Fighter Jets and Yardwork

I can’t believe I’m actually opening up Microsoft Word to attempt a blog right now. Granted, I missed yesterday (which I plan to make up over the weekend, I was kind enjoying being only 14 back…) and today is no different in amount of stuff I need to get accomplished, but as loyal readers, you deserve something for your lazy Friday while I’m doing what I can to break my neck (without any actual neck breakage).

That’s figurative right there.

For those of you in the corporate world, at some point you surely experience what I am going through as we speak. Business is so incredibly cyclical, I half-expect Lance Armstrong to wheel by my corridor. Financing activities get repeated every four weeks. (Doesn’t it seem like the same goes for LOST episodes?) Financial periods come 12-13 at a time. But at some point it has to end. All of it. Throw a stick in the spokes of progress, mark down the final score, and start fresh when you come to work on Monday. There’s a term for this in the business world, and it haunts me in my sleep.

FISCAL. YEAR. END.

What does this all mean, I’m sure you’re asking. To put it simply, there is one day every year that is designated as the moment in which all work must be caught up and booked. Let’s use an analogy here. For 12 months a year, let’s pretend that each cost and piece of data is a leaf. At the end of every month, you need to rake the leaves. As long as they get into proper bags, you can use estimation to tell your boss (we’ll call him Leafmaster L) how many leaves you think are there and how much they weigh.

(Sidenote: the analogical equivalent of the neighborhood kids jumping in your leaf piles is ultimately a hard drive crash.)

But at year end, leaf piles and bags aren’t going to cut it. And the leaves can’t be raked either. They must be individually weighed, measured, filed, and sorted into a warehouse of leafboxes (probably the size of shoeboxes, I’ve never been to one) so that the Leaf Archive Department can report to Leafmaster L’s boss.

Got it?

Now come Monday, I’ll have to help the archiving department by filing my final financial numbers for the fiscal year. In a completely separate analogy, this is like being in the cockpit of a fighter jet, in an attempt to land the thing on an aircraft carrier. 11 months of the year this is smooth sailing, you could even request permission to buzz the tower i.e make a bold projection. (Negative Ghost Rider, the pattern is full.)

But in Period 13 on the eve of a new fiscal year, it’s not a standard flight. You’re coming in too high, then too low, then too straight (how is that even possible?). Wind is blowing your projections (and those damned leaves) all over the place. With a new deadline every four hours, you’re lucky to remember to put down your landing gear. At some point (which I expect to be about two hours from now,) you just have to close your eyes and use the force. Press the “Land” button.

And then pray you didn’t accidentally press “Fire Photon Torpedoes.”