A New Month Begins

Today, I am rejoicing in my cubicle. A new month has begun, replete with fresh opportunities as destiny beckons me to reach toward new heights in cubicle achievements!

Happy April fool's day...

Expandable Pants

In my closet, I have two or three pairs of expandable pants. You know the kind I'm talking about, right? The kind with elastic cleverly disguised in the waistband. I'm assuming they are designed for old guys whose waistline is expanding ever more rapidly and who want to avoid buying a bigger pair of pants every six months or so; or maybe it just appeals to one's vanity. Think about it - if you keep on buying pants with the same waist size, you don't have to admit you're getting fatter. It also means that you can go to an all-you-can-eat buffet and really get your money's worth without having to unbutton your pants midway through the meal.

Of course, there are alternatives to expandable pants... for example, some men just move their pants lower and lower as their girth expands, so that they end up buying shorter pants, but not bigger around. I guess that serves the same purpose as expandable pants, but it means that you run a few risks. If you are wearing your pants underneath your belly, they tend to keep sliding down and you have to continually hold them up or they'll fall down around your knees at some inopportune moment. Also, as you move your pants lower and lower on your torso, you have to buy your shirts longer and longer to avoid the notorious crack exposure syndrome with which plumbers are famously afflicted.

I bought expandable pants because, well, I am getting older, my girth was increasing slowly but surely, and above all, they were cheap. Cheaper than any other pants in the store. Even cheaper than jeans. Not that I really needed more pants - I already had a dozen pair or so of perfectly good pants in the closet - but it was getting to the point where most of them were tight enough that I really couldn't wear them comfortably. Actually, it had been a few years since some of them were wearable, but they weren't worn out, so I was keeping them just in case. Pants last a long time if you leave them hanging in the closet. They only wear out if you wear and wash them. Sure, they may go out of style, but that's not a problem for me, since I am... well, let's just say I'm stylishly challenged, but fiscally aware. I'm more concerned about cost than chic.

So I bought expandable pants partly for comfort, partly to boost my vanity, partly to mitigate risk of me reaching up and my pants suddenly falling down, partly to avoid the added cost and inconvenience of wearing suspenders to hold my pants up, and partly as insurance against having uncomfortably tight pants which are left hanging in the closet and not being worn. You see, I had plenty of good reasons... and to top it all off, they were cheap. A wise decision on my part, don't you think?

I smugly wore my expandable pants while feasting on burgers, fries, Skittles, donuts, cookies, and other delectable and delicious things. For a while, as my girth and pants automatically expanded, so did my feeling of contentment and well-being.

However, long before my expandable pants began to show any wear, my contented, smug reverie was shattered by a trip to the doctor for a yearly checkup. I am not one to go to the doctor of my own volition. However, as I have aged, I have yielded to increasing pressure to have yearly physical exams. I am told that once you reach a certain age, there are some things that need to be monitored closely. I am told that my colon must be periodically examined via a rather invasive procedure called a colonoscopy; my prostate must be examined using a procedure which I don't know the name of, but which involves dropping your pants and bending over in the presence of a doctor wearing a surgical glove on his raised index finger; my blood pressure must be monitored for signs of hypertension; my blood must be regularly sampled and tested for signs of various improper levels of things like cholesterol, blood sugar, and triglycerides. This is only a partial enumeration of a long list of things that must be checked yearly, according to people who know about these things. I resisted the pressure for a while, but finally yielded when I discovered that these yearly checkups are free as part of my healthcare plan.

I was escorted to the examining room by a nurse who took my blood pressure, then left, saying the doctor would be in shortly. Eventually the doctor came in and probed various orifices in my head and nether regions with an assortment of tools and probes, including the gloved index finger previously mentioned. Once this examination was complete, he sat at his desk, opened his laptop, and entered some information. He then told me that my blood pressure was a little high, and he could see that in the past, my cholesterol levels had been a little out of whack. He asked me to go down to the lab and have some blood drawn, printed out a copy of the DASH diet, gave it to me, and said "Try following this diet, and go easy on the salt. You could stand to lose a few pounds."

