Driving is dangerous. It's got to be one of the most dangerous things that people do on a daily basis, but fortunately, since we do it so much, we are good at avoiding trouble with it. Unfortunately, since we do it so much, we tend to get too comfortable doing it, and get sloppy. This leads to accidents. Avoiding an accident takes a combination of quick thinking and some very fortuitous circumstances. Every one of these incidents could have ended very, very badly if not for both my ability to swerve and the sheer dumb luck that a) no one was in my way when I swerved, and b) there was somewhere to swerve to.
My first near miss was on the highway between Oklahoma and Colorado. I was cruising down the road fiddling with my music (was listening to CDs through the radio cassette player like many people in 1994 or 5, I don't recall which), and up ahead, I noted, there was a car stopped by the side of the road. No big deal. Fiddled with the music a little more, looked back up, and now the car is on the road directly in front of me, and I'm closing fast! They were on the shoulder completely stopped only seconds before, and apparently in the time it took for me to look to my CD player and back to the road, they'd popped their car in drive and got themselves on the road going 0 to 60 in 4.6 minutes. I swerved and shot past them wondering if they even knew I was there. And then went back to switching CDs.
The second was in 1996 when I was driving in mid-town Tulsa with Allison's toady little friend, Hedy (see the right column for name explanations). I think I had taken her to give plasma or something, and we were coming back. We were behind a motorcycle just cruising along at a brisk 35 mile an hour pace when I notice the motorcycle is completely stopped. No brake lights. No turn signal. No nothing. Hedy shields her face, and I swerve to the other lane very narrowly missing them. My Camaro would have survived the impact just fine, but the pair on the cycle would have been killed or at least very seriously injured. Our hearts racing, Hedy and I spoke a little more easily for a time having lived through that one together.
I have to guess on when these next three happened, since I am not entirely sure of the timing. All three were after the Queen and I were married, but during the time of the 1992 Probe, which would be between 1999 and 2003, I believe. I'm kind of fuzzy as to when the Probe died its unfortunate death by lack of oil. If you are low of oil, put some in. Don't be like "I'll just be sure to get an oil change soon for three weeks." This has been a public service announcement.
My wife's family has gone to Roaring River, Missouri for years. They have campers out there and everything. So, it would stand to reason that once we were married that we would be spending some time out there, and I know the path from my house to that area very well now as well as how to get to the Walmart in Cassville. Yay. Anyway, while we were on one of those little jaunts in the Probe, I was momentarily distracted by something. I looked up and there was a car looking to make themselves a left hand turn, but having no luck doing so. There was no way I could stop in time, and since they weren't turning left, I sure wasn't going into that lane. Fortunately, this two-laned road had a shoulder, so off I go, passing a stopped car on a two-laned road at 35 on the shoulder. It doesn't get more illegal than that (it does, I know, but go with it, ok?) Better a little illegal than a big accident though.
This one was not remotely my fault. It is actually the only one where I was neither goofing off nor distracted. If I were distracted, there would have been a wreck. No, I was driving this Blue Lincoln the Queen had brought into our marriage (she likes Lincolns) while she was driving the Probe (I don't recall why though), and I was on one of the four-laned roads that make up mid-town Tulsa. I saw a car stopped at the top of a hill, so I changed lanes to pass it. As I approach the location of this car, another car pops out of the neighborhood right there, apparently sees me, and stops directly in front of me! I'm in this blue tank looking to make a jackknife of some aluminum luxury vehicle. Oh, I would have been fine, but they would be toast. you know what I did. I swerved. But you also already know I could not swerve into the other lane going my way because there is a car there. No, I swerved into the oncoming traffic lanes, narrowly missing that car. But my fun wasn't over. There was a car in that lane too, so I ended up in the outside lane of the wrong side of the road. As soon as that car passed me, probably freaking out with a slew of choice words, I got myself back into the right lane, and breathed a sigh of relief as I waited for my heart to slow back down to normal. That was my scariest one, but not my weirdest.
The weirdest one makes me really believe there is a God out there who does whatever the heck he wants. It was in Broken Arrow when I was driving down 91st between Main and Elm. I know it was in this area because I remember it vividly (which means I could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure). It was before they had added the extra lanes, so I know it was only a two lane road at the time. I don't recall what distracted me, but I looked up, and there's that car in front of me, stopped. I did what I always do. I swerved onto the shoulder to recklessly pass the vehicle and went on with my life with a slightly accelerated heartbeat. Here's the thing. When driving down that road later, I noticed that there is no shoulder. Not even a little one. There's just grass. Grass and street signs. I've wondered for years where exactly I swerved around that car, and I don't know. They've since four-laned the road, but I still have no idea where I would have gone.
