Chillin'

Hard to believe it's been ten days since the last post but tis true.

Highlights in those ten days:

1. I got to wear jeans (twice!)

2. I traipsed into work one day at 11:30 am (I didn't even set an alarm!)

3. I watch Maxed Out (pretty good) and Bigger, Stronger, Faster* (very good) on Netflix Watch Instantly. (Unfortunately I also watched Boondock Saints which was terrible.)

Douche Bag Alert

Good people,

I apologize. I'm out of laundry, I only have dirty, wrinkled shirts left so I had to do the whole button-up-collar-sticking-out-of-the-sweater thing. It's a pretty douchy look. I'll try to do my laundry tonight.


Apologies,
D Money

Hi, How Are You, You're an Asshole

Good people,

Let me tell you that coming back to work from Costa Rica was rough. No more vacation days for me. I keep telling myself I won't be working a five-day work week until 2009. It does little to soothe me.

The C Rizzle is the most beautiful place I've ever been too. It really gives you an idea of just how beautiful the world would be if we hadn't fucked it up so bad. Did I mention that I canopied over a rainforest? Well, I did and it was amazing! Did I mention I saw a leatherback turtle come ashore and lay her eggs? It was not unlike that first part of that National Geographic special--sorry folks but it ain't on YouTube--that traumatized us as kids. You know that one where those adorable baby turtles were awkwardly making their way to the ocean only to be scooped up and eaten by birds just before they made it. (Sidenote: Everyone my age seems to remember two PBS experiences as a a kid, the baby turtles and the crayon factory. Why is that?)

By the way, is canopy even a verb? Did I just turn a noun into a verb à la the business world? (Dictionary.com has just informed me that "canopy" can, in fact, be a verb. So we're good.)

At this point you're probably wondering what does the title have to do with the tangential tangled tangent above?

I'm glad you're paying such close attention savvy readers. Long story short, everyone who knew where I went for vacation asked me how CR was and I told them how amazing it was and how traumatic it was to be back at the Happy Cappy Investment Team except...for the Stone Cold Killer.

What did SCK do ten minutes after I arrived at the HCIT? "We need those round hand wash things in the men's bathroom?" Huh? But I said I would get on it so I could quickly end that inane encounter which would only have gotten more awkward with each additional second. Besides, I would just go to the bathroom, see what was missing and from there I would be able to deduce what a "round hand wash thing" was. Right?

But lo and behold, the bathroom was completely stocked with the holy trinity of hand care--hand soap, hand sanitizer, hand lotion. I eventually concluded that the complaint regarding the "round hand wash thing" must've have been referring to the fact that the men's bathroom closet didn't have any of the OVERSTOCK hand wash in it. You see, the hand wash containers have rounded bottoms--giggle if you must. That's the best guess I could come up with.

So SCK, yes I DID have a great time in the Rica. Thanks for asking... asshole.

The Silver Lining to the Shit Storm?

Good people,

There are few things I hate more than self-evaluations for work. In the past I have contemplated quitting jobs so as to to not have to fill these out. They are truly wretched.

Most of you have had to do them before so I won't bore you with the boring boringness. I will simply focus on the area I hate most: "Areas for Improvement." I always feel like I should be able to invoke the 5th when this comes up but alas that won't cut it at the Happy Cappy Investment Team. Coming up with fake shit just makes you sound arrogant and aloof while telling the truth would involve revealing something your boss doesn't know about yet (and hopefully never will). I figure it's best to go with something that's been brought to your attention before by your boss (i.e., when contacting vendors make sure to write "Hello [name]" in the first line of the email) and say that you've improved upon it since your last discussion but you still need to make further strides. "I care too much is not an acceptable answer" (not that I've ever tried that one).

And another thing, you have to pepper that nugatory nugget of nonsense with stomach-churning business buzzwords that mean nothing and will soon be discarded from their lexicons faster than you can you can say "delayering" (the new buzzword for downsizing). Most of these idiotic phrases are grammatically incorrect and involve turning nouns into verbs. (You can't efficient anything no matter how hard you try because "efficient" is a noun you morons.)

But why did I bring this all up? Because no one has asked me or anyone else to do a year-end self-evaluation this year--joy!--even though they are such important and key management tools. So why would management in these tough times discard SUCH a critical tool right now?

Me thinks there's no bonuses this year. Would you want someone to describe all their talents, hard work, money brought in/saved and then turn around and tell 'em there's nothing left in the kitty? Me neither.

T.G.I.F. (Thank God I ain't Fired)

Good people,

You'll be happy to hear that I recently attended the Happy Cappy Investment Team holiday party. But before we dive in let me just give you some background on the prior three work-related parties I went to.

1) Last year's holiday party: Mountains of cheese as far as the eye could see, open bar where you get served by old dudes in tuxes, meat carving stations with those red lights that keep the food warm. A good time was had by all.

2) Retirement party of a senior HCIT employee: an incredible view of the city, open bar where you get served by old dudes in tuxes, absolutely delightful hors d'oeuvres.

