Gobbledygook

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

THIS IS NOT A WINE COOLER!


Working in Corporate America is akin to inhaling legal medicinal, which is to say: the higher I get the less I care.

In a corporate gig past, I was at times sent to a company to sit back and observe how things ran for a week or two, make my suggestions then things would be shaken up. I was one of several people in that position and everyone had their methods of getting it done. Some used pie charts, others conducted interviews, a couple used theories I never understood but for me, my decision on who stayed vs. who got fired all boiled down to this: either you watched Bugs Bunny growing up or you didn’t watch Bugs Bunny growing up.

A sample conversation would go thusly: “Remember that Bugs Bunny cartoon when he’s being chased by the red monster on the roof and later he’s doing his nails then puts the dynamite in his hair? No? Then why the hell do you work here?”

Kids in my era that grew up on Bugs Bunny, Yosemite Sam, and Wile E. Coyote for the most part are sane, rational adults.  We could watch the Road Runner blow up Wile E. Coyote with all sorts of Acme bombs, hit him with anvils, drop off a cliff and realize, “you know, that would hurt in real life. I wouldn’t do that.” Anyone that grew up after Hong Kong Fuey has to have disclaimers and large helmets with extra foam on the inside. I call these kids the Disclaimer Generation. These 20 and 30 year olds I manage are absolutely clueless. I find you can’t take anything for granted with them; everything has to be explained to the minutest detail.

Example #1: Dude at one of my buildings, 20something, stole a book of car vouchers. You know at night you work late and the company provides a car service. Ok. So he stole a book of vouchers for his personal use. The only thing is he used his real name and took all the cars back to his home address. When HR reviewed the files they commented that never has there been such a slam dunk, open and shut case for termination in the history of the 84 year company. No one that I’ve ever known that watched Courageous Cat and Minute Mouse has ever been that stupid. During his exit interview I had HR ask him what his favorite cartoon growing up was. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Of course it was.

I’ll tell you something else, Barney the Dinosaur would’ve been violated something awful if he came to the daycare I attended. That syrupy I love you, you love me stuff would’ve gotten him straight snuffed.

And then this happened: Cisco – it was like someone was in a basement lab and decided how to combine Kool Aid and crack. Finally!

“You mean you could have a refreshing beverage AND get high as hell? I’ll take two!”

But it wasn’t long after that Cisco had to put a warning label on their masterpiece. It seemed some youngens in their haste to get high started grabbing Cisco thinking it had the same effect as say, a Bartle and Jaymes wine cooler. Word? A Bartles and Jaymes? Those kids were the reason the good folks at the Cisco bottling company had to add the warning in large type on the side of their label: THIS IS NOT A WINE COOLER. Cisco was to Bartles and Jaymes what Prohibition moonshine was to water: not even close. That chick that passed out on Cisco and tried to sue because she said she thought it had the alcohol content of a wine cooler? Yeah, she was Power Rangers fan. Nobody I know that watched The Six Million Dollar Man ever made that mistake.

But back before Cisco had to advertise it was definitely NOT a wine cooler, Craig Springer had the best curse words I ever heard. I’ll never forget in the 8th grade standing outside JHS 101 when he called Jerome Chisolm a “son-of-an-asshole bitch” after Jerome crazy hot-necked him. Wait, you can be a son of an asshole AND a bitch? That right there was sheer…poetry. Even Jerome had to stop and laugh at that one. That right there is a pure classic and something I know a kid watching Yugio would never be able to fathom.

You hear every week now about some school being on lockdown, someone going into a movie theatre and indiscriminately shooting folks? That’s some new shit we didn’t do. If we had a problem with you personally, it was dealt with. In all recorded history, no one that ever watched the Jackson Five cartoon has ever a shot up a school. That’s some Rugrat, Hey Arnold generation b.s. right there.

Another irksome thing is they can’t even keep track of their lies. Like this is your fourth grandmother that’s died since I’ve been here. I would constantly find myself asking them "What did I ever do to give you the impression that I would ever believe that. Seriously?"

So I’ve developed a policy at work where, if you give me any excuse, it had better be an entertaining one. I don’t want to be “lied” to per se. I just would rather be entertained. I'll engage you if your excuse is other worldly, i.e. alien abductions, amputation...what I'm saying is: humor me. Make this day in hell worthwhile. I know you're lying, you know I know you’re lying. Show me your creative side. It's great now. Last week at work we had 2 alien abductions, one of my guys fell 380 feet - his estimation - down a manhole and one guy got nearly crushed to death when he fell down an elevator shaft. Now we're talking! When Joshua called off one Friday in late March because he had been tragically killed the night before, I have to admit, I got kind of emotional. I knew I was finally getting through to them, that there’s hope yet; that I’ve had a positive influence on their life.

Because, as my man Bugs once brilliantly observed “Don’t take life too seriously, you’ll never get out alive.”
 





Thursday, April 03, 2014

My Very Educated Mother Just Served Us Nine -


Pizzas are now off the menu.

When we were kids back in P.S. 72, Mrs. Vitti my 3rd grade teacher – who my mother still recalls would call the house with the opening “Mrs. Farrell? Mrs. Vitti,” before launching into a diatribe on my latest transgressions – taught us a way to remember the order of the nine planets in our solar system, Mercury through Pluto, with the following:

My Very Educated Mother Just Served Us Nine Pizzas.