These like this and the actual accidents I've had illustrate to me the difference between teens and adults in driving. We all started out driving like idiots, but through our experiences, we learn that driving is extremely dangerous, and we figure out how to do it so we are not a danger to ourselves and others. Prior to all of this, I drove like an invincible maniac, but after these experiences, I understand why older people drive a little slower and have fewer accidents. Because they've already done it.
Drive safe everyone.
Saturday, September 21, 2013
Friday, September 20, 2013
Motor Vehicular Accidents
Yesterday, I alluded to some times where I had some near misses in a car, and I figure it would be worthwhile to recollect those as well. Why not? But before I get to those, I figure I'll cover when I actually experienced an accident. It's worth noting, however, that in none of those incidents did I have an "accident." My pants remained unsoiled.
In my life, I've had what amounts to four actual accidents with damage. The first was in 1994 when I got my first car. It was a Subaru Justy and I was driving in a snowstorm in Colorado. I had no reason to be out in the whether. I was young and stupid and just wanted to drive in it. I could rank this as one of the times I could have been killed, but not in the accident. It happened when I was returning to the barracks (I was in the Army at the time), and instead of going straight, I decided to follow some guy. Well, when we went to stop, he slid off the road, and I slid right into him. Dented the front of my car. The dent remained till I traded it in.
In 1996, I was driving the Justy's replacement, a 1986 Camaro. It was cool. Cruising down the highway in the middle of the night when WHAM! I had no idea what happened, but the car buffeted all over the place, and before I know it I'm limping to the side of the road. There are no other cars around me that were hit. I had two passengers and they didn't know what happened either. After a time, we learned (from the wrecker guy who picked my car up) that logs had been falling off the back of a truck or something, and I was the second car he had towed for this reason. I further learned that when I hit said log (which was about the size of the car's wheel), it was flung into the other lane, and someone else had hit it too. The Camaro was totaled.
Number three was not until the end of 2006 in a 1996 Lincoln. Nice car. I was late for work, and this was the job where I was being hounded about my attendance. One more lateness, and I was toast. I charged out of the house as fast as possible without the time to get everyone else up so the Queen could keep the car (we only had the one at the time). She said she'd call a friend who could help them get around that day. I am really bad about red lights. I don't know why, but when I drive, I hit a lot of red lights. That day, I could not afford red lights, so as I was approaching an intersection, the light went yellow. I went a little faster and made the yellow light. No crime committed there. I passed in front of the QuikTrip that has since moved, and I saw him coming a split second before he hit. A truck came out of the QT parking lot and I swerved, but not enough. He slammed into the back of my car and the poor thing just shut down as I coasted to the side of the road. I forgot about the reset switch in the trunk till later. It was his fault, and his insurance was the one to take it, but the Lincoln was totaled. The hit bent the frame.
The last was, I think, the end of 2010 or beginning of 2011. We'd had another one of those horrific ice/snow storms, and we were almost through it. I was driving to work in the 2002 Impala, which was the nicer of our two vehicles at the time, since the other option was a 1986 Lincoln (aka a tank). Wish I'd driven the tank. I was sitting second at a stop light facing north when someone else turned south onto the five laned road I was sitting on. He hit an icy patch and slid across all of the lanes to smack into the front of me. If I had the foresight, I could have avoided his slow approach by just backing up. There was no one behind me. He crumpled the bumper, but the car was driveable. Because the roads were icy, the police were on "slick streets" mode which means they only respond to injury accidents, and neither of us were even vehicularly incapacitated. I ended up dealing with the guy's brother who paid to have the car fixed, and it was back on the road. Could have been timed better since I had eye surgery at exactly the same time as the fixing of the car meaning the Queen had to drive me home in the old Lincoln which was large and unwieldy in that hospital's parking garage.
That's all my actual accidents. I suppose I've been lucky in that I haven't had many, but I've come really close more than once.
Those were the hits, so tomorrow, I guess I'll cover the misses.