3) Summer party this year: nice spread, open bar where you get served by young dudes and dudettes in tuxes, tasty buffet.

One of the things a fellow attendee said about the summer party was that it was a sign that HCIT was doing well. Yep, was.

Did I mention that there was a casino theme at that summer party? Oh it was great, we all got to play cards and craps and roulette. While we were playing with fake money people brought us free food and drinks the whole time and spoiled us. In other words, it was exactly like being at a hedge fund.

Fast forward to this year's holiday party. It was held at T.G.I.F. Okay not really, but the place was like one step above T.G.I.F., the type of place that deep fries your utensils before serving you your meal. That's all fine and dandy. I sometimes eat that shit. But this place was trying to do the whole private corporate party vibe which was just sad. They brought out things like grapes and cheese. As it turns out we were downgraded from cheese mountains to two half-wheels... which I think were for display purposes only as no one actually cut the cheese--giggle if you must--and there were no cheese knives in the vicinity. So I think we actually just rented cheese.

And there was no real food, just finger food. I felt like those people who try to put togther a meal by filling up on all the Costco samples being served in various aisles. (Microwave crabcakes, instant oatmeal, Hot Pockets, Go-GURT, beef jerky, yum yum!)

The party line is that the event was downgraded to this venue so as not to look arrogant or decadent in these lean financial times. Decadence is fine when 4% of the population is out of work but when that figure hits 6% that decadence is just in bad taste. I'm pretty sure that as long as we don't fly to our parties in private jets or ask for billion dollar handouts we'll be able to fly under the radar.

Now here's the real kicker to our humble party: no significant others allowed. Not only does this go against the trend up to this point it goes against the first email sent out about the party. But I think this is a good move. I can't tell you the amount of times I've heard others in the hedge fund business say "Who do those HCIT motherfuckers think they are with their lavish parties and their significant others?"

Oh and did I mention that a rumor started circulating that day from an industry magazine saying that the HCIT is going to start doing layoffs. That really added some punch to the CEO's holiday speech since he had to deny that on top of the pile of already horrendous news. I believe the exact words of one of the servers was "I thought I was going to cry after that speech."

Good times.

OH...MY...GOD!

Good people,

Today, a line has been crossed.

Tis the season for employees to bring in sweets and treats. Given all the recent economic hubbub I don't know if this December will be as intense as last year's 30-days-'til-a-heart-attack junk food feast that was unleashed upon the employees of the Happy Cappy Investment Team. Still, that process is well underway this December.

Someone brought in these marshmellow-truffle things. They had that weird gooey-chewy thing going on dusted in cocoa. And of course someone made a mess since these people can't seem to wipe their own asses without help from others.

Someone must have dropped one on the floor and then someone (or somemany) proceeded to step on it and make coco-mello smudges on the floor.

So reception puts in a call for the building to come clean it up. I go and follow the smudge trail to see wear it leads. The path directs me to the men's bathroom door. So of course the oh so witty jokes coming flying (in case you were wondering the joke each time is that it was shit... ha... ha... ha... ugh).

Well like some horror movie I slowly open the door to see if the trail ends there...it doesn't! I turn the corner...but the smudges continue! Until finally...they lead to...THE FUCKING TOILET!!!

That's right, some grown ass man [at first I called him an asshole and then a piece of shit but that just seemed to confuse the narrative] did this. He cannot, in fact, wipe his own ass without the help of others (you see, that was foreshadowing before). This man actually tracked his own excrement into the kitchen. Amazing.

So of course I mopped it up. Some people were stunned that I would do this filthy task, especially when the cleaning services would be here within the hour. My answer? "There's fucking shit on the fucking floor and it's fucking disgusting."

Seriously, do these people do this at home but have servants waiting on them hand-and-foot so as they don't realize just how disgusting they are?

Time to look into grad school.

Does Worker Comp Cover This?

I'm recovering from the fact that this will be the first time since the week of 11/3-11/7 that I'll have worked five days in a row, in other words a typical Monday to Friday gig. But fear not good people as next week I'll be in Costa Rica.

So I go to start dealing with the mail and I take out a rubber-banded bundle floating on top of the endless mail bucket. Upon undoing the band one very hard-cornered letter--think holiday card--makes like a rocket and propels itself into my eye. It really fucking hurts. I smell a lawsuit.

So Very Bored

Post-Thanksgiving day at work. Nothing to do.

At least I'm wearing jeans.

Somebody Needs a Time Out

Good people,

When I tell you the following story please try to keep in mind that I am talking about a grown-ass woman here and not a two-year-old.

So a member of the Happy Cappy Investment Team comes into the kitchen looking for some mint tea. Now we have lots of a certain type of mint tea--"Mint Medley" or something like that--but she wants a different type of mint tea. So she asks if I can order the the specific type of tea she desires. She wants her mint sans medley. Okay, reasonable enough, right?

