Ramblings from the Desert

The man who trades freedom for security does not deserve nor will he ever receive either. ~Benjamin Franklin

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Location: New Mexico

Author of the urban fantasy novel, The Music of Chaos, and the paranormal romance, The Canvas Thief.

Monday, December 19, 2005

MisManaging My Career

A few years ago, in a pointless job in a forgotten outpost of the Universe.

"State your career goals for the coming year. Provide justification for any training or other tools required for those goals." So sayeth the employee portion of the yearly performance evaluation.

"Justification," I mutter. "What the hell does that mean? 'Because the voices in my head say so?' Lawd, I hate this shit." I scribble something down:

*Goal: Win Powerball.
*Training/Tools: A raise to provide for purchase of Powerball tickets.

Supervisor is the archetypical middle-management beaurocrat or what I like to call "ex-football player gone to seed." What little muscle he had has turned to fat and his square all-American jaw is now obscured with jowly flesh. He's got a bit of a stoop due to all the time spent bent over and kissing upper-management's ass. "This isn't a goal," he says.

"Sure it is."

"A real goal."

I wander back to my cubicle and surf the web. After a few losing hands of Poker I realize the bastard is right. I suck at gambling.

*Goal:Win Powerball Empress of the Known Universe.
*Training/Tools: A raise to provide for purchase of Powerball tickets. "Lasers."

Back to Mr. Stupidvisor. His face fat jiggles like a bowl full of jelly. "You're not taking this seriously."

"What? Too limiting? Scratch 'Known' and make it all the Universe."

"A real goal, please."

"Define real. I mean, what is reality?"

"Something you can actually do."

"I can be Empress of the Universe. I'd totally rawk as Empress. There'd be hangings and beheadings and..." As I talk, I can almost see the tiny aneurysm that is building in his brain. It makes me all smiley 'n stuff.

Back to the cubicle. More surfing, this time on boring IT sites.

*Goal:Win Powerball Empress of the Known Universe. Learn SQL.
*Training/Tools: A raise to provide for purchase of Powerball tickets. "Lasers." Training, duh.

This time Mr. "What's that brown stuff on your face