Best Company Ever, Chapter 6

In less than a fortnight, it will be time for me to push my office chair back from my desk, stand up, and leave behind all that is left to do. It’ll be vacation time, as I shall head for warmer shores following the wedding. The official vacation will be the week thereafter, but there is a strong possibility I’ll duck out a little early prior to the big weekend. Shouldn’t be a problem, I have approximately eleventy billion vacation days saved up.

Now if I am to take off that Friday, All Wedding’s Eve, I am going to have hand off one of my biweekly duties that will fall on said Friday. I serve as the Timecard Administrator (TCA) for Facilities and Finance. It’s not a hard job – I just have to monitor and make sure all 72 employees not only submit their electronic timecard, but also that they get approved by the 7 o’clock deadline. With some crash course training, I could easily delegate to a co-worker. Well then, wouldn’t that make for a boring Monday blog?

Enter BCE.

Best Company Ever sees this not as a scheduling fiasco for our protagonist, but an opportunity to find the perfect timecard administrator. A TCA must hold many key personality traits. He must be analytical – finding the fine line between those who are slacking off and who have plain forgot about timecard submittal. He must be authoritative – able to convince even the most important of managers to stop what they’re doing to submit. He must be firm – bending the rules for no one in order to ensure that everybody gets paid. Charismatic, cunning, and cool – these are the prereq’s for the Best Company Ever’s TCA.

He must be Morpheus.

With all due respect to former President Theodore Roosevelt, I’ve never seen someone speak as softly and carry a big stick as Laurence Fishburne’s character in The Matrix. A man so menacing that even a machine-run world fears what he is capable of. Yeah, that’ll strike some fear into submittal slackers. The TCA program has a lot of rows and columns to it, and it takes a keen eye to notice time charging discrepancies. After years of reading computer screens of vertically-moving green code, I think my boy will be up to the task.

On Timecard Friday, no task is too important that you cannot take the time to certify and submit your timecard. Morpheus will make sure of this. Well versed in the ways of telecommunications, our leather-overcoated TCA will stop at nothing to get you to take care of it, even if it means entering your phone line and embarrassing you on your call, no matter who is on the line, the VP of Sales or Dear Aunt Ginny.

Whoa.

Furthermore, as a TCA, I currently am the point-man for when anyone has a time-charging dilemma. They come to me with their questions, and unless I have experienced it in my own recording of hours. Usually, I do my best to not let them on to the fact that I have no idea what they are talking about, and merely instruct around the actual problem. Morpheus, if he were to take my place, is the zen master at such conversation technique:

Employee: I worked four hours on a Sunday, and I am an exempt employee. Is that overtime?
Morpheus: Do you want to know what overtime is?
Employee: Yes.
Morpheus: Overtime is everywhere. It is all around us. Even now in this very room. You can see it when you look out your window or when you turn on your computer. You can feel it when you go to the copier, when you get coffee... when you sharpen your pencil. It is the world that has been pulled over your eyes to blind you from the truth.
Employee: What truth?
Morpheus: That you are a slave, Neo. And you aren’t eligible for overtime.

A Bunch of Trees. Sigh.

Thank you, CNN.com. You’ve finally given motive.

Prior to YAB, putting my thoughts onto paper only happened in three ways: e-mail, research paper, or parody. The first is a way of life, the second a rite of passage, and the third, well, my most creative outlet. Teamed with Spud, I spent several years as part of the parody band “Lyric Intensive,” performing shows up and down the eastern seaboard (read: only Virginia.) I have collaborated on the act of taking over thirty-five of your favorite songs (plus Mambo No. 5), ripping the original words from their comfy position on the track, and re-inserting new lyrics, rife with comedy, intricate rhyme schemes, and well, Reif. I think I even published one such song back in October.

I write lyrics, just not music. If I could, I would, but I can’t, so I don’t. This results in two main things. First, everything I write musically will rely on other people to complete the orchestration before I can personalize the song for myself. Second, I feel totally in the right to RIP APART third-rate lyrical stylings of professionals.

