“This is a very exciting time for our industry. If you are just here for a paycheck, then you might as well walk out the door right now.”
Our boss was giving us our monthly pep talk.
He was serious. It probably is a very exciting time for him. The industry is changing and growing. He and his peers move around freely, discussing policy, procedures, innovation, implementation. They work hard, they act and move. They are responsible for results and they need their freedom to fully develop their ideas. …They put policies and procedures in place.
The rest of us carry around little timers on our breaks and lunches. There is a weekly report that shows up red if you are one minute late getting back to your desk. If you are ten seconds late, it shows up yellow. Sorry sir, but this is not exciting or fun. Our production is monitored electronically, and so every move we make, everything we do is watched and recorded.
This is a boon for supervisors and managers. They don’t have to lead or motivate. They can pay lip service to leadership and motivation. But just in case they fail, they have reports to keep people in line with. “I want you to be free and independent, but I’m going to put this leash on you so you don’t go too far. Still, I want you to think big, have big ideas, and keep your eye on your timer, too. Do exactly what I tell you to do. Think outside the box, but don’t go outside the box.”
Like dropping a baby into a pool…he’ll either sink or swim. But sinking is out of the question. Sinking is not an option. So I’m going to put this floatie vest on you. You can’t sink. You also can’t dive or swim or go very far. But you can float and I can pull you around.
To be fair, I need a leash at work. I could easily spend my ten-hour shift reading and drawing pictures, discussing current events, playing practical jokes, planning my garden for next year, surfing the internet…if they took off my leash, I would run away.
Monday, August 9, 2010
A Dog Who Does it His Way - Sue
I don't think it's called "killing someone" if you wait until the person is 98. That is called "euthanasia." It comes from the Greek word, "thanatos," which means "death."
I didn't know that someone at work asked whether the photo was a postcard. There seems to be this whole other life that Phyllis leads that I don't know much about. I don't know whether she really has a brother named "Jeff," or if he is just an imaginary brother. I don't know if she really has a bag of feathers, either, or if she just wishes she did.
I don't think my idea about listening to the police scanner and posting what they say on a website is going to work out. I still have to learn how to play the violin. That has been put on hold temporarily, maybe until the weather gets cold again.
Phyllis said she remembers when dry roasted peanuts first came out. The oldest peanut specimens from South America are about 7600 years old. Does that mean they only started roasting peanuts during Phyllis's early years? Two words: "peanuts" and "fire." They've both been around long before Phyllis played with feathers.
When I came home this morning, Pete jumped on me as usual. I turned my back on him, as usual, and he jumped on my back. I don't like that, but I let him do it when I first get home because he is so happy to see me. I can't suppress that kind of enthusiasm.
But this morning, when he jumped on my back, he scratched me and I bent my knee, just to deter him. He squealed like I was trying to pull his toenail out. I think I accidentally hit his weenie. It wasn't a real "kick," and it wasn't on purpose, but I wish I could have taken it back. I bent down and hugged him a lot. He sat still, as much as Pete can sit still, still wiggling, and buried his face in my neck. Within a second he had forgotten all about it. That is what is so endearing about dogs. If you accidentally kick their weenie, they don't hold a grudge.
Phyllis hasn't made vegetable and fruit juice in quite awhile, but when she did, Pete would go to the furthest end of the yard and curl up, waiting for the whine of the juicer to stop. No amount of coaxing would get him back in the house as long as the juicer was running. He is also afraid of Phyllis's Rubics Cube. I think if he was a human, he would have his own construction business, and he wouldn't take anyone telling him how to design or where to build his houses. He would know that it was HIS life, and he would do it HIS way. Sometimes he would make mistakes, but he would always learn from them, and no one would ever make him listen to an electric juicer, no matter what.
I didn't know that someone at work asked whether the photo was a postcard. There seems to be this whole other life that Phyllis leads that I don't know much about. I don't know whether she really has a brother named "Jeff," or if he is just an imaginary brother. I don't know if she really has a bag of feathers, either, or if she just wishes she did.
I don't think my idea about listening to the police scanner and posting what they say on a website is going to work out. I still have to learn how to play the violin. That has been put on hold temporarily, maybe until the weather gets cold again.
Phyllis said she remembers when dry roasted peanuts first came out. The oldest peanut specimens from South America are about 7600 years old. Does that mean they only started roasting peanuts during Phyllis's early years? Two words: "peanuts" and "fire." They've both been around long before Phyllis played with feathers.
When I came home this morning, Pete jumped on me as usual. I turned my back on him, as usual, and he jumped on my back. I don't like that, but I let him do it when I first get home because he is so happy to see me. I can't suppress that kind of enthusiasm.
But this morning, when he jumped on my back, he scratched me and I bent my knee, just to deter him. He squealed like I was trying to pull his toenail out. I think I accidentally hit his weenie. It wasn't a real "kick," and it wasn't on purpose, but I wish I could have taken it back. I bent down and hugged him a lot. He sat still, as much as Pete can sit still, still wiggling, and buried his face in my neck. Within a second he had forgotten all about it. That is what is so endearing about dogs. If you accidentally kick their weenie, they don't hold a grudge.
Phyllis hasn't made vegetable and fruit juice in quite awhile, but when she did, Pete would go to the furthest end of the yard and curl up, waiting for the whine of the juicer to stop. No amount of coaxing would get him back in the house as long as the juicer was running. He is also afraid of Phyllis's Rubics Cube. I think if he was a human, he would have his own construction business, and he wouldn't take anyone telling him how to design or where to build his houses. He would know that it was HIS life, and he would do it HIS way. Sometimes he would make mistakes, but he would always learn from them, and no one would ever make him listen to an electric juicer, no matter what.
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