withdrew my hand, stood up to my full height, and headed off back to my office, as though that's where I'd been going anyway. I gave an over-exaggerated glance at my watch and muttered about how late I was, for the benefit of anyone who might have been listening.

And then got back to my room and realised I was still craving something sweet. Supremely irritated by the somewhat pathetic timing which had rendered me brownie-less, I decided a quick jaunt to Starbucks to fulfill my craving was in tall order. Schlepped over to the one on Greenwich, stood patiently in the queue, finally reached the front of the line, got an expectantly questionning look from the young lady in the cash register, and suddenly realised I wasn't craving it anymore.

"Uh, nothing." I told her, stepped out of the line, did my little routine about looking at the watch and muttering how late I was, and headed back to the office. Just how I'd intended for the day to go. One hour later, and still on square one.

Thursday, June 15, 2006

Living dangerously

The other day, just as Bobbis and I were commiserating with each other about our sweltering apartment, the pleasant UPS fellow delivered the new AC I had bought. When I call him pleasant, I don't say so lightly, because I couldn't think of how else to describe someone who can haul an AC up a five-floor walk-up and still deliver with a smile.

Once we'd gotten over the momentary excitement and elation of having an AC in our possession, it dawned on us pretty quickly that we had no idea how to install it, and even if we had known, we couldn't even lift the darned thing.

I let out an audibly worried sigh, entirely intended for Delta's ears, seeing as he was lounging about the place aimlessly anyways. Delta, who astutely picked up on my subtle hint, gave an audible sigh himself. And then (thankfully) set about being the man and doing the right thing (ie took care of everything to install the AC for us). For which, of course, we are eternally grateful.

And I was introduced to a new New York snippet of knowledge: the Window AC.
The Window AC, which looks like a carton and weighs like a ton, is fit into the window and then held in place only by the sliding down window pane itself. No fancy installation, no supporting beams. Nope, just raise the window pane, fit the AC into the open space, and then jam down the pane on top of the AC so that it doesn't have room to fall out. And it balances there like that, 90% of its ponderous weight hanging off your window ledge. Five floors above the street outside.

Does that sound secure to you??!!!

I looked at the new AC dubiously.
"That's it?" I asked Delta. "Doesn't that look unstable? What if it falls out?"
Delta glanced at me in alarm. "It won't, of course. Because you're not going to raise the window are you? Not even an inch. ARE you?"
I shook my head.
"Because if you do," he continued, "it will surely fall down five floors onto the head of a passerby below."
Suddenly I didn't want the AC right in my window anymore. It seemed like having a nuke in my bedroom or something.

Yesterday, as I walked to work, I stopped in a narrow street, buildings towering on either side of me. Glanced up at each building, the smooth walls divided into contiguous squares of windows, like vertical waffles. And in each window, a little AC overhanging the street, waiting to fall out. Instinctively I stepped towards the road, away from the building beside me, incase one should fall on my head. And realised I was almost in firing distance from the building on the other side.

The only safe place to walk now, if you ask me, is bang in the middle of the road.

Saturday, June 10, 2006

Change, it comes in all shapes and sizes

Life at work has been particularly tumultuous in recent days. Big Boss M is moving into another role in the company, and won't be my boss any longer. He called me into his office a few days ago to let me know, and I at once recoiled in shock and horror.

"So I won't be your manager any longer," he concluded his explanation.
"What! I quit."I said firmly. Half the reason I love my job is because of Big Boss M's kindly presence.
"Don't be silly," he admonished. "You're going to have a new manager, Richie Rich. I don't know him very well, but he seems great."
"Richie Rich...." I rolled the name about in my mind to get a sense for it. Then, "I don't like him," I declared emphatically.
"Isn't that a bit immature?" Big Boss M pointed out, "I mean, you haven't even met him yet."
"Yes but he's not you! He's going to be just awful, and I'll hate working with him."
Big Boss M simply rolled his eyes, which, for some inexplicable reason, seems to be how all our conversations end.

So I had decided from the onset that I would hate Richie Rich. He was going to be a cruel, incompassionate capitalist, and all joy would be sucked out of my working life forever, and he wouldn't find humour in the odd facial expressions I make when I'm thinking, and things would just never be the same. I moped about with an expression of doom and gloom for a while.

Then Richie Rich came into the office the other day to meet me. Over a coffee, we sat down for an hour, tentatively getting to know each other. Each evaluating, judging and categorising everything about the other.

It took me all of five minutes to realise that despite my own stubborn insistence, I found myself liking him instantly. I'd hate to admit it to anyone, but he was warm, funny, energetic, bright - just about everything I'd want in a new boss. Despite myself, I discovered a smile plastered across my face.

Okay, so maybe it won't be so bad after all.

Friday, June 02, 2006

The games people play

This morning, for no rhyme or reason, I remembered an incident from a couple of years ago:

Trring, trring.

"Hello?"
"Macklaine? What's the number of British Rail, to make ticket reservations?"
"01457 662 4201"
"Great. Thanks!"

Trring, trring.

"Hello?"
"Hi, I'm calling to make train reservations please."
"Eh?"
"One ticket, London Paddington to Stonehouse, June 23rd, 6.30 pm Great Western Express. Do you have anything available?"
"Eh?!!"
"Ermm....."
"Ficali? Is that you??!" Incredulous voice on the phone.

Oh gawd oh gawd oh gawd.

"Erm. Macklaine's Dad?"

"Hi! How are you?! Good to hear from you again! And why are you calling me about train tickets?!"
"Oh never mind, I'm just confused. Good to speak to you too!"
"But why are you calling about train tickets?!"
....

Trring, trring.

"Hello?"
"Macklaine, you arse. Did you just give me your Dad's number and say it was for British Rail?!"
"Heh heh, heh heh."
"Gawd how juvenile."
"Hehehe heehee ha ha HA HA HA HAHAHA!!!"

Oh no how am I ever going to live this one down.

Thursday, June 01, 2006

One lives and learns (but no promises on the learning)

So, I was very conscientious about archiving all my emails into a PST file that I saved on the network. At first, I was the typical kind of sceptic that thought that kind of thing was a waste of time - you know - the impetuous brashness of youth and all that malarky.

But then my computer crashed, including all the information, and I was mighty glad for the wise old owl who had advised me to back up my emails on the network.

And then, when my computer was finally repaired, I could just re-import the PST file into my Outlook - like so - and there were all my old emails, fine and dandy.

But did you know its possible to import the PST file into the wrong part of your mailbox, so that it busts your mailbox size limit, and you can't receive/send emails anymore? Me neither. This world of technology befuddles and confuddles me.

Anyways, so there I was sitting, happy as pie. Wondering why I hadn't received any emails today, but not questionning it too hard, because it meant less work to be done. And one should never tempt fate, right? So the lack of emails in my inbox was the last thing on my mind when Big Boss M popped his head into my office this afternoon.

"Did you know you're not receiving emails anymore???!" he asked.
"Oh, really?" I was surprised.
"You need to get it checked out!" he exclaimed. "Anyway, here's the gist of the important emails I sent you this morning." And he handed me a little pile of post-its, each neatly listing my to-do actions.
"Oh. Thanks." Bless his dear heart.
He sighed. "Get that mailbox checked," he suggested, and as he headed off back in the direction of his own office, I could still hear him muttering something about mailboxes and not receiving emails.