In my life, I've had what amounts to four actual accidents with damage. The first was in 1994 when I got my first car. It was a Subaru Justy and I was driving in a snowstorm in Colorado. I had no reason to be out in the whether. I was young and stupid and just wanted to drive in it. I could rank this as one of the times I could have been killed, but not in the accident. It happened when I was returning to the barracks (I was in the Army at the time), and instead of going straight, I decided to follow some guy. Well, when we went to stop, he slid off the road, and I slid right into him. Dented the front of my car. The dent remained till I traded it in.
In 1996, I was driving the Justy's replacement, a 1986 Camaro. It was cool. Cruising down the highway in the middle of the night when WHAM! I had no idea what happened, but the car buffeted all over the place, and before I know it I'm limping to the side of the road. There are no other cars around me that were hit. I had two passengers and they didn't know what happened either. After a time, we learned (from the wrecker guy who picked my car up) that logs had been falling off the back of a truck or something, and I was the second car he had towed for this reason. I further learned that when I hit said log (which was about the size of the car's wheel), it was flung into the other lane, and someone else had hit it too. The Camaro was totaled.
Number three was not until the end of 2006 in a 1996 Lincoln. Nice car. I was late for work, and this was the job where I was being hounded about my attendance. One more lateness, and I was toast. I charged out of the house as fast as possible without the time to get everyone else up so the Queen could keep the car (we only had the one at the time). She said she'd call a friend who could help them get around that day. I am really bad about red lights. I don't know why, but when I drive, I hit a lot of red lights. That day, I could not afford red lights, so as I was approaching an intersection, the light went yellow. I went a little faster and made the yellow light. No crime committed there. I passed in front of the QuikTrip that has since moved, and I saw him coming a split second before he hit. A truck came out of the QT parking lot and I swerved, but not enough. He slammed into the back of my car and the poor thing just shut down as I coasted to the side of the road. I forgot about the reset switch in the trunk till later. It was his fault, and his insurance was the one to take it, but the Lincoln was totaled. The hit bent the frame.
The last was, I think, the end of 2010 or beginning of 2011. We'd had another one of those horrific ice/snow storms, and we were almost through it. I was driving to work in the 2002 Impala, which was the nicer of our two vehicles at the time, since the other option was a 1986 Lincoln (aka a tank). Wish I'd driven the tank. I was sitting second at a stop light facing north when someone else turned south onto the five laned road I was sitting on. He hit an icy patch and slid across all of the lanes to smack into the front of me. If I had the foresight, I could have avoided his slow approach by just backing up. There was no one behind me. He crumpled the bumper, but the car was driveable. Because the roads were icy, the police were on "slick streets" mode which means they only respond to injury accidents, and neither of us were even vehicularly incapacitated. I ended up dealing with the guy's brother who paid to have the car fixed, and it was back on the road. Could have been timed better since I had eye surgery at exactly the same time as the fixing of the car meaning the Queen had to drive me home in the old Lincoln which was large and unwieldy in that hospital's parking garage.
That's all my actual accidents. I suppose I've been lucky in that I haven't had many, but I've come really close more than once.
Those were the hits, so tomorrow, I guess I'll cover the misses.
Thursday, September 19, 2013
Underground Fear
I was a stupid, skinny little kid once. My mother used to say I needed a belt to hold up my slims and that was true. I could rip through more food then than I can now, that's for sure. The thing with kids is that their greatest strength is their greatest weakness, and that characteristic is ignorance. Ignorance isn't a bad thing, by any means. It just means you do not know about something, and when I think about things that are scary, I remember some of my stupidity, and consider how lucky I am that by the grace of God, I survived into adulthood.
There is one thing is particular that whenever I think about it, I am filled with the greatest fear that it could have gone horribly, horribly wrong. I have had many near-death experiences, but most of them were here and gone in a flash. I can tell of four potentially fatal car accidents that I escaped without a scratch on my fender. One of those makes me shiver every time I think about how badly it could have ended, yet this incident takes them all in my mind.
My father worked for the City of Tulsa the majority of his life, and is retiring this year. He is looking forward to it. Through those years, my parents occasionally had only one car, so we'd go with mom to pick him up from work during those times. At one place the city put him, there was a ditch just off to one side of the property and off this ditch was a storm drain culvert. I was what you might call a city spelunker in that there was nothing more tempting to me than a concrete culvert large enough to accommodate what frame I had as a youth, and being so small, I could get into a lot of them.