I went into the doctor's office feeling healthy, smug, and content. I left feeling sick, deflated, and anxious, thinking that maybe expandable pants weren't such a good idea after all. But the real blow came about two weeks later in the form of a lab report and a note from the doctor, which said something like: "Your lipids are high. I am ordering a prescription for Simvastatin. Begin taking it, then come back to the lab after three months for a follow-up." I was devastated. I envisioned myself a few years from now, sitting down at breakfast time with one of those weekly pill organizers to take my assortment of prescription drugs every day. Simvastation was only the beginning, I thought. Next, it would be blood pressure drugs, then diabetes drugs, then who knows what else. I wasn't ready to start down that road just yet.

I ignored the prescription, changed my eating habits in accordance with the DASH diet, lost 25 pounds, and went back for another lipids test. This time, the results came back with a note from the doctor which said something like: "Your lipid levels are responding well to Simvastatin, and your liver function is normal." I then sent the doctor a letter in reply, telling him that I wasn't taking Simvastatin, but had changed my diet and had lost some weight. That was almost a year ago. I never got a reply from the doctor. He's probably not very happy with me. I'm not sure if I have the courage to go in for another yearly checkup and face being chastised for not following orders. Maybe I'll just skip the checkups for a while.

I'm not so proud of my expandable pants any more. I don't wear them much, and when I do, I don't have that smug, contented feeling like I used to. However, the good news is that I can now wear any of the pants in my closet, and I won't have to buy any new ones for a long while.

Meanwile, back in the cubicle

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I apologize for not including any subject matter on cubicle life in this post. Let me just say that the cubicle drama continues. Last week, my walking buddy becamy my boss, and another of my peers with whom I have often clashed fiercely, became my boss' boss. More on that in my next post. It's a story you won't want to miss!

Privacy, Possessions, and Social Status in the Cubicle

I don't really have anything worthwhile to post, but I'll just take this opportunity to spout some random bits that have been floating around in my head for a while. It's a new year, and I just need to clean out the attic, so to speak.

So, here are a few thoughts on life in the cubicle...

Regarding Privacy

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I don't know a lot about the physics of how sound travels, but my experience working in a cubicle suggests to me that it must flow up, then out, then down in a series of arcs of random length. I don't know how else to explain the fact that the network security guy who sits in the far corner of the cubicle farm sounds like he is sitting beside me while telling engineers why they are blocked from accessing Pandora at work.

Regardless of the physics involved, what it boils down to is that everyone in the cubicle farm hears every word you speak and every sound you make. We hear each other typing, shuffling papers, crunching ice from a cold drink, and tearing pages off of our Dilbert desk calendars. During my years of residence in the cubicle, I have (over)heard all manner of personal conversations; people telling their teenage kids to go mow the lawn, people describing intimate details of romantic encounters and spats with lovers; Managers explaining to subordinate managers how to deal with people who have been ranked as #2, but want to be #1. I know who is trying to get their furnace fixed or their car repaired; I have witnessed negotiations for the purchase of cars, houses, and in-home entertainment systems. I hear people making arrangements for golfing tee times, eating out, airline flights, cruises, marriage counseling, and doctor appointments. We hear each other cough, sneeze, blow our noses, belch, snort, laugh, curse, and fart.

This morning, I thought I heard someone peeing in their cubicle, which would have been novel behaviour to witness, even for a seasoned cubicle dweller. However, it was followed by gurgling and hissing sounds, at which point I realized that what I had heard was someone filling their in-cubicle coffee-maker... which brings me to my next point for comment.

Regarding Posessions

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The Corporate Cubicle Police, operating under cover as Workplace Services or Environmental Health and Safety employees, are ever vigilant about establishing and enforcing rules and policies about how cubicles can be (re)configured and what posessions cubicle dwellers are allowed to have in their cloth-covered boxes. They are especially sensitive about things that plug in and get hot, like coffee-makers, electric heaters, etc.