Well, I explain that we only have so much space and we need to get rid of this OTHER mint tea before we can order more. I figure we're talking two, maybe three weeks.

So what does she do? When she thinks no one's looking (my office is spitting distance from the kitchen so I see all) SHE TAKES THE MINT TEA OFF OF THE SHELF AND THROWS IT OUT! I can only imagine that she's hoping that I will check the inventory, see that we are running low on mint tea and order her preference. Apparently I am too stupid to notice that *alla-kazam* six boxes of mint tea are missing 15 minutes later after our interaction. Nor am I supposed to notice that there's six boxes of mint tea SITTING ON TOP OF THE GARBAGE.

You want it that badly buy your own fucking tea. I know these are hard economic times but I think your $100,000+ salary will cover a few boxes of Lipton Mint Tea.

Won't she be surprised next month when I double the order for Mint Medley?

Revenge is a beverage best served hot with a minty-medleyness.

The Three-day Work Week

When I travel I often fly out on Friday evening and come back Sunday evening. This turns five days off from work into nine days of vacation, or ten into 16. Because the Iceland vacation was a package deal I flew back on Tuesday night.

I'm beginning to think a three-day work week is a good way to ease back into the daily grind. The day was slow but okay. Less got done in my absence then I thought and one person was out Thursday and two today (Friday), so in addition to my more-than-usual workload I have to pick up the slack for others as well. But at least it's Friday.

Seriously, You Can't Get It There Overnight!

Okay, so I'm on vacation getting ready for Iceland (Ice, Ice Baby!) but let me share a little story from a few days ago.

On my last day before vacation (Monday) my temp replacement comes in. He's very competent and more than capable of doing my job (ut-oh...fear not he's going to Ohio next week). A member of the Bother Squad comes over and asks me if I can get something via FedEx to London overnight. I tell them no...like I have so many times before. Well, one of the BS went and did some research (emphasis on some). She comes back some time later and tells me that there's something called FedEx "Next Flight" and there's two options 1:30pm and 4:30pm. It ain't cheap. It starts at something like $240.

Now, I knew sorta something like this existed even though there's no option to do this online or with the FedEx software but I didn't know the details. (Hey, the mailroom's my job not my passion.)

Long story short, they tell me they'll have something ready for Tuesday to go by Next Flight hopefully by 1:30 but possibly 4:30. I inform them that I won't be here but Temp 2.0 will handle it...that and I encouraged them to send it Monday night by FedEx International so that it will get there by Wednesday.

So what happens? The usual: shit gets unnecessarily fucked up.

It turns out the Happy Cappy Investment Team is ineligible for Next Flight because of some transportation security guidelines or something like that. You have to apply for that status.

They should've just sent the package on Monday...

My Apologies

I've actually been doing my job. I'll have to find new, more creative ways to goof off.

Don't Be This Guy

I'm talking to you Papular Paper Pusher.

It's Not Me it's You

Do restraining orders work against vendors? This is something I might have to look into.

For over three months a certain office supply company (none you've ever heard of unless you work for them... and if you do run away!) has been trying to get me to order from them. I really wasn't interested but they did the old salesman show up at the office routine after I said I wasn't interested.

(Sidenote: I've started allowing these unsolicited visits ever since my DHL rep said he was going to take me to lunch which I interpreted as I will gladly stuff my face if you're picking up the tab and you can talk all you want while I order my third milkshake. I might need to rethink this idea, especially since I haven't received that free lunch. Alas, perhaps there are no free lunches.)

What could I do with that sad little puppy on my doorstep? I showed him a good time of course. Well, not really.

But I did get to look all important--look at me booking a conference room for my "business meeting"--and we "talked numbers" as the kids like to say. Well, not really.

First, Papular Paper Pusher asked me what my main concern was. Any economic students out there? Want to take a guess as to what I told him? I told him "lowest price combined with timely delivery." I don't think I coined that phrase but he thought it was worth writing down. He then gave me a whole bunch of mumbo jumbo, or malarkey if your prefer, that made me click my mental "sleep mode."

One of his big sells was that he could save me money on paper purchases. Great idea, we use paper everyday. Literally every day if you can believe it. And it's not like paper grows on trees. Well, not really.

I gave him the figure for a box of 10 reams of 24 lb. stock--hang on dear audience, we have to work through the minutia--and he told me he could save me money because I didn't need to use 24 lb., 20 lb. would do just fine for the copier. (I won't bore you with the reasons I order 24 lb. paper but there are reasons dammit! I will only point out that 20 lb. paper costs less than 24 lb. from Staples and any other vendor.)

That was the big sell? To get me to order a cheaper quality of paper. What's his next suggestion to give people foldy chairs instead of plush office chairs? (Okay, the office chairs are a bit lavish at $1,000 a pop but they weren't my choice.)

Still, nice guy that I am I printed out my spreadsheet of items that I regularly order. A week or two later I get an email from PPP explaining that I have a login to their website. I ignored it as I did all the other attempted follow-ups. I got caught on the phone once and so I agreed to check out the website.

