'STEP DOWN!' Gettin' Off the MUNI

Things of relative interest I noted on my MUNI ride to work.

Salient avoidance of eye and body contact. Sunglasses on a non-sunny bus, iPods and the impressive ability to keep arms and legs tightly bound to the body - quite similar to that of a mummy.

*****

On a similar note, men with sunglasses, blazers and jeans. For no apparent reason, this combination bothers me. I see them on the bus all the time, and call me persnickety, but I can't help but raise my eyebrow every time I see one.

*****

I saw a fully grown woman going to work toting a snoopy backpack. This made me smile. Very nice.

(And I'm not being sarcastic, for once.)

-Signing off from San Francisco

Pass a Tissue, Please?

Wednesday, March 21. Lunch Time.

I figured I should mark this date so that this time next year I can be extra extra careful, because bad karma does strike in the same place twice.

The story begins when a colleague and I decide to go to CPK for lunch and a gab session. We cross the street and walk down an alley, ho humming along, when a woman that's passing us by literally (and I do mean literally) projectile vomits.

All over my face. In my hair. Down my back.

Now, I'm not sure what a normal reaction to something like this would be, but mine went something like, "FUCK. Fuck fuck fuck fuck, fucking, fuck fuck fuck fuck. Fucking, fuck fuck fuck, fuck, fucker. FUCKING, fuck."

My friend, who is more than several months pregnant, also got a decent amount of green matter sprayed across her as well, and I'm sure her upchuck reflexes were kicking in high gear. Fortunately, neither of us contributed to the heinous mess and were able to hold our own. Interestingly enough, my first millisecond thought, just as the vomit splattered across my face, was that this woman just threw a shake at me. I was about to be incensed to the tenth degree when I turn and see her vomit the rest of her bile infested lunch on the sidewalk. This was the same moment I realized what was all over my face and the freaking out ensued.

OK, again I realize this is an extremely unusual situation to come across and a little difficult to swallow, but if I saw two women, one pregnant, being barfed on I would set aside my disgust, hold in my chuckle, and fucking do something to offer some sort of help. Realizing no one was going to offer me a tissue, I saw I would have to fend for myself and used my jacket to wipe the nasty off my face. I then proceeded to stumble into a nail salon where I see a multitude of onlookers just sittin' pretty getting their nails done. Not a single person got up to help or offered a tissue, napkin or towel. Dumbfounded, I was.

What the fuck is wrong with people? If I could I would cue a lame Nickleback song.

-Signing off from San Francisco

What the Fucker?

I think I'm fairly innocent. Meaning, I don't excessively drink, do drugs, smoke, steal, gamble, etc.

My one vice, however, is swearing. It's just a bad habit that I can't seem to break and only gets worse as my time here passes. A little slip of a "what the fuck" and "motherfucker" just can't be contained sometimes.

Unfortunately, as lax as my office is, it's apparently not lax enough for my mouth. A complaint had been submitted to HR and I was officially scolded regarding my "language."

Well, jeez. Do I feel sheepish.

-Signing off from San Francisco

No Srsly!

Snippets from a snippet:

OMGREADTHISEMAILNOWNOWNOW!!!111!!: High importance emails are retarded. Yes- I said it. It really doesn't matter if your email has a little red flag next to it in my inbox, if I'm busy I'll get to it when I can. If it's really important and you need a response like, oh, two minutes ago- call me. That's what my desk phone is for. It's too ugly to be decorative and too big to be a paperweight. But...

Don't call me on my mobile when I'm at my desk: Seriously. Sometimes colleagues will call my mobile when they're ten feet away from me and I'm at my desk. I know Mika's Grace Kelly is all sorts of musical goodness but I doubt people call me just to hear it play.

Also, why do reporters call my mobile during the day? I put my office number in my signature first, in bold, and then my mobile number for after hours emergencies. 2:00pm on a Tuesday afternoon... I'll be at my desk. I promise. Here's a thought- try my desk phone before my mobile... you might like the results.

Super cheerful people in the morning make me angry: Okay, not really. But don't expect me to 'super cheerful right back atcha!' if it's 7:00am and I'm standing in front of the coffee machine with my arms crossed and tapping my foot. Obviously, I'm not happy and I haven't had my morning cup of liquid crack yet so please, say 'good morning' and go skipping off into Lollipop Land and play with the unicorns or whatever it is you do at that ungodly time of the day.

-Signing off from Seattle

Blogging Woes

So I'm not sure if it's kosher for me to complain about blogging on my blog, but I am.

I've been meaning to write a new post for a while, because I had several snarky things to say about things like tradeshows and wretched Valentine's Day at the office, amongst other topics. But finding the time at work (which is the only time I can blog, as it's where my inspiration stems and bitterness peaks) can be difficult, and sometimes it just ends up feeling like an action item.