I'm quite sure that the cubicle dweller I heard filling their in-cubicle coffee-maker was violating some sort of corporate rule; However, a small in-cubicle coffee-maker is not an egregious or notable violation of cubicle rules and statutes. A more interesting case is one that I observed several years ago shortly after after starting a new position in the R&D lab. I arrived one morning to the smell of bacon cooking. Driven by curiosity, I followed my nose to the cubicle of an electrical engineer, where I found him cooking and serving a full breakfast - consisting of eggs, bacon, pancakes, coffee, and orange juice - to co-workers. I feel confident that his hot plate, griddle, coffee-maker, and refrigerator were not exactly sanctioned by the cubicle police, one of whom was in line for breakfast! I took my place in line to be served and thoroughly enjoyed my breakfast. I soon learned that this was a regular monthly event using food donated by R&D cubicle dwellers. Sadly, this engineer/breakfast cook was laid off some time ago in one of the first waves of corporate restructuring. I suspect they got rid of him primarily because he was providing stiff competition for the company cafeteria.

Regarding Social Status

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At first glance, the cubicle farm seems like a remarkably egalitarian and homogeneous place, with row after row of little cloth covered boxes, all nicely color-coordinated and provisioned with standard, built-in furnishings.

However, this apparent manufactured consistency belies the fact that cubicle workers are stratified into several distinct social sub-classes. We cubicle workers like to differentiate ourselves - much like "normal" human beings do - by sending signals regarding our status relative to other cubicle workers.

In the cubicle farm where I work, most cubicle dwellers have cubicles of about six feet by ten feet with built-in cubicle furniture arranged in one of a few "approved" configurations consisting of built-in work surfaces, an ergonomically correct office chair, and a not-so-ergonomically-correct visitor's chair. Also included are a couple of lockable bookshelves, an open bookshelf, and a lockable drawer unit. This cubicle configuration is occupied by "middle class" cubicle citizens.

For those cubicle dwellers who are better than "middle class", but who aren't important enough to get a real office, there are a few distinctive features which are available to signal their elevated status. Following are some cubicle features which signal elevated status:

Translucent panel - some cubicles, while not appreciably larger than "middle class", are configured with a translucent panel next to the aisle in place of the usual cloth-covered panel. This configuration usually means you are a first-level supervisor or manager. It is an unspoken rule that "individual contributors" are forbidden from having a translucent panel in their cubicle.

Bigger cubicle with a small round conference table - These cubicles are occupied by operational managers and are often located at the "head" of a row of cubicles occupied by underlings.

Even bigger cubicle with lots of translucent panels, a round or oval conference table, and a separate work area for an "admin assistant" - these cubicles are usually located on a strategic corner of the cubicle farm and are occupied by people who are managers of managers and have an admin assistant to manage their precious time. Their position might be called something like "integrating manager".

I could go on, but you get the idea. There's a caste system in the cubicle farm in which higher level members have ways of signaling their coveted status in the corporate pecking order. Astute and ambitious members of cubicle society know how to recognize these subtle signals of status and show the proper deference and attitude in order to maximize their potential for advancement to the next level in the corporate hierarchy.

Regarding me being astute and ambitious

------------------------------------------

Alas, after almost thirty years here, I don't even have a translucent panel in my cubicle. So much for being astute and ambitious. It's probably too late to start now. However, I would like to have a coffee mug heater if I can sneak it in past the cubicle police. It's never to late to start being sneaky and devious :-)

I'd Like Something Older, Slower, and Smaller, Please

In the corporate world, growth is everything. Growth is imperative. Greed, fear, insecurity, paranoia, and herd behavior permeate the corporation in its frenetic pursuit of continuous growth. Institutional investors and wall street financial institutions continually demand one thing: Growth. Short-term, quarter-by-quarter growth.