Well, as it turned out I was in for quite a treat. It was like the Staples website except much harder to navigate with far less items to choose from. And here's the clincher: more expensive than Staples and an extra day to arrive.

Did he really think he was going to lure me with higher prices? All he had to do was go to the Staples website, see what they were charging and charge me the same rate. I could have worked around the other stuff. I'm good with ordering from the little guy. I'm no corporate lackey. I have the rap sheet to prove it. But at the end of the year I have to turn in a self-evaluation and one thing that always gets them all excited is when I can show them where I saved the company money. It factors into my bonus.

These year-end reviews are painful enough without me having to explain why I switched from Staples to a company that charges more money for the same items.

Still, because I am an atheistic saint I found two items that were something like a nickel cheaper on their website. I clicked on the link provided in the email and put an order in. Well, not really.

As it turns out my order didn't go through, though I didn't know it at the time. PPP called. I answered and told him that I put an order in hoping that would shut him up. (It didn't by the way.)

He calls me back later that day and explains that I ordered through the demo website as opposed to the regular website. Give me a break. This is the worst wooing I've ever seen. You're trying to get my business? If this were a date I'd be convinced I was being filmed by the Blind Date crew... or maybe even Hell Date.

Fast forward to the day before I left for Amsterdam [pause for the tears of longing]. The Temp is in my office. The phone rings.

The Temp: The phone's ringing.

Me: Yeah, I can hear it.

TT: Are you going to answer it?

Me: You see that code? That means it was transferred from reception, that means it's someone trying to sell me something. Not interested.

TT: Oh, okay.

So what do you think the The Temp did?

a) let the phone ring
b) turned off the ringer
c) hung up on PPP
d) answered the phone and told PPP to never call back
e) answered the phone, and said "Yes, he's right here. Hold on, I'll get him...It's for you."

Yes, sadly, the answer is e). Does the Temp have brain damage? I mean seriously, am I talking to Mr. Short-term Memory? Perhaps a pear-colored apple hit him on the head.

So I talk to PPP and tell him to call me the next day at 4pm knowing very well that I will be on my way to the airport, destination Amsterdam.

Fast forward to today. I get a phone call from some phone number I don't recognize. It's PPP on my cell! WTF? Leave me alone! (Unfortunately, I need to list my cell on my business card for a variety of reasons.) PPP called a few weeks back but his number came up as unlisted and I don't answer unlisted calls. I checked the message, erased it, and didn't think twice.

Today, however, I foolishly answered an unknown number and paid the price. He told me he would set up someone to call me to walk through the website. No, fix your website. It sucks. I'm web saavy. It's on my resume. I don't need to talk to someone who's going to talk to me like I'm feeble-minded--"Okay, do you see a blue 'E,' it should say 'Microsoft Explorer' underneath the 'E.' You want to click on that with your mouse."

If I'm on the phone I might as well put the order in over the phone--Temp style.

I told him I'm not interested and to stop calling me. I think that's the last I'll be hearing of PPP. Well, not really.

Are You Minutes from Death? I'd Love to Help but I Didn't Sign my Certification Card

So we had CPR training at the Happy Cappy Investment Team the other day. Bravo for HCIT. I am now able to potentially save someone's life. That makes me a potential hero. I deserve a potential medal.

Is that worthy of a blog entry? Of course not.

What IS worthy of a blog entry? Let me tell you.

Once the hour-long course was over we were given these cards certifying us. However, one person would not sign their card.

Now, you're probably asking yourself "D Money, why would they take the course but not sign the card?" Good question my attentive storytellee.

As it turns out, because HCIT paid for the certification all of us who attended the class are legally obligated to perform CPR on anyone who goes down and needs CPR attention within HCIT as well as the rest of the building.

HCIT paid for the class and I have to save someone's life who needs it. Sounds like a good deal to me. But this person doesn't want to have to be that person who's "obligated" to save some selfish asshole who's too lazy to make his own heart beat.

Now, keep in mind this person is protected by both the Good Samaritan law and HCIT's insurance. This person wants to pick and choose who lives and dies I guess. (I believe that's called a god complex.)

The nerve of some people.

Return of the Temp!

So the Temp is back in my life...sorta.

I needed to call him for some info that he's been hoarding. Specifically, the password to his online account with one of our vendors.

This man never met a phone call he couldn't drag out past 20 minutes if you let him. He seems to thoroughly enjoy them. It gets to the point where telemarketers hang up on him.

He was so pleased with himself when he "informed" me that the Happy Cappy Investment team had its very own sales rep, like he had found the lost city of Atlantis. Yeah, you tend to get a your "very own rep" when you literally order tens of thousands of dollars of supplies from a company annually. I'm sure he called her up as soon as he got her number and bored her to death. My sincerest apologies to the rep.