So I crawled in and there was plenty of room. After a little ways, the culvert got a little smaller in that they used a smaller diameter pipe for it. It was still large enough for me, so I kept going. Now, to be clear, I never went into one of these things unless I could see the other end. I never crawled into the dark. This opened up into a large area just under the parking lot and I could even see out the top. This is where the fear factor of my imagination kicks in.
While I was standing in this open space looking around, I looked back at the path that brought me there. It looked tiny. If I had seen that end before I started, I would never have crawled into that drain to begin with, and for a split second, I panicked, wondering how I was going to get out. That hole was partially buried in the asphalt on the flooring of the opening I was in, so the hole was slightly blocked. Sure the top looked like it was removable, and since my father worked on a city crew, four of those guys gathered around the "lid" could pop that sucker right off.
I reasoned at the time, however, that I had crawled into this hole, and I should reasonably be able to crawl right back out of it. So I did. No harm. No foul. I not only did it that time, but several more times over the many weeks we had to pick my dad up from there. Every time, I wondered how I managed to crawled through that gap, and every time, I crawled back out.
It's the memory of that hole that scares me. What I have now that I didn't have then was a whole lot of knowledge and experience regarding holes in the ground. I know how they get there. I know what goes through them. I know that if you got stuck in one, you were in some serious trouble. What makes this one a bit scarier was the second hole. There was another opening from this box in the ground that went further on into the culvert cave system, and I just might have been able to crawl through it. Thing is, I never tried. I looked down that dark tunnel and saw nothing, and I decided against it.
The what-if's crop up in my head. What if I had gone further? What if I had crawled back into that exit wrong and got stuck? What if I had just got through it the first time out of luck? What if I got my arm caught under me in that tight fit, and couldn't move? What if I got stuck and it started raining?
I've had many scary things happen within the course of my life, but for some reason, this one stands out more than anything else. If I were to guess the reason why, it's probably because nothing scary actually happened, but like the monster you never see, it's the probability of scariness that increases the fear factor. So many things could have happened that didn't. I count my blessings and move forward.
There is one thing is particular that whenever I think about it, I am filled with the greatest fear that it could have gone horribly, horribly wrong. I have had many near-death experiences, but most of them were here and gone in a flash. I can tell of four potentially fatal car accidents that I escaped without a scratch on my fender. One of those makes me shiver every time I think about how badly it could have ended, yet this incident takes them all in my mind.
My father worked for the City of Tulsa the majority of his life, and is retiring this year. He is looking forward to it. Through those years, my parents occasionally had only one car, so we'd go with mom to pick him up from work during those times. At one place the city put him, there was a ditch just off to one side of the property and off this ditch was a storm drain culvert. I was what you might call a city spelunker in that there was nothing more tempting to me than a concrete culvert large enough to accommodate what frame I had as a youth, and being so small, I could get into a lot of them.
So I crawled in and there was plenty of room. After a little ways, the culvert got a little smaller in that they used a smaller diameter pipe for it. It was still large enough for me, so I kept going. Now, to be clear, I never went into one of these things unless I could see the other end. I never crawled into the dark. This opened up into a large area just under the parking lot and I could even see out the top. This is where the fear factor of my imagination kicks in.
While I was standing in this open space looking around, I looked back at the path that brought me there. It looked tiny. If I had seen that end before I started, I would never have crawled into that drain to begin with, and for a split second, I panicked, wondering how I was going to get out. That hole was partially buried in the asphalt on the flooring of the opening I was in, so the hole was slightly blocked. Sure the top looked like it was removable, and since my father worked on a city crew, four of those guys gathered around the "lid" could pop that sucker right off.
I reasoned at the time, however, that I had crawled into this hole, and I should reasonably be able to crawl right back out of it. So I did. No harm. No foul. I not only did it that time, but several more times over the many weeks we had to pick my dad up from there. Every time, I wondered how I managed to crawled through that gap, and every time, I crawled back out.
It's the memory of that hole that scares me. What I have now that I didn't have then was a whole lot of knowledge and experience regarding holes in the ground. I know how they get there. I know what goes through them. I know that if you got stuck in one, you were in some serious trouble. What makes this one a bit scarier was the second hole. There was another opening from this box in the ground that went further on into the culvert cave system, and I just might have been able to crawl through it. Thing is, I never tried. I looked down that dark tunnel and saw nothing, and I decided against it.
