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Clearly you love your job. Not.

3 Oct

I’m tempted to start a short film project featuring the concierge in my office building. She’s a heavy set woman in her mid-forties, and she clearly hates her job. Or me. One of the two.

I’m generally friendly to strangers. I go out of my way to say hi in the elevator. I strike up conversations over the bathroom sink. I ask cashiers how their day is going and actually listen to the answer. I figure we’re all in this together, so why not get to know each other a bit?

Apparently the concierge disagrees with my approach. Every time I greet her in passing, she gives me a stare that borders on hostile — a stare that I would probably reserve for people whose incompetence negatively and directly impacted my day. Oh, and she never actually answers me, even when I frame up the exchange with a question.

“Good weekend?” I’ll ask on Monday morning. She stares back as if I formed the words using Pig Latin.

I’ve gathered that she does speak English, because there are sometimes people hanging out talking to her. But for whatever reason, she’s decided she doesn’t want anything to do with me.

Bless her heart – that’s not the best approach to take with me. Because my response to that? Game On.

Fine line between a concierge and an animatronic chicken.

Case in point: Today, heading out for lunch, when I stepped off the elevator, she was in the middle of a huge yawn and we locked eyes. So as I walked by, I tapped her desk and said, “Late night?!” and winked at her. (No response, btw.)

Other days, I’ll make comments that are ludicrous – like whipping in from a downpour and commenting, “Been outside lately? It’s gorgeous!” without a trace of sarcasm.

And still: no response. I’m beginning to think she’s an Animatronic Concierge that our property management company leased from Chuck E. Cheese.

Each day I plan to get a bit more ridiculous in my attempts to engage her, just to see what will happen. In my mind, I’ve gone as far as to imagine walking in pantless and asking her if she can recommend a dry cleaner. Or bringing in a cat in a cat carrier filled with squirrels.

Because those are the places my mind goes. That’s normal, right?

I just can’t understand why she won’t be my friend.

 

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When applause means more than, “You didn’t kill us!”

20 Sep

It was kind of like this. But in a bigger plane.

I flew to LA yesterday for work, and I’m about to say something that (I’m sure) will jinx me: I. Had. The. Best. Flight. Ever.

Seriously? I hate flying. Really hate it. I’m pretty sure I’d feel that way just on the basis of how often I do it, but it doesn’t help that in a past walk of life, I was spoiled with First Class tickets and lear jets. Once you’ve seen what’s on the other side of the curtain, it’s kind of hard to go back. Especially when going back means being wedged between a screaming baby and an Arm Rest Hog.

When I fly coach, I’m usually just looking for a safe flight. As a control freak, I spend a fair amount of time concerned that the pilot is either tired or drunk, and that the mechanic was either rushed or frustrated with his employer when he gave our ride the once-over. Every bump of turbulence sends me speculating about how we’ll meet our fiery death. (Will I pass out from a lack of oxygen, or still be conscious when each organ bursts?)

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Jim Vance is my public speaking secret weapon.

8 Sep

I recently switched jobs at my company so I’m now developing and delivering training for our staff. As the daughter of two teachers and a microphone addict, it’s the perfect job for me.

Today was my first opportunity to deliver new training that I designed, in the form of an hour-long interactive call that was part lecture, part Q&A, part interview and part crazy. I had an audience of about 50 people and ample question prompts, so I was expecting it to be ROCKIN’.

Unfortunately, I’d forgotten about the odd dynamic that happens on group calls. Normally talkative people go quiet. Everyone chooses to mute their line. It’s like pulling teeth to get a simple, “No,” when you ask if anyone has a question.

More than once, I found myself calling, “Beuller? Beuller?”

I could understand the silence if I were a robot-like presenter. But I’d like to think I have contagious energy  a pulse and am hilarious a WEE BIT silly. And yet: crickets.

I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve facilitated large group calls for more than ten years and it’s always been the same.