I bring this up because while I was having the time of my life in Amsterdam (alas, it was only a month ago) the Temp was supposed to order desk fans for some of the traders who work late into the night. After a certain hour the building turns off the air and the floor can get pretty warm until the AC comes on again at 6am. Well, the Temp ordered the fans but they were backordered. By the time I got back the fans hadn't arrived. So of course he went to cancel them in the manner of a crazy person.

Here's what I, a sane person, would have done. I would have logged into my online account and canceled the order. Ta da! [No need to applaud.] In fact, that's what I do every time I cancel orders.

Shortly before I left for Europe I set up an temporary account for the Temp that had some restrictions on it. I won't bore you with the details. Let's get back to Crazy.

So the Temp's attempt to cancel the order over the the phone was a little tricky since he didn't have the order number, the company account number or the date of the order when he made the call. This man can't bring himself to throw away one sheet of paper yet he does not have this information in front of him. I don't get it.

In short he made a call that went something like this "I'm the Temp from the Happy Cappy Investment Team and I need to cancel an order of fans...No I don't have the order number...No I don't have the company account number...I don't remember the date...I'm the Temp from the Happy Cappy Investment Team and I need to cancel an order of fans..."

Needless to say, this was too painful to watch so I left my office. I came back 20 minutes later. He was still getting his phone groove on so I left again. The next attempt to enter my office finally found him wasting considerable energy on some other ridiculous endeavor. I then ordered the fans from another company which arrived a few days later. Traders rejoiced.

Skip to yesterday, more fans arrive. In fact, the exact amount I ordered but from the original company the Temp ordered from. I wish I could say that the Temp lied and never canceled the order. I could respect that. He's a temp. By the time anyone figures it out he'll be gone so, whatever. Sadly, he's not that smart. I fully believe that he really thought he canceled the order.

Being lazy and not doing your work doesn't take any time, so hats off to that. But spending all that time to do your job badly. I don't get it.

Long story short, I called up the Temp to get his password to his online account and now have to re-establish his account since it expired and then send back the fans.

This is all very annoying.

Is That Mine?

Good people,

Shortly after I began my employment at the Happy Cappy Investment Team I ordered a label maker. Nothing fancy but it got the job done. The first thing I did once it was up and running was to label the label maker (how postmodern!). This is because traders are thieves--it's in their job description. They don't actually trade they just take take take. People take my stuff all the time: my tissues, my pens, my tape, my stapler. Someone once stole the removable pad from my mousepad-with-wristguard set up. (Did they honestly think I wouldn't notice or do they just feel entitled to anything and everything they see?)

Now, what is so frustrating about this is that I will gladly order any office supplies for them--it's in my job description. Why they feel compelled to steal things--used things, my things!--instead of waiting one day to get their very own is beyond me but they do. Especially since I very often have said item on hand. It might shock you to know that I supply the supply room with supplies. Supplies-ing ain't it?

So back to the label maker. Many months ago, like 2007 "many months ago," I lent my label maker to someone. I, of course, didn't get it back so I ordered another.

Now, I understand that sometimes you borrow something and you forget who you borrowed it from or if it's been awhile you actually think it's yours (historically, white people are especially prone to this condition) but it had "MAILROOM" on it.

Fortunately, this person finally remembered where the mailroom was and returned the label maker today...because it was broken...and this person then asked to borrow my label maker...on the grounds that this person rarely uses a label maker...so they'll return it as soon as their done.

Yeah right.

Add This to My Resume

I know how to work a tape gun aka tape dispenser.

Now, this might not seem like much of a skill but working one of these things seems to absolutely baffle people here...even the smart people.

What I don't get is that there's no trick to it, it's as obvious as it looks. I have no training in this art; I am not certified; I do not come from a long line of tape gunners who have passed down the secrets of the tape gun over many generations. No, the first time I had to use one I looked at it and tried to figure out how to load the tape. It turned out I was right.

Yet, when I lend out the tape gun I get all sorts of crazy configurations back. Keep in mind that I'VE ALREADY LOADED IT FOR THEM AND IT'S WORKING FINE.

I've received the tape gun with the tape on backwards so the sticky side is facing the wrong direction. I've received it with the tape going over the plastic flap. I've had people try to thread the tape over the wheel. I've received it with the tape all knotted up.

What are these people doing? Here's a hint people, sticky tape is, well, sticky. The sticky side will stick to things, hence you don't want to put it in backwards (making it stick to the underside of the wheel) or put it over the flap (causing it to stick to the flap and having no way to tear the tape on the sharp metal teeth) or try to thread it (which won't won't work since the wheel will cease to move now that it's stuck to the tape) or whatever the hell you did that caused the tape gun to come back with knotted tape and little pieces of tape shrapnel on the handle.

Am I Too Hard on These People?

No, I am not. They really are children.

Exhibit A: Due to the $700 billion injection by the Fed into the financial system we had a pizza party today. Pizza. Party.

Oh, and as for how I'm doing? Today was worse than yesterday plus I have to stay (even) later and I'm sick.

And possibly the most frustrating thing of all? I went to go punch some stuff in the stock room--I can't even remember why at this point--but some repair guy was in there so I couldn't go all Tommy DeVito on the boxes.