The obvious problem is that continuous growth is not possible in a finite world. Sooner or later, resources will be exhausted and growth will come to a grinding halt. Of course, this doesn't happen all at once. As resources get used up and the end game approaches, companies engage in cannibalism, gobbling each other up as growth becomes harder and harder to achieve. In addition, other tricks to simulate or stimulate growth are employed. In the name of efficiency, companies engage in "legal" tax avoidance, outsourcing and offshoring to "low cost geographies" (the company I work for now calls this "best-shoring"), downsizing (also called "workforce management"), and financial chicanery of various kinds.

Paradoxically, every rational individual in the system is smart enough to know - if they stop to think about it - that rapid growth is an illusion and it can't be maintained forever. But, as Charles Prince, former CEO of CitiGroup said in July, 2007: "As long as the music is playing, you’ve got to get up and dance. We’re still dancing.” So the whole herd runs headlong toward disaster together because no one wants to stop dancing. Like pigs at a trough, they grunt, squeal, and compete madly for every last morsel, never pausing to contemplate the fact that the supply of slop is limited.

Eventually, the game IS up, and the bubble bursts. Panic ensues. Political and business insiders from Washington and Wall street huddle and desperately conspire to keep the music playing, against all odds. They manage to coax a few more halting notes out of the global music playing machine, but over time it becomes obvious that it is impossible to continue dancing to the old tune of leverage, growth, and financial derivatives that has filled the bellies of the pigs at the trough while the bubble was inflating.

You would think that we could do better than this. You would think that market makers and politicians could devise a system that would focus on sustainability and recognize the cyclical realities of business to maintain a thriving, healthy economy for the long term. You would think that people who are offered easy credit would consider the wisdom of accepting it, mindful of the fact that it has to be paid back, with interest, over time. You would think that we would have second thoughts about blindly embracing an economic system which is solely focused on feeding individual self-interest and building individual wealth of a few at the expense of the many. You would think we could collectively lift our eyes a little and take a longer term view of things.

So what is the relevance of all this to an old man in a cubicle? I'm not sure, but it's something I spend time thinking about. I guess I'm attracted to the drama of it all. Also, I'm secretly pleased that the pigs are running out of slop to gobble up. I'm relieved that the great slurping sounds of the golden boys (and precious few girls) of Wall street are now muted. I'm pleased that there are signs that we are collectively re-thinking our definition of success on a personal and business level. We are re-considering what is important in life.

I am concerned about what the future holds, and what the fallout will be over the next few years in this new postgrowth era. I used to think I needed to learn how to dance; to compete at the trough with the other pigs; to get my share quickly, before it was too late. I'm still participating to some degree - still trying to dance a little - but my heart's not in it any more. What I really want to do is leave work early, go home, play with the grandkids, take a siesta with my wife, then enjoy dinner and maybe a glass of wine. I'm going to learn to speak some French and maybe take guitar lessons. Maybe I'll make some new friends and re-kindle some old friendships. I'll also work a little, but not too much.

I will now leave you with a well-known story that illustrates my point, along with some quotes on the subject from my recent readings.

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From: http://postgrowth.org/an-aesops-fable-for-postgrowth/

An American investment banker was taking a much-needed vacation in a small coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. The boat had several large, fresh fish in it.

The investment banker was impressed by the quality of the fish and asked the Mexican how long it took to catch them.

The fisherman replied, “Only a little while.”

The banker then asked why he didn’t stay out longer and catch more fish?

The fisherman replied he had enough to support his family’s immediate needs.

The banker then asked “But what do you do with the rest of your time?”

The fisherman said, “I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take siesta with my wife, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine and play guitar with my amigos, I have a full and busy life, senor.”

The banker scoffed, “I am an Ivy League MBA, and I could help you. You should spend more time fishing; and with the proceeds, buy a bigger boat. With the proceeds from the bigger boat you could buy several boats.

“Eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to a middleman you would sell directly to the processor; eventually opening your own cannery.