I’ve been pondering this post for a long, long time with one target in mind. As much as Shania Twain’s “Party for Two” drives me up a wall for its 1st grade rhyming, no one musical act in the past ten years has tortured the English language like the boy band LFO. And since their tune “Summer Girls” has appeared on Billboard’s Top “Summer” song list, we feel it our responsibility to look a little closer to their carefully selected verbiage.

The idea behind the song is a guy has met a girl during a vacation to the beach, and he’s recalling his first impressions and selected memories from their temporary romance. Seems simple enough. Occasionally the narrator (his name is Rich – he mentions it three times.) is able to produce some of these aforementioned sentiments. But then, in a genius stroke of complete idiocy, he picks the most random thing he can come up with to complete his rhyming couplet. Below is the opening chorus…

New Kids on the Block had a bunch of hits // Chinese food makes me sick. // And I think it's fly when girls stop by for the summer, for the summer.
I like girls that wear Abercrombie and Fitch // I'd take her if I had one wish. // But she's been gone since that summer, since that summer.

Ok, wait right here. Your chorus structure would have been ok, except for reminding me of another light-on-content pop act, not to mentioning letting me know how well you fare with Kung Pow Chicken.

I could ramp up a rant on the shameless A&F plug, but I’ve got bigger problems. Like I said before, relevant wording is met stride for stride by eclectic pop culture shoutouts. Here are my Top Ten “I want to break a guitar over the songwriter’s head” Worst Lyrics Ever.

The fact I can come up with 10, and had to turn away contenders, speaks volumes.

1. Like the color purple, macaroni and cheese // Ruby red slippers and a bunch of trees.
   - In the lyrical world, sometimes you need to fill a few syllables in order to end with a killer rhyme. Enter “a bunch of.” When I hear “a bunch of” spat out, I’m totally expecting a clever finish. Ah, trees. Of course.
2. When you take a sip you buzz like a hornet // Billy Shakespeare wrote a whole bunch of sonnets.
   - The first line was meekly clever, ya know, right before you made one history’s greatest writers your drinking buddy. Whole bunch of sonnets? Really?
3. Your the best girl that I ever did see // The great Larry Bird Jersey 33
   - Not a tribute to the Celtic great, just his uniform. Curious.
4. Fell deep in love,but now we ain't speakin’ // Michael J Fox was Alex P Keaton.
   - And he would have sold your hide on the stock market. Two words: JUNK BONDS.
5. There was a good man named Paul Revere // I feel much better baby when you're near.
   - Near? You struggled so badly for something to rhyme with near that you called upon the guy who warned us the British are coming? Please step away from your pencil. You don’t deserve the lead you write with.
6. Summertime girls are the kind I like // I'll steal your honey like I stole your bike.
   - Ever wonder why sometimes relationships don’t work out. I find theft and robbery often play parts.
7. Hip Hop Marmalade Spic and Span // Met you one summer and it all began
   - Music Genre, Toast Applicant, Cleaning Solution – Somebody’s been looking around their apartment and turning inventory into song, again…
8. Cherry Pez, cold crush, rock star boogie // Used to hate school so I had to play hooky.
   - Remind what this had to do with any girl, let alone one from the summer?
9. Stayed all summer then went back home // Macaulay Culkin wasn't Home Alone.
   - Is there a metaphor I’m missing here?
10. You love hip hop and rock n roll // Dad took off when you were 4 years old.
    - Smooth, Casanova. Remind her of a tragic childhood memory.
    

I am going to crawl under my desk and cry now.

No Age Minimum Here

It just gets better with age.

No, not wine, you fool. It’s still way too early in the morning for that. Here at YAB, we trust in ice-cold Gatorade to take the edge off particularly rough AM agenda. And since I haven’t been tapped to become a Gatorade distributor by their home office in Chicago, Illinois, this requires a morning trip down to the cafeteria.

Now that I am officially off my bagel kick, such a trip has become even more routine and efficient. After all, no need to have to deal with the melty peanut butter or the silly Styrofoam containers when all the breakfast I need is sitting prepackaged in the refrigerated display case. I guess this gives a few extra moments to observe my surroundings as I wait in line to pay.