My Hand Hurts Almost as Much as My Brain Does

Good people,

I punched many boxes of individual coffee servings and now my hand hurts. This in itself is not worthy of a blog entry so let me share with you the email that instigated my stock room fit.

As you already know this is not a day to give me shit.

So imagine my delight when I received the following email from Stone Cold Killer:

"Please ensure we have regular liquid hand soap in addition to the alcohol based hand cleaner at all sinks and restrooms. I have noticed we have been running out of it regularly."

"Regularly" falls under the category of "numerous incidents" and we've already discussed that. Since people aren't aware of where I keep the hand soap I doubt others haven't been replacing it when I'm not looking, so I think I have a pretty good idea of the soap flow in the men's bathroom.

That being said, I refuse to make a pledge that I will be on top of the "soap situation" in the women's bathroom. Me walking into the women's bathroom everyday under a pretext of "checking out the soap" is a surefire way to get fired in less than a week.

Also, in addition to the hand sanitizer, the hand cream (you read right), and organic hand soap I stock, the building provides hand soap in the wall dispensers above the sinks. So in the event that one of the organic soap containers is empty suck it up and use the OTHER ONE TWO FEET AWAY or, god forbid, use what us peasants clean ourselves with: the wall-mounted soap dispensers.

You Losing Other People's Money Does NOT Give You Permission to Treat Me Like an Asshole

Two people I kinda-sorta work with are out today and will be tomorrow as well. Hence I have to do my job, the job of one of them, and about half of the job of the other person.

Today is not a day to give me shit people. I am not getting two-and-a-half jobs done as fast as you want them. Boo-fucking-hoo.

I don't see the traders doing two-and-a-half jobs. In fact, I see them doing half a job 'cause they ain't got shit to trade. So why don't you make your $400,000 ass useful and go stock the frig. As far as I know the current financial meltdown is not the result of there being Coke and Diet Coke in the frig but no Coke Zero. Now's the time for belt tightening, you just might have to wait an hour to get your precious Coke Zero.

This is the Last Time I will Explain This

Is there any mail service (UPS, FedEx, DHL, USPS, etc.) that delivers overnight to Europe?

No. Non. Nyet. Nein. Ne. Nem. Ní hea. Ei. Nei. Nu. Nee.

I am very, very tired of having the following conversation repeatedly WITH THE SAME PEOPLE aka the Bother Squad:

[we now return to our regularly scheduled conversation already in progress]

Happy Cappy Investment Team Employee: Are you sure?

Me: Yes, I'm sure.

HCITE: ...Except England

Me: No.

HCITE: Hmm...they used to do England overnight.

Me: Not true.

HCITE: There's no way to get this package to England tomorrow morning?

Me: They don't promise until the end of the second business day and that's not a guarantee because it could get held up in customs.

HCITE: But it usually gets there the next day even if it's not guaranteed, right?

Me: In all my years working in mailrooms I've never sent a package to London that arrived the next business morning.

HCITE: It'll probably get there by tomorrow. Keep you fingers crossed!

No, it won't get there tomorrow. Let's do some simple math to explain why this is.

All international FedEx packages must go through Memphis. The last drop off time for the day is about 8:00pm give or take, depending on your location. So let's say my package has been picked up and scanned locally by 9:30pm.

Then let's say that my package is on a plane by 10:00pm. It's a three hour flight to Memphis from my city. So let's say it arrives by midnight. (I get an hour back since I'm in the Eastern time zone).

The package then gets on a plane and flies "over the pond" for nine hours.

Let's say it then takes an hour-and-a-half to be processed and put on a truck for delivery and an hour to get to its destination. That would make the arrival time 11:30am and this is a very efficient timeline that I've laid out, much more efficient than anything I've ever encountered.

Oh wait, I forgot something... the six hour time difference [from Memphis], which at certain times of the year is actually a seven hour difference. So that puts us at 5:30pm or 6:30pm.

In other words, IT'S IMPOSSIBLE to get something to London the next business morning unless you drive it to the airport, buy it a fucking plane ticket and pick it up from the airport. Not even I, who as we all know has the super hot package, can make this happen.

What's even better than that? Someone once asked me to overnight something to Tokyo. A flight from my city to Tokyo is thirteen-and-a-half hours. Tokyo doesn't recognize daylight savings so it's either thirteen or fourteen hours ahead depending on the time of the year. To get a package there the next day would involve an ability to either teleport or go back in time.

Needless to say, if I possessed either ability I would not be stuck in a mailroom.

I'll Let You Know When It Happens

If I understand it correctly, when the US economy goes in the tank the ONLY way the government can figure out how to fix things is by turning the US into a communist system. I wish! To think, I should have spent my crazy radical youth taking out bad mortgages instead of doing political organizing.

[Jump to 10:26 or the first white dot on the scroll bar.]

I Love It!