The what-if's crop up in my head. What if I had gone further? What if I had crawled back into that exit wrong and got stuck? What if I had just got through it the first time out of luck? What if I got my arm caught under me in that tight fit, and couldn't move? What if I got stuck and it started raining?
I've had many scary things happen within the course of my life, but for some reason, this one stands out more than anything else. If I were to guess the reason why, it's probably because nothing scary actually happened, but like the monster you never see, it's the probability of scariness that increases the fear factor. So many things could have happened that didn't. I count my blessings and move forward.
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Women's Dress Code
At work, we have a basic dress code on Monday thru Thursday which is known as "business casual." This is actually a fairly common dress code across the business world which means, in a nutshell, "don't wear jeans." Why? I really haven't figured that out, to be honest. I think, to an extent, the idea is that if you dress nice, you feel better, and you work harder. I believe this is somewhat akin to the reason the Spirit Committee exists.
That being beside the point, when you look at what people actually wear for this dress code, you might notice a bit of a gulf between the sexes. If you look at the male side of the coin, you see shirts and trousers. That's it. Sure, there is some variation on the types of shirts, but they all have collars (it's in the rules: shirts with collars) and sleeves (whether they be short or long), and the trousers are all about the same except for color. Shoes are pretty similar as well, though some of us toe the line and wear sneakers instead of dress shoes (yeah, way to stick it to the man!), but the shoes cover the entire foot front to back. With men's clothing, you see the head, the arms (sometimes), and hands. Nothing else.
Women on the other represent exactly how much you can get away with in a dress code. Everything is optional. Sleeves? Optional. Collar? Optional. Toed shoes? Optional. Trousers? Optional. Few, if any, dress with the level of coverage that men do. Don't hit with with "proper" dress, because what I'm speaking of is real life, not concept. These are things I've seen.
What inspired this writing was when I went to the break room and saw a woman in there wearing capri pants (but not made of denim) and a sleeveless (but not strappy) shirt with the converse style shoe and no socks. She might as well have been going to the beach. Most of the shoes I see women wear are slip on, so bare feet are a common sight around desks, and when they wear skirts, they rarely wear stockings, so you get an eyeful of leg as well.
Exactly what is the difference between skirts and shorts? Someone enlighten me. I mean from a purely scientific, fundamental perspective. They both involve coverage only down to about mid thigh, but it seems that skirts are fine for dressy stuff where shorts, despite the fact that they provide more coverage and come in formal styles and fabrics, seem to be inappropriate. It's my opinion that if skirts are allowable, shorts should be allowed as well. Yet, social stigmas prevent it. Anyway.
Moving to the upper half, the shirt (oh, I'm sorry; blouse) side of things is just as varied. Most women's shirts are cut fairly low so you get at least the upper portion of their chest if not a little cleavage. If I wore a shirt like that, I'd be sent home (and probably asked to shave). In men's shirts, you don't button the top button without a tie, and the only time you leave three buttons undone is on disco night, but that's about where most women's shirts seem to end is about three buttons down.
I know this comes off as a rant, but it seems that even though women have pushed for equal rights in all things, the clothing is a wide gulf of inequality. I want to wear the male equivalents of what women are wearing. That would mean shorts and a range of shirts without collars (I have some that are not t-shirts and don't have collars). I just think if we want true equality in the workplace, we need this change, or women have to wear trousers and collared shirts every day like we do.
That's not unfair. That's what they asked for a hundred years ago.
That being beside the point, when you look at what people actually wear for this dress code, you might notice a bit of a gulf between the sexes. If you look at the male side of the coin, you see shirts and trousers. That's it. Sure, there is some variation on the types of shirts, but they all have collars (it's in the rules: shirts with collars) and sleeves (whether they be short or long), and the trousers are all about the same except for color. Shoes are pretty similar as well, though some of us toe the line and wear sneakers instead of dress shoes (yeah, way to stick it to the man!), but the shoes cover the entire foot front to back. With men's clothing, you see the head, the arms (sometimes), and hands. Nothing else.
Women on the other represent exactly how much you can get away with in a dress code. Everything is optional. Sleeves? Optional. Collar? Optional. Toed shoes? Optional. Trousers? Optional. Few, if any, dress with the level of coverage that men do. Don't hit with with "proper" dress, because what I'm speaking of is real life, not concept. These are things I've seen.