So, here are all the things I've been meaning to say so that I can cross this action off my list and have some peace of mind.

Tradeshows

Pointless events that result in absolutely nothing except for sore feet and wasted time. It's funny, because several of my clients find that they get most of their sales leads through online efforts, yet they still decide to puddle through these things because their competitors are going or it's considered "the biggest show of xyz."

Now, from a PR perspective there are some good opportunities to get a few media briefings and get some face time with the client and reporters, but in reality is this worth the stress of preparation, plane ticket, hotel room, food and drinks, cost of entertaining client, blisters, time and most importantly....boredom? The boredom of walking the show floor, squinting at every goober that walks by in hopes they're the tech editor your client has been dying to meet with.

Not even schwag can make these events worthwhile.

Valentine's Day

In general, this day is a lame excuse for people to profess their love and appreciation for their significant other. However, some people (mainly women that work at an office) find this day to be a competitive event.

Who will get the biggest, most extravagant, gratuitous display of flowers? Winners to be announced no later than 12 p.m. PST.

And, oh, the poor boyfriend who was a bad puppy and either a) forgot to send flowers; b) sent flowers, but not to her office to display on her desk; or c) sent carnations because his sensible head couldn't rationalize spending $75 or more on things that will die in a few days.

*Note to this poor soul: Please wear a long sleeve shirt and protective eyewear to minimize scarring from the claws.

Coffee

Why is our office coffee so bad? I'm not going to blame Peet's, but when my coffee/cream ratio is 40/60, something's not right.

-Signing off from San Francisco

Powerpoint: The Killer App

I spent all of yesterday trapped in a room full of people, staring at Powerpoint presentations. There were about, oh, 13 presenters and each one had their own special presentation to show off. I sat in the most uncomfortable chair on the planet, listening to people who were essentially reading off every single word on each slide in their respective presentations.

If that isn't a preview of the Ninth Level of Hell, then I don't know what is.

Now I know I look deceptively young. I'm small. I have youthful features. Hell, I get carded when I try to order a latte at Starbucks but what on God's green earth gave these people the idea that I didn't know how to read?

Maybe it was out of courtesy that they didn't deviate from the words on the screen because... I could not read them. Unless you were a cat (and sadly, none of the humans in the room were) I don't think anyone could have read anything on the screen. I don't think anyone who sat more than a foot away from the massive 8x8 ft screen could read anything. It's hard to when the font is the size of sand granules.

I effing HATE Powerpoint presentations or, as I like to call them, "Satan's reading material for the damned."

I don't think they are a necessary evil. They're just evil - as in 'sacrifice a goat and chant White Snake lyrics backwards' evil. Whoever invented the Powerpoint at Microsoft should get their ass kicked, no joke.

But seriously, it is a business tool and maybe, used effectively, they could be helpful. The problem is Powerpoints are almost never used effectively.

People do stupid shit sometimes- they ride motocycles without helmets, they buy full price at Banana Republic, and they try to cram as many words as possible into 30 or more slides and think others will care.

The odd thing is, people seem to rely on slide presentations to the point of dependency. I'm in the communications industry yet a lot of the people I work with just don't get that Powerpoints are the worst way to communicate with someone. When asked for data, the first application people usually click on is the Powerpoint icon.

Why? Whatever happened to innovation? Creativity? Thinking outside of the box (or in this case, slide)?

What happened to talking?

The end goal of a Powerpoint is to express an idea and what usually happens is that any spark of brilliance or true original thought is lost in a hideous, chaotic mess of words and ridiculous images.

By the end of the day yesterday, I was ready to stab my eyes with the little plastic sporks my client had so kindly provided for me to use during our 'working' lunch. Seriously. I was ready to slash someone's (preferably a presenter's) tires. See how they liked being trapped with no escape.

I know that each time I have to work on a Powerpoint presentation, the Devil is setting aside my own little spot in Hell.

-Signing off from Seattle

Update: Donde Esta El "Crapper?"

It's my belief that the office "Crapper" has not left the building (as we all originally thought when a certain someone got the boot). For those who need a reminder on the bathroom atrocities that go on in the ladies room, please refer to the December 6th blog entry, "Crap..."

It's 6:55 p.m. and I am leaving the office to wait 20 minutes in the rain for the bus. So I decide it best to use the ladies room before leaving.

Now, I was fortunate enough not to see what someone had for dinner the night before left in the toilet bowl, but someone did leave the toilet seat cover plainly on the seat.

Seriously, people. How hard is it to a.) put all expendable toilet items IN the toilet; b.) turn around and make sure it made it in; and c.) flush.

So suffice it to say, this seems very much like something the Crapper would do, so I think I'll tread with caution when entering any stalls from now on.

That's all.

-Signing off from San Francisco