Go visit this site:
Sad Guys on Trading Floors

This one might be my favorite but I'm sure there'll be plenty of great ones in the days to come.

Add This to My Resume

I am an expert at removing half full cases of water from the water cooler with minimal spillage. Now, I know what you're going to say: "Why the fuck would you do something so fucking stupid?" Good question my eager reader.

Apparently there have been "numerous incidents" of people going to the water cooler in the morning and it being empty. (At the Happy Cappy Investment Team "numerous incidents" is another way of saying "it happened once.") So now, when I leave for the day I must check to see that the water cooler is full since that's the way the Stone Cold Killer wants it.

For anyone who doesn't know the drill it's rather simple: you tear the seal off the five gallon bottle of water then quickly turn it upside down while putting the open end of the bottle in the hole of the water cooler. If you're good--which I am--you get all the water in the water cooler's filter without spilling any water. (You also have to be quick as the filter fills up very quickly.) You then remove it when it's EMPTY. But that's not how we do things at the Happy Cappy Investment Team. No, we are--dare I say--mavericks when it comes to water coolidge (no relation to Calvin).

We are going to bring change to the water cooler insiders with their elitist talk of half-full water coolers. On Main Street, in my hometown, we have another term for "half full": we call it half empty.

Seriously, the people who tend to complain about this stuff are the people that go to the gym everyday, something I certainly don't do. They can't lift a water bottle themselves or walk across the floor to use the OTHER water cooler?

A Typical Day at the Office

You Know Where You Can Stick It...

Good People,

There are few things I hate in this world more than faux organization. Some people are organized, some are not. Some people LIKE being organized, some do not. That's all peaches and cream. I get it. I can deal. But don't front like you're all organized and come at me with some nonsense. The Temp might be able to dazzle some higher ups by simply uttering the magical phrase "spreadsheet" but I know better. (Some suits get weak in the knees when they hear "Excel", big fucking whoop.) The Temp's spreadsheet is shit. I've axed most of his columns, added a couple, rearranged information in a way that is *gasp* useful and made this spreadsheet so efficient as to be unrecognizable from the original.

But my current grumble is not about the spreadsheet, so let's move on.

The Temp is out of my life, hopefully forever. But what did he leave in his wake? A mountain of post-its stuck to one another. This, his magnum opus. I don't know if he had some traumatic notebook-related accident as a child that prevents him from leaving information in an organized manner or what but this is just sticky chaos. Did he take my instructions to write down all relevant information and organize it in a cohesive manner literally?

Am I really supposed to make heads or tails of this? Is the top sticky the most important? The most recent? The attention-starved sticky? The supreme leader of all stickies? I feel like I'm looking for clues into the last days of Howard Hughes.

I would have preferred that he just didn't do anything in my absence than leave me his "notes." Back to square -1.

Why I Will Never Be on America's Next Top Model

I could give you 1,001 obvious reasons why this is so but let's go for something a little more subtle: I have been criticized for my walk. It will not cut the mustard in Milan nor at the Happy Cappy Investment Team. Let me explain.

Stone Cold Killer informed me of a study that was recently done. Some company with too much money and too much time on its hands, but not enough brain cells, hired some type of weirdo consulting firm to study its workplace and come up with some type of crazy horseshit that would make the company more productive. Well kudos to that consulting firm because they come up with some bonkers shit! (For the record, I'm not one to throw around exclamation points all willy nilly.) You know, the type of crazy shit that rich people overpay for when the economy's NOT in the tank. (Did I mention we have a physical therapist that comes in and gives massages? Unfortunately, while the Happy Cappy Investment Team is one big happy family--minus the family member who was just fired--not every family member here is eligible for good touches.)

I've just been schooled by Stone Cold Killer on how one can learn a lot from an employee's walk. The description given to me was not that of it being the window to the soul, but it's pretty high up there. Apparently, this is going to be the stuff of ground-breaking PhD theses in the years to come.

An employee's posture, speed with which he or she walks, their movements and gestures, all these things are just chock full of informative goodness when it comes to evaluating an employee's job satisfaction, "team spiritness" (not a word), job-related ambition even. Does how someone walk in a bedroom reveal their sexual ambitions? I wonder...

Needless to say I kept my verbality to a minimum as I couldn't quite fathom how a government-trained assassin was giving me lessons on body-language. This is a man that has probably killed contacts just based on the way they reached for their cup off of coffee.

So, of course, I nodded--but how did I nod? What did my nod say?--and left his office in my most upbeat walk possible, the type of walk that would've gotten kids beaten up in my neighborhood growing up, agreeing to work on my walk like I'm some developmentally challenged five-year-old that never quite mastered crawling.

Oh, and that company that paid for this ridonculous study? They went kaablooey a couple of weeks back. As it turns out, we humans haven't yet mastered the art of reading the body language of shitty mortgages.

Am I a Preschool Teacher?

Someone just handed me an envelope with a booger on it. A grown-ass man gave me something with a booger on it. I repeat, it had a fucking booger on it.