What inspired this writing was when I went to the break room and saw a woman in there wearing capri pants (but not made of denim) and a sleeveless (but not strappy) shirt with the converse style shoe and no socks. She might as well have been going to the beach. Most of the shoes I see women wear are slip on, so bare feet are a common sight around desks, and when they wear skirts, they rarely wear stockings, so you get an eyeful of leg as well.
Exactly what is the difference between skirts and shorts? Someone enlighten me. I mean from a purely scientific, fundamental perspective. They both involve coverage only down to about mid thigh, but it seems that skirts are fine for dressy stuff where shorts, despite the fact that they provide more coverage and come in formal styles and fabrics, seem to be inappropriate. It's my opinion that if skirts are allowable, shorts should be allowed as well. Yet, social stigmas prevent it. Anyway.
Moving to the upper half, the shirt (oh, I'm sorry; blouse) side of things is just as varied. Most women's shirts are cut fairly low so you get at least the upper portion of their chest if not a little cleavage. If I wore a shirt like that, I'd be sent home (and probably asked to shave). In men's shirts, you don't button the top button without a tie, and the only time you leave three buttons undone is on disco night, but that's about where most women's shirts seem to end is about three buttons down.
I know this comes off as a rant, but it seems that even though women have pushed for equal rights in all things, the clothing is a wide gulf of inequality. I want to wear the male equivalents of what women are wearing. That would mean shorts and a range of shirts without collars (I have some that are not t-shirts and don't have collars). I just think if we want true equality in the workplace, we need this change, or women have to wear trousers and collared shirts every day like we do.
That's not unfair. That's what they asked for a hundred years ago.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Conference Calls
The business world today is a wonderful flurry of communication. We have so many ways to stay in touch that some people of lesser minds are terribly and easily confused by how many ways we have available. But what is the best way? How can we get things done? How can we bring everyone together? Let me tell you the most pointless, and yet the most popular, in my own humble opinion.
Conference calls.
I hate conference calls. Most of the time when I am invited to a conference calls, it is because of my specialized knowledge. Someone has questions they want answered, and they want everyone on the line to both hear the answers and ask any follow-up questions they may have. To you, this may seem like a good idea, and writing it out, it even rings of sound reasoning. Here's where it goes wrong.
First, when I'm invited to "discuss" this, they never tell me anything about it ahead of time. I'm always invited via email with the title of "Discuss the Meaning of Life" or whatever the topic is. You can't just ship back 42, and be done with it though because they have to "discuss it." What I always wish they'd at least do is send me the questions they have, so I could be prepared, but I'll tell you why they don't do this (anymore). Someone sent me a list of questions they wished to "discuss" on a conference call once. I immediately shot back detailed answers to every one of their questions, and suddenly, we didn't need the conference call. The answers I gave were well worded, and well-researched which is how you respond to an email.
Have you guessed my preferred method? It's email. Here is how email is superior to a conference call. It goes to everyone on the call to read and reply at their convenience. The answers can be detailed and supported with information. They are immediately referenceable, if needed. Anyone can reply with follow-up questions that can also be read and replied to at the convenience of those involved. No one has to make sure they are sitting on the phone at a specific time. No one has to be there "just in case" and end up not participating (as is often the case when I am on one). There have been several calls where I've been called up only to not be needed after all when the issue is nailed down. They just never talked about it in enough detail before the call. Seriously.
A conference call is always chaos. They save up their best questions without revealing any of them ahead of time to watch me squirm. I don't like squirming. They also love blind-siding me with questions about stuff I never expected, and it always takes me some time to look up whatever it is they need to know. It wastes a ton of time for everyone waiting for the answer. They sometimes pepper multiple questions all at once, and I have to ask them to back it up and only shoot one at a time, and sometimes one question leads to another, so they start talking out of turn. One person is inevitably the moderator, and for some reason talks loudly, or yells, the entire time to try to establish that they are in charge of the call. I don't get that.
And email full of questions can take me sometimes up to thirty minutes to wade through, write everything out in a reasonable and easy to understand fashion. A conference call of the same questions will take an hour or more and no one will remember anything from it. Get that? They'll get the gist of it, but most of the time, the takeaway for everyone is that it is begin taken care of. They just needed that reassurance. Now that it is begin taken care of, I have to remember what the heck they asked that I was supposed to take care of.
Emails should be our first line of questioning, especially if there are detailed or in depth questions. They should never be saved for the conference call to be machine gunned all at once. Unfortunately, that is exactly what happens. Every time. Which is why I hate conference calls.
Conference calls.