“You would control the product, processing and distribution. You would of course need to leave this small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City, then Los Angeles and eventually New York where you could run your ever-expanding enterprise.”

The fisherman asked, “But, how long will this all take?”

The banker replied, “15 to 20 years.”

“But what then?” asked the fisherman.

The banker laughed and said, “That’s the best part. When the time is right you would sell your company stock to the public and become very rich, you would make millions.”

“Millions?…Then what, senor?”

The American said:

“Then you would retire. Move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take siesta with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos…”

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From: http://www.nytimes.com/2002/10/27/magazine/in-defense-of-the-boom.html

As the brilliant Michael Lewis has written: "It's more than a little nuts for a man who has a

billion dollars to devote his life to making another billion, but that's what some of our most

exalted citizens do, over and over again."

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From: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/zach-carter/conservatives-want-to-liv_b_689521.html

A Monopoly player wins by pushing everyone else into total poverty in order to control all resources and establish complete economic domination over his peers. People in the real world who are fueled by such motivations are not ordinary, model citizens--they are completely insane. Life is not a quest to get our hands on as much stuff as we can so our neighbors don't get to it first. A society that allows a few people to establish supreme economic dominion over all others is not a society at all--it's just a bunch of nasty brutes trying to destroy each other.

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From: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jessica-catto/greed-and-growth-new-prio_b_137572.html

October 24, 2008

The French President, Sarkozy, is quoted as saying, "Together we need to rebuild a capitalism that is more respectful to man, more respectful to the planet, more respectful to future generations and be finished with a capitalism obsessed by the frantic search for short term profit."

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From: http://newsweek.washingtonpost.com/onfaith/panelists/adin_steinsaltz/2008/09/the_growth_of_greed.html

September 19, 2008 - Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz

Being rich is not proof of moral superiority, greater religious value or righteousness. And debt and poverty do not signify any moral or religious weakness or shortcoming. One has to remember that in many religious creeds, there is a notion that the poor are much closer than the rich are to God.

The Rewards of Underachievement

Wally is my hero. You know who I mean, right? I'm talking about Wally in the Dilbert comic strip. The older, mostly bald guy who walks around with a cup of coffee all the time. The guy who slips into meetings, eats the donuts, then leaves without attracting any to-do items. He's known for avoiding work and making irrelevant or unhelpful comments in meetings. When the pointy-haired boss asks for a status report on his work, he is always ready with a buzzword-filled, meaningless monologue which makes not working sound like work. Wally has no loyalty, no scruples, makes no commitments, has no personality, really. Why would Wally be anyone's hero? There's nothing about him that commands any respect... or is there?

Let me explain...

I don't admire Wally because he's a sluggard and a dilettante. Wally's genius lies in the fact that he has figured out how to benefit from the vacuity and inanity of the corporate environment. You see, the very things that frustrate most of us work to Wally's advantage!

Strangely enough, in spite of the recent corporate downsizing, cost-cutting, and offshoring, Wally-type employees are still found in corporate cubicle farms. Cubicle workers like Wally are the cholesterol of the corporate vascular system. They are naturally synthesized by the corporate system, which has no antibodies to attack and destroy them, and many managers secretly like having a few of them around.

I don't think corporations intentionally hire people like Wally. People like Wally are usually synthesized when a competent, motivated employee clashes with the corporate system and loses, or is just worn down over time by the corporate environment. People like Wally are often quite competent, but are disillusioned and no longer motivated to try to make a contribution in the corporate work environment. So, these people hang around for the salary and benefits and amuse themselves by poking at the system and its inhabitants.

Low-level managers - aka "pointy-haired bosses" - may find Wally is quite useful to them. These managers have very little power and have almost no voice in corporate decision making. They are obligated to carry out decisions made by executives above them. People like Wally are used by clever managers to covertly resist corporate programs and initiatives passed down from high levels in the corporate hierarchy. When some sort of "mandatory corporate initiative" is launched, low-level managers can't directly refuse to provide staff for it, they can't directly object to it, but they can staff it with people like Wally, which is their best hope for killing projects or initiatives they disagree with or don't want to participate in. Therefore, every clever low-level manager wants a couple of Wallys on staff to defend against unwelcome high-level corporate edicts. Too many Wallys can hopelessly clog the corporate arteries, but there is good reason for keeping a few of them around.