Our café underwent a vendor change a few months back, and ever since, I’ve never known what to expect. It’s a testing phase for them – trying to figure out what product lines and food offerings will be successful and which should go the way of melty peanut butter. I’m pretty indifferent to all of this change; as long as there’s salad, dressing, and a fork, I’m a happy camper. However, I have noticed that in the morning, our vendor has installed iron waffle makers. Normally, waffle makers aren’t interesting enough to get some print on a blog, but it was the accompanying sign that has caught my attention.

“Children under the age of 16 must be accompanied by an adult when using the waffle maker.”

Don’t misunderstand me, I am for kitchen safety just as much as the next guy, but WOW, what a restriction! Sixteen years old?!?!? Seems a bit, uh, high? There’s a debate that needs to be had on whether the measure has been instituted to prevent high school freshmen from burning themselves or eating waffles altogether, but that will no be today’s forum. Today, we aim to put the magic number of sixteen into perspective. After all, with that crucial “Old enough to fly solo on a waffle maker” bar being set at sweet sixteen, it says a lot about our society.

14 – According to most tenets of the U.S.’ Fair Labor and Standards Act, you must be fourteen years old to hold a job in today’s workforce. Granted, “rocket scientist” and “brain surgeon” aren’t awarded to people this age, but you can make some spending money as a stockboy, cashier, camp counselor – the list goes on. It’s good to see that the American government believes they have the ability to exchange responsibility for cash, but in no way should they go near that waffle maker.

15 – After doing a little research, I found out that the age of fifteen is the minimum age requirement to get married in 43 of our nation’s 50 states. (The other seven say you can be ready at 14, but I’d like to see them balance a paper route with last-minute vendor meetings and table arrangements.) Marriage is an incredibly serious deal, as you become responsible for the safety, well-being, and love of another human being. Whoa. That’s a lot to handle. But not nearly as daunting as pouring batter into a cast-iron breakfast preparation device.

16 – Waffles! Hooooooray!

17 – I know the privilege is granted at sixteen in VA, but in the great state of New Jersey, seventeen means you are old enough to drive. It’s a good thing that they spaced two titanic machines such as an automobile and a waffle maker one year apart. The logic is simple. Only after you can master preparing your very own waffle without adult supervision will you be able to handle a 1-ton car that can go upwards of 100 miles per hour.

Behold the Power of Pastrami

For every profession, there’s a hero you can look up to in the movies. Spend your days as a droning archeologist? Idolize Indiana Jones. Your work entails teaching the young minds of America? Look no further than Dead Poets’ Mr. Keating. Earning a paycheck for mopping the halls of some building? Will Hunting shows you the light at the end of the tunnel. Insurance Claims? Composer of Music? Pizzeria Owner? Mr. Incredible, Mr. Holland, Mr. Deeds.

Now all of these characters are easy targets for sources of inspiration, as they were all the main focus of the films in which they appeared. In fact, the list could go on, but I’ve got a word count to keep down here. And you have to get back to work.

For the accounting and finance professions, we do not have that one title character that embodies what we all someday aspire to be. Face it – amortizing lease schedules doesn’t tear up the box office the way, say, busting ghosts or warring with worlds do. That leaves us to idolize lesser fringe characters. That’s ok, because we have our man.

In Grodin we trust.

As a movie fan, it is a noble and rightful opinion to despise Charles Grodin. He’s an annoying actor who appeared in such travesties as Clifford and Beethoven’s 14th: Back to the Minors. I think he even had a late-night talk show once, but then again, who hasn’t? But his one lasting mark on the entertainment industry that the guild of number crunchers (GONC, for short) is that once character we all look up to, our very own Indiana Jones.

Enter Murray Blum.

In the 1993 movie Dave, Kevin Kline decided to make the Presidency more than just shaking hands and suffering heart attacks. In a noble attempt to save some homeless shelters slated for the financial chopping block (not to mention get on the good side of Sigourney Weaver), he rolls up his sleeves and decides it is time to balance the budget. But Dave cannot accomplish this feat alone – he is a temporary labor recruiter in his other life. Instead, he calls for two copies of the budget, some pastrami, and his accountant Murray Blum.

Eight hours later: Budget has been balanced. Hooray!