I hate conference calls. Most of the time when I am invited to a conference calls, it is because of my specialized knowledge. Someone has questions they want answered, and they want everyone on the line to both hear the answers and ask any follow-up questions they may have. To you, this may seem like a good idea, and writing it out, it even rings of sound reasoning. Here's where it goes wrong.
First, when I'm invited to "discuss" this, they never tell me anything about it ahead of time. I'm always invited via email with the title of "Discuss the Meaning of Life" or whatever the topic is. You can't just ship back 42, and be done with it though because they have to "discuss it." What I always wish they'd at least do is send me the questions they have, so I could be prepared, but I'll tell you why they don't do this (anymore). Someone sent me a list of questions they wished to "discuss" on a conference call once. I immediately shot back detailed answers to every one of their questions, and suddenly, we didn't need the conference call. The answers I gave were well worded, and well-researched which is how you respond to an email.
Have you guessed my preferred method? It's email. Here is how email is superior to a conference call. It goes to everyone on the call to read and reply at their convenience. The answers can be detailed and supported with information. They are immediately referenceable, if needed. Anyone can reply with follow-up questions that can also be read and replied to at the convenience of those involved. No one has to make sure they are sitting on the phone at a specific time. No one has to be there "just in case" and end up not participating (as is often the case when I am on one). There have been several calls where I've been called up only to not be needed after all when the issue is nailed down. They just never talked about it in enough detail before the call. Seriously.
A conference call is always chaos. They save up their best questions without revealing any of them ahead of time to watch me squirm. I don't like squirming. They also love blind-siding me with questions about stuff I never expected, and it always takes me some time to look up whatever it is they need to know. It wastes a ton of time for everyone waiting for the answer. They sometimes pepper multiple questions all at once, and I have to ask them to back it up and only shoot one at a time, and sometimes one question leads to another, so they start talking out of turn. One person is inevitably the moderator, and for some reason talks loudly, or yells, the entire time to try to establish that they are in charge of the call. I don't get that.
And email full of questions can take me sometimes up to thirty minutes to wade through, write everything out in a reasonable and easy to understand fashion. A conference call of the same questions will take an hour or more and no one will remember anything from it. Get that? They'll get the gist of it, but most of the time, the takeaway for everyone is that it is begin taken care of. They just needed that reassurance. Now that it is begin taken care of, I have to remember what the heck they asked that I was supposed to take care of.
Emails should be our first line of questioning, especially if there are detailed or in depth questions. They should never be saved for the conference call to be machine gunned all at once. Unfortunately, that is exactly what happens. Every time. Which is why I hate conference calls.
Monday, September 16, 2013
Spirit Committee
So at my workplace, we have a group of people called the Spirit Committee. They take time out of their normal jobs (showing management how disposable they are) to come up with and execute ideas to make the workplace more enjoyable and a "better and more fun place to work" for those that apparently need more than a paycheck to keep them coming back every day. I'd rather they just give me the money they spend on their programs, and I'll find something one my own, but I digress.
So periodically, I get a quarter sheet of card stock with a notice printed in brilliant color as to what the spirit committee sponsored activity it in any given month. They are the folks behind the massive failure of the costume contest I spoke of previously. As you can imagine, I don't have the greatest confidence in them, and I honestly find the whole thing to be a grand waste of money. Over the summer, they threw a "company picnic" where we all took a long lunch break to go to somewhere else in town to have some hot dogs and throw balls at managers in a dunk tank (as long as you paid for the privilege of doing so as it was also a fundraiser for something else). That was it. There were some arcade games there, but not much worth playing. The only thing to do was socialize, and the problems with that are a) I can talk to people anywhere and b) I am not much of a talker so socializing is not something I find particularly enjoyable. So I was mostly bored and trapped since they bussed us over. They took a picture of everyone "having fun" at this rather boring building, and I decided to give the camera my exact opinion of my time there. Nothing obscene. I just didn't smile... It was kind of a scowl. I don't play the corporate game well.
Oh, and get this. This activity was called the company picnic. I'd been to company picnics before, and they generally involved the families of the employees. Our last few years have not. They have been internal only, overlong lunch breaks. Now, last year was admittedly better where they took everyone to Incredible Pizza and gave us all a one hour play card to do whatever, but even then, it seemed a bit silly when you think about it. I'm the first to admit I'm a big kid at heart, but whose idea was it to take a bunch of adults to a kids' place?