... and to top it all off, it turns out that Wally makes more money than Dilbert AND he has enough money saved up to retire any time he wants, much to the chagrin of both Dilbert and the pointy-haired boss. Yeah, you go, Wally. Poke 'em in the eye again. The worst they can do is lay you off and if they did that, you'd probably get a nice separation package!

So, for those of you who are feeling frustrated and chafing against the padded walls of your cubicle, I offer Wally as a role model, and as a reminder that, in the corporate world, underachievement has its rewards.

I will now close with two Dilbert comic strips for your perusal and enjoyment:

Reverse Thinking

Walking to my cubicle this morning, I was in a reverse frame of mind. In my mind's eye, I was looking back over the years of my life. These days, I often find myself in a nostalgic and reflective mood. I guess that's not surprising, since there's more of life behind me than in front of me.

Before leaving for work this morning, I said goodbye to my life partner, the person I've been with for thirty-seven years (married for thirty-five). I walked out the front door of the house we've lived in for twenty-seven years; got into a thirty-four year old car (which we have owned for twelve years), and drove to work. All the while thinking back over the years; remembering when we met, when we married, when we bought that house and this car; remembering our life together. I felt warm, full, rich, and satisfied as this wave of nostalgia washed over me.

I arrived at work, parked in my usual spot, got out of the car and walked into the building that I've been walking into every business day for twenty-nine years. I said good morning to the guard in the lobby, walked to my cubicle and plugged my laptop into the docking station. While waiting for it to boot up, I went upstairs to get a cup of coffee. Most of this site is empty now. I remember when it was full, bustling, busy. Now it's silent, and mostly deserted. Sad. At the peak, there were about three thousand people working here. Now there are about three hundred. First, manufacturing went to Malaysia; then, finance and backoffice work went to India; then, IT was outsourced to a third party and the work went mostly to India.

I'm still here, and I often wonder why. Sometimes I take credit for being flexible, turning loose of old skills and acquiring new ones through continuing education as the work environment shifted. But I'm not exactly the model of a committed careerist. I'm not a "company man". I don't worship the gods of capitalism or the corporation. Sometimes, I think I'm still here just because of dumb luck; or maybe I'm just lost in the bowels of the corporation and nobody knows I'm still here.

Whatever the reason, here I am. Still coming to the cubicle every day, occupying myself with the tedium of cubicle work.

I read the Dilbert cartoon on my calendar for inspiration, then turn to my computer screen and begin reading email. A meeting reminder pops up, telling me I have to get on the phone in five minutes.

My reverie shattered, I shift focus and adopt the persona of a corporate cubicle worker.

When the day is over, I'll return to being a real person. Tomorrow, I'll be back in the cubicle again.

I'll commit to doing this for just one more day. That's what I've been telling myself every day for all these years.

A Patch of Stormy Weather

Over the past week and a half, the corporate cubicle work environment has once again drained my emotional reserve and shriveled my psyche down to one single raw, inflamed, pulsing nerve. Faced with a choice between behaving like "Fist of Death" Alice, the Dilbert cartoon character, or withdrawing into a defensive, surly caricature of myself, I have done what comes naturally and chosen the latter.

You would think that after all these years of life in the cubicle, I would have a better way of coping; a more positive way of responding to the stress of it all. However, the Eeyore (and Alice) in me continue to lurk barely below the surface and always fully show themselves when I am under stress. I don't think that will ever change, so I must seek respite by somehow avoiding or reducing stress which puts me into this condition.

I now invite you to step into my world for a paragraph or two and let me lead you through the last week and a half of my life in the cubicle.