When I was younger, I had an awful go-to joke. For whatever reason, whenever I would “share my screen” and allow people to view my computer, I’d feel compelled to make this crack:

Sure hope I remembered to close the porn!

Let’s just agree, while that can be funny, it’s probably not appropriate for work. Ever. And it only sounds creepier when it’s met with silence. As if people think I might surf porn. At work.

Maybe this is why mustaches are gross.

The only thing worse than that I can think of is the word porno. It’s about ten times worse than the word porn, for the same reason that mustaches are somehow inexplicably worse than goatees.

The good thing to come from today’s call was a reminder of why I haven’t yet worked up the nerve to hit Open Mike Night at the local comedy club. While some of my best dreams involve bringing down the house at the Improv, in reality, I think it might go a bit more like a conference call.

This made me realize: it’s always good to have some kind of secret weapon in your pocket. Something that people won’t be able to turn away from, that will weaken them and bring them to tears (preferably from laughter). Even if it has absolutely nothing to do with your presentation.

Once I had this revelation, I knew what my weapon would be: This clip of Jim Vance.

Please take a minute and watch it.

Just be sure you hit *6 first to mute your line.

Once you’ve closed out of any pornos you’re viewing, that is.
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My bucket list requires a helmet.

20 Aug

Thursday my colleague Rebecca and I flew to Melbourne for the day to meet with the team there. It was a mini-reunion of sorts, because one of the women there (the one who sent me the terrifying photo of the huge spider) worked on our Boston team when I was first hired. It was great to see her and get a mini-orientation of Melbourne.

We landed around 8am and hopped a cab into the city. The rush hour traffic was fierce, so although we were on the highway, it was all “hurry up and wait” with a lot of quick acceleration, followed by a jamming of the brakes. I was feeling a bit woozy from the flight (“Touch of turbulence, mate!”) and the cab ride wasn’t helping things.

To take my mind off how crappy I felt, I started telling Rebecca stories of random business travel experiences I’d had the US. In the middle of one of these stories, our cab (again) stopped. Then we heard a crunch, and were suddenly whipped forward. It took us a minute to process what had just happened.

Awesome! I’ve now been in car accidents on two continents. Check that off the bucket list!

It was a bit surreal. Our driver got out, went back and traded information with the driver who had hit us. (Apparently they only call the police if someone is injured or isn’t taking responsibility — much more civil.) It was all very matter of fact and calm — none of the American drama with people screaming, “What were you THINKING, you jackass?”

When our driver hopped back in the car, he said, simply, “People aren’t driving very properly today. What you gonna do?”

I love that. Goes right along with the “no worries” attitude that seems to be the national motto.

The rest of our drive was without incident, and when he deposited us downtown, I stood outside the car, waiting for Rebecca’s credit card to run. As soon as it had, she jumped out.

“Do you not tip cabbies?” I asked her.

She looked at me like I had five eyes. “Seriously?”

I nodded.

“No. And I think even if if I did routinely tip, I wouldn’t if they got me in an accident.”

I can see her logic. No wonder Americans are known for being tip-happy.

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If only Americans talked like this.

17 Aug

I love the way Aussies talk.

I’m here for work, so in addition to hanging out with our Australian team, I’ve been able to get out and meet a client or two, and sit in on an interview this week.

My second day in town I attended a visit with the Studio Manager of a large financial institution. He was an incredibly nice guy, who spent an hour helping us understand the organization structure and business challenges he faced. It was a great meeting, but I had to stifle giggles when the conversation shifted to industry trends.

Pre-Lick.

“We’re seeing a big push to move digital,” he said. “Going paperless and all that…”

The agent with me made a comment about how quickly the technology is evolving and the opportunities for mobile application development, and was met by affirmation from the client. His observation:

“Just the other day, I was on the train home and looked over and saw a wee little baby in a pram, licking an iPad.”

I love that. I can’t imagine that sentence ever surfacing during a client visit in the US. Sigh. I love the Aussies.

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