Their current deal is a mini "golfathon" where they've encouraged departments across the building to build mini golf holes in their area so people can play through in this sort of tournament. How's this working out? I really can't say for sure, but apparently, one of the committee members is being "pressured" into having our area make a hole. Yeah, he used the term "pressured." I read two things into this. First, he doesn't want to do it, so it wasn't his idea, and he had originally decided to just play along quietly. Now, they aren't getting the participation they want, and the fat's on the fire, so they want all the committee members to "step up" and show the organization that they had a cool idea.
There have been several "cool ideas" that have fizzled due to low participation. The last potluck they had was canceled due to next to no one volunteering to bring anything. Apparently, I'm not the only one protesting against the nonsense.
I honestly don't care. I am there for my time to goof off on the Interne-... um, work my butt off and go home where I actually enjoy my time. I don't need some silly committee to waste my time in mandatory fun. I do have actual work to do, and I was given the time I have to do it. Even if I have some down time, I have other things I can be doing. I only have a few precious hours per day, and to have those taken more than they've already been taken is annoying.
I think when I was younger, I somewhat got into the company events finding them somewhat fun, but having been in the "workforce" for some time now, I find that I don't care anymore. There are other things I'd rather be doing to earn my keep in this world, and I'd rather spend my downtime working towards those ends. Do I enjoy programming? Sometimes. There are other aspects that aren't as enjoyable.
Still, in the end, I'm only at this job for the paycheck. They can leave me out of the "fun." I'll have it later.
So periodically, I get a quarter sheet of card stock with a notice printed in brilliant color as to what the spirit committee sponsored activity it in any given month. They are the folks behind the massive failure of the costume contest I spoke of previously. As you can imagine, I don't have the greatest confidence in them, and I honestly find the whole thing to be a grand waste of money. Over the summer, they threw a "company picnic" where we all took a long lunch break to go to somewhere else in town to have some hot dogs and throw balls at managers in a dunk tank (as long as you paid for the privilege of doing so as it was also a fundraiser for something else). That was it. There were some arcade games there, but not much worth playing. The only thing to do was socialize, and the problems with that are a) I can talk to people anywhere and b) I am not much of a talker so socializing is not something I find particularly enjoyable. So I was mostly bored and trapped since they bussed us over. They took a picture of everyone "having fun" at this rather boring building, and I decided to give the camera my exact opinion of my time there. Nothing obscene. I just didn't smile... It was kind of a scowl. I don't play the corporate game well.
Oh, and get this. This activity was called the company picnic. I'd been to company picnics before, and they generally involved the families of the employees. Our last few years have not. They have been internal only, overlong lunch breaks. Now, last year was admittedly better where they took everyone to Incredible Pizza and gave us all a one hour play card to do whatever, but even then, it seemed a bit silly when you think about it. I'm the first to admit I'm a big kid at heart, but whose idea was it to take a bunch of adults to a kids' place?
Their current deal is a mini "golfathon" where they've encouraged departments across the building to build mini golf holes in their area so people can play through in this sort of tournament. How's this working out? I really can't say for sure, but apparently, one of the committee members is being "pressured" into having our area make a hole. Yeah, he used the term "pressured." I read two things into this. First, he doesn't want to do it, so it wasn't his idea, and he had originally decided to just play along quietly. Now, they aren't getting the participation they want, and the fat's on the fire, so they want all the committee members to "step up" and show the organization that they had a cool idea.
There have been several "cool ideas" that have fizzled due to low participation. The last potluck they had was canceled due to next to no one volunteering to bring anything. Apparently, I'm not the only one protesting against the nonsense.
I honestly don't care. I am there for my time to goof off on the Interne-... um, work my butt off and go home where I actually enjoy my time. I don't need some silly committee to waste my time in mandatory fun. I do have actual work to do, and I was given the time I have to do it. Even if I have some down time, I have other things I can be doing. I only have a few precious hours per day, and to have those taken more than they've already been taken is annoying.
I think when I was younger, I somewhat got into the company events finding them somewhat fun, but having been in the "workforce" for some time now, I find that I don't care anymore. There are other things I'd rather be doing to earn my keep in this world, and I'd rather spend my downtime working towards those ends. Do I enjoy programming? Sometimes. There are other aspects that aren't as enjoyable.
Still, in the end, I'm only at this job for the paycheck. They can leave me out of the "fun." I'll have it later.
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