5 Reasons Why I Shouldn't Have to Wear Dress Clothes at My Job

1. I have a purple stain on my pants from unloading a case of Gatorade bottles, one of which had a crack in it.
2. I have blue toner on my hands from fixing a paper jam in the copier.
3. My shirt is completely wrinkled from having carried eight boxes of fans, two cases of mail and many other things.
4. Typically, the only people outside of the Happy Cappy Investment Team I deal with are people who deliver or fix things (kinda like me) and they wear whatever they want or company-issued uniforms.
5. I don't wanna.

To be clear, I am not complaining about DOING any of these tasks. After all, if I didn't do them who would? (Did I mention that one of the traders has TWO maids AND a nanny?) I simply would prefer to not look like some bootleg Dockers ad while doing it.

This Spreadsheet is Going to be the Death of Me

Don't get me wrong. I love a good spreadsheet as much as the next guy--possibly more--but fixing the Temp's worksheet is more work than creating this thing from scratch.

To give you a peek into my Monday morning pain this is one entry on the spreadsheet:

Coca-Cola/Diet/Soda/Can/12 oz.

Seriously, dog?

Now I could go on about how we ONLY order cans (the traders aren't allowed to have glass bottles in these rough economic times, no shoelaces either) or that cans are only available in one size from the distributor (12 oz. in case you're new to planet Earth and haven't yet seen a can of soda) or that most mammals are aware that Coke is a soda (the column is ALSO titled Soda) but that's technical mumbo jumbo that will simply bore you folks. Instead I ask, who refers to Diet Coke as Coca-Cola/Diet?

This is supposed to streamline the process of ordering and managing inventory?

When Life Gives You Lemons You Should, at the Very Least, Add Water and Sugar

Good people,

No matter what a certain spreadsheet might say, we at the Happy Cappy Investment Team do NOT serve lemon juice as a beverage to our employees or guests.

That is all.

Smarter than the Average Pear?

In looking over a spreadsheet created by the Temp I have learned that "pear" is a color of apple.

I'm pretty sure this is incorrect.

Have You Ever Been Kissed by a FedEx Man?

Me neither, but I did get a hug at least. (Always a bridesmaid, never a bride.)

The FedEx guy--aka Sweet Thunder--was so relieved to see me, I learned, because the Temp drove him nuts in my absence.

Now keep in mind, unless we start up a conversation, my interaction with Sweet Thunder is less than three minutes a day. And yet this brief exchange with the Temp over two weeks was traumatic enough that Sweet Thunder needed to embrace me upon sight.

What did the Temp do to this poor man?

Maybe You've Heard of Me... I'm the Guy with the Super Hot Package

Good people,

I just received a package from an outside messenger. Often these packages will say "Rush" or "Urgent." Often the calligrapher will add an exclamation point--or many more!!!--to emphasize just how important said package is. However, I've just been handed a package that reads "Super Hot."

I do not want to open this.

Guess Who's Back. Back Again...

So won't the the real office manager please stand up, please stand up, please stand up?

After being the office manager at my hedge fund for the last year--which we will call The Happy Cappy Investment Team for the purposes of this blog--I finally took a vacation. I spent two weeks traveling around Europe, by which I mean I occasionally left Amsterdam for a few hours here and there.

A couple of days before I was set to return I got an email on my work-issued crackberry. It informed me of two things:
1) that my temp replacement would be staying on one more week
2) that my office was being turned into a men's bathroom

At the time I was in an Amsterdam coffee shop. I read the email, turned to the bartender and complimented him on the quality of his product.

The next morning I awoke and checked the 'berry. Apparently, I had read the email correctly. (Who saw that coming?)

First, a word on turning my den of privacy into a crapper. My office is located all of 20 feet from the men's bathroom. I have no idea why this company is going to initiate this expensive, lengthy, loud, filthy process to build another men's bathroom only spitting distance from the current one. But I promise you this, with Zeus as my witness, I will get to the bottom of this mystery and we will have a hearty, if forced, laugh as the end credits roll.

Second, I must admit I am somewhat fascinated to watch someone else do my job. Who wouldn't love to see how someone else would do their job? People should definitely add this to their list of "Things to Do Before I Die": #96. Watch someone else do my job.

It should make for a fucking delightful anthropological experiment, though I must confess I am a tad nervous. Boss of the Boss aka Stone Cold Killer--one of the villains you will come to know and hopefully despise as my story unfolds daily--hates me. When I heard there was going to be a temp to replace me during my vacation I kept hearing that little voice in the back of my head (the non-killing-spree voice) saying "there is no job waiting for you when you come back."

A day before I had left for Europe I met and trained my replacement. I soon discovered that while he can probably do an adequate job filling in for me, in no way is he qualified to replace me. At the time I thought a "boo-yah!" was called for, even though this is not a phrase I ever use in conversation.

Fast forward, 2+ weeks. When I learned that he was staying on another week that voice came back. So we will see how this week goes.

Let the great experiment begin.