Actually, the precipitating event occurred about six weeks back, when the corporate officer in charge of finance and IT (CFO) left the company. The CFO exit left a vacuum which set off a political scuffle among the more ambitious members of the management chain above me. The result was that several people in this management chain were promoted. This event in the corporate hierarchy awakened the political instincts of all the ambitious cubicle dwellers and set off ripple effects which reached to the very bottom of the corporate hierarchy. The leaves on the corporate tree were again being stirred by corporate political winds.

When a lower level manager wants to prove his mettle, he creates a new organization chart. This is exactly what my manager did. The old org chart was one page, sparsely populated. The new org chart is much more impressive. It is a five page PowerPoint slide set which is fully populated with text encased in colorful "pillow boxes" and overlapping stair-stepped horizontal bars. If you saw it, you would surely be impressed. Page one is a functional view of the organization, with function titles across the top and lists of accountabilities and key measures underneath. Page two is the same as page one, but includes names of the newly ordained functional leaders in the boxes across the top. These functional leaders are elevated above normal cubicle dwellers by virtue of their new title (Functional Leader) and their new political status as members of the power structure of the group. Page three consists of several levels of horizontal bars which show how functional responsibilities overlap and intersect with each other. Page four is the same as page three, but with names of group members in the bars. Page 5 is a stylized version of the original org chart which shows the reporting structure of the organization. This new slide set was presented with much fanfare as the sole subject of a one hour conference call during which some of us read the financial news, checked the Euro to Dollar exchange rate, updated our LinkedIn profiles, or otherwise occupied ourselves with "multitasking". (Side note: "multitasking" is a cubicle euphemism for "not paying attention").

Even though I was "multitasking" during the presentation, I did happen to notice that the box with my name in it spanned three functional areas. I didn't think much of it at the time, but over the last two weeks it has become clear that I now have three jobs and three bosses, rather than just one of each. My calendar has filled with meetings, and all three of the newly titled "Functional Leaders" want a piece of me.

The final straw came when one of the functional leaders assigned me to a typical corporate project. Those of you who have labored in the corporate cubicle will recognize this kind of project. A four hour meeting every day (yes, I said four hours), during which the discussion goes down one rathole after another without resolving anything. At the end of the meeting, a list of action items is distributed. The next day, everyone comes back without having completed any action items, and the same ratholes are explored yet again. I ask where the project plan is. There is none; all we have is a list of action items. The project manager rarely shows up for any meetings. I attend meetings for six days. My anxiety is rising. I have lost all patience for this. After the second day, I begin to press for a project plan and for some progress on actually getting work done rather than sitting around in meetings all day. It turns out that we don't have anyone on the team who can actually do any work. The contractors who are supposed to install the new software don't have cubicles, or phones, or access to the project documentation. Niether do they have any systems where they can install and test the new software. The contractor who is supposed to set up the new servers has not agreed to participate in this project, and is being reluctant to do any work. This has been going on for almost five weeks!

I'll spare you further boring details. Suffice it to say that after six days in these project meetings, I was in full Alice "Fist of Death" mode - all of my emotional energy had been drained. I arranged an audience with my "real" manager. He pulled me off the project, and had a "heart-to-heart" with the absentee project manager. I have been assigned to do a weekly review of the project and report status to management. This makes me the bad cop - a role I'm not comfortable with - but it's better than sitting in those project meetings for four hours a day while other work from my three new bosses piles up.

I don't know why I get so upset about these things. I know I'll never be a corporate animal. The corporate world will always be a strange, uncomfortable, and incomprehensible place to me in many ways. But for now, another storm has passed through my cubicle and is dissipating.

One advantage to having almost 30 years of service is that I have plenty of vacation stored up. Beginning today, I'm taking nine days of vacation (plus two weekends). I'm going to put the cubicle out of my mind, and immerse myself in real life for a while.

Speaking of real life, I want you to read this:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/mike-lux/how-do-christians-become_b_570361.html

I found it interesting. It explains a lot about why I'm not a "Christian Conservative".