But now Pluto – the “Pizzas” in our little mnemonic is no longer a planet as it’s been deemed a satellite. The subject of Pluto no longer being a planet somehow came up the last time I saw my childhood friend, Troy, about a month ago. Apparently with all the hustle and bustle of real life issues and news, the subject of Pluto’s demotion somehow eluded him. In our 40 plus year friendship, it had been my job to update him on such frivolities. He met me at my job in the city for lunch and since it had been a while since the last time we met, I ended up taking the rest of the day off. We caught up on family, old friends, talked sports and everything in between.

Just two old friends having drinks and enjoying a leisurely day on a Thursday afternoon.  

Who had it better than us?

Last week I received one of those calls. It doesn’t matter if it was 4AM or 4 in the afternoon; whether you’re at home or at work. You just never could be prepared for the news.

“That can’t be true,” I answered calmly. “Everyone just calm down. I’m going to call Troy, he’s going to pick up, call me by my middle name and all order would be restored to the world.”

But of course it doesn’t work that way.

As children, we had no frame of reference letting us know we were just poor project kids. Summers seemed endless. Who needed Little League or PAL? We organized ourselves in my block against your block battles whether it be baseball, basketball or football. If we didn’t have enough guys our block would team with Rick Malcolm’s or the Underwood’s block and play against the kids on Dewey, Sampson or Balcom Avenue until it was time to be opponents again. We played hardball and made bases out of cardboard.  If you didn’t have a glove you’d just take the person’s glove coming off the field. A couple of guys like Troy and Spank from around the corner actually had catcher’s equipment; somehow a first base glove got thrown into the mix. When it came to basketball you better come with a squad because if your team lost waiting for “next” took fooorreeevvver. We went to Yankees Stadium and got the $2 bleacher seats to cheer on Munson, Reggie, and Troy’s favorite player Dave Winfield. He even had Winfield’s ugly jersey from when he played for the Padres. We never missed a Bat Day. Being on punishment in those days was just that: punishment. We didn’t have PlayStation, Xbox or cable television to fall back on. Everything that was happening was happening outside.

We were free lunch enthusiast and snobs. One of us would take the week’s menu off the lunchroom wall and where we’d go was planned on what they were serving.

“The center is serving turkey franks today so let’s go to 72 for lunch cuz they have pizza. Then later we’ll go to Randall Avenue for snack. They’re having oatmeal cookies today!”

Dinners would be based on whose mom was cooking what. We’d find out during the day what our moms would be cooking and coincidentally wind up at each other’s home for dinner if our favorite was being made. Tim’s mom is making lentils? We’re at the Haigler’s. Troy’s mom is making lasagna? Waddyaknow, the boys are there! My mom is making chili with dumplings? No brainer. Then we’d be back outside trading baseball cards or playing something after dinner until one minute before we know we’d get on punishment and then do it all again the next day.

Who had it better than us?

In our teen years Troy found jobs and worked to accomplish his goals whether it was saving for a new car or just to have cash on hand. He got me my first corporate job. He was working as a clerk in a law firm – 2 blocks from where I work today – got a new job and recommended me for the position. Working with Troy the two weeks before he left, I was surprised at how he was exactly the same at work as he was at home. I mean exactly the same. He’d take off his shoes and put his feet on the desk, smelly socks be damned; he’d take a newspaper or ask a co-worker for reading material and announce he was going to the bathroom and they’d just laugh. The older women at the company loved him and treated him like a son, which didn’t surprise me in the least. Troy had been borrowing some of my ties so when he left and I started working there they’d say “Oh my God. You’re wearing Troy’s tie. That’s Troy’s tie!”

He was a hard act to follow. 

Being friends with Troy meant you had to share him, which wasn’t always easy. But he had this gregarious, outgoing personality and spirit that people were drawn to. Troy was not a saint – who would wanna be friends with a saint anyway? – but if you had a problem with Troy and didn’t like him, that was a YOU problem. You should be seen for that. He didn’t engage in negative conversation, spread rumors or relish in someone’s bad news or misfortune. If you got a promotion it was as if he did. When you had good news, he’d be there to toast to it.  I would often kid him that he was always campaigning, kissing babies to get votes. But his love for people was real. If you were on the phone with Troy for 10 minutes, your conversation would be interrupted five times. It could be someone saying hello to him along his bus route or a co-worker wanting to have a conversation when they spotted him in the bus depot or just anyone. It never failed. You’d listen to their conversation and they’d ask each other about their children, health, how their parents were and Troy would always end the conversation with his trademark laugh.

“Who was that?”

“That’s Marco the guy in the deli that makes my sandwiches.”

“Word? Did you kiss the baby?”

During the last time we were together, someone we grew up with recently died and we spoke of life and how unpredictable it is. Then he brought up a conversation we had when we were kids that I had totally forgotten about. Apparently I was about eight years old and was angry because my mother wasn’t able to get me a Rock ‘em Sock ‘em Robot set and had given me some lame reason like she needed to pay rent or buy groceries - you know, something unreasonable – and I made a vow that day that my kids would get everything we didn’t get. And it dawned on us as adults that that was an impossibility. Sure, we may be able to give them more trinkets and gadgets than our mothers gave us like $200 Jordan’s and PlayStations but how could they possibly have it better than we did? We had sports, we travelled at times, had our choice of free lunch spots, good parents, endless summers and great friends!

Who had it better than us?

Who was better than Troy?