Now I seriously doubt that Mr. Blum had any previous experience regarding Senate and House appropriations and he probably does not have a single client who claims “NASA” as an line item expense, but he pulled through, for America. It just goes to show that firm grounding in general accounting principles can take you to great heights, which is why I am offering my services to the good people of Fairfax County, Virginia.

In today’s Washington Post, a story ran to say that the newer cost projections are putting the Metro line through Tyson’s Corner and out to the Dulles Airport over the mark by, cough, $100 million. Because Tyson’s is on a hill, and traction for trains going up hills is not always the best, expensive options are being evaluated for alternatives.

Enter Chris Condon.

By the power of Charles Grodin, I will march into your budget meeting, order up some pastrami, and amend your gawk-worthy overrun. I propose the following amendments.

1. Increase the toll on the Dulles Toll Road to 2.00, 12.00 if you drive an ugly car (Aztek? Honda Element? What?)
2. If the Metro is to come through Tyson’s Corner, advertise. There are hundreds of shops in the mall that would love to plaster their logo on the side of the train. Just imagine the talk as the train blurs by – “Did I just see that Eddie Bauer is having a sale? I couldn’t quite tell, so I better go to the store and find out for sure.”
3. Cheaper building material? Sure, one word.

Plastics.

A "Royale with We"

In a recent comment, a friend I know (who does the best Homestar Runner impression I’ve come across) felt inclined to point out something about our writing style here at You’re a Blog, Incorporated. We are glad to see that Matt reads with such a keen eye as it is only through a careful quality control process that any successful blog gets written. In fact, we’ve decided to appoint Mr. Weng to a post of External Auditor, whereby he is issued a tazer and gets to remind Condon of when he’s taking a few too many liberties with the English language. Hopefully, said instances will be few and far between, for the following two reasons:

1. Tazers really hurt.
2. Weng would have more time to spend over at his blog, which is worth the click.

Yes, Weng is absolutely right. YAB often operates in the realm of the royal “we.” At this junction, the easiest thing to do is to come clean and kindly explain to the loyal readers that there is no “we” at YAB, and it’s just Chris Condon over-formalizing his writing style. But that’s about as fun as going for a run outside my office building right now. There are other theories behind the royal “we.” So we lay them out before thee now. We’re not gonna lie to you. We are just deferring truth.

We submit to you the following reasons behind the royal “we.” Pick one and be satisfied. Pick two and be overwhelmed.

1 – Royalty is the annual recipient of some crucial tax breaks that you other working fools don’t get. Thus we employ them. It’s not bad to have the monarchy on your side. The tricky part was actually recruiting some royalty to take entry-level positions on our staff. Since I serve as Editor-in-Awesome-Chief, the only real open positions were for a copyboy and file clerk. And since most members of the crown prefer positions of “ruling over subjects” and “decreeing crazy stuff,” the job applicant pool to create a royal “we” was incredibly thin. I was forced to hire the Burger King and Dairy Queen. I had no idea they were married. What’s more – they live in White Castle.

2 – The royal “we” is actually unbelievably common place usage in the age of the Internet. In fact, all major information websites, from Yahoo! to CNN.com to FoxNews use the royal “we” to disguise the fact that they are simply sole proprietorships. And when you to stop to think about it, it’s really jaw-dropping how much those guys publish on a daily basis. I write one column a day; they write a news story for every flavor. That whole Associated Press thing? They’re just a royal “we” also. In fact, it’s just one guy who is an absolute newsmaking machine. He lives in California and his name is AP Slater.

3 – Yeah, so I use the word “We” a lot. Does that automatically mean that you can assume that I’ve got a multiple personality disorder? We’ll have you know that Chris and Condon write as one mind and one voice. No we don’t, you goofball. Without a sense of unity, Chris cannot do his job of bringing the funny on a daily basis. Chris doesn’t do the work, I, Condon, am the funny one. Shut it up, you. I have the first name for a reason and I’m running this show. The only reason you’re in charge is because you slipped the dude at the hospital twenty bucks when he was typing out the birth certificate. Right, because babies how so much discretionary spending cash. I have 6 letters. You have 5. Deal with it. Size matters not, ponce.

Maybe I should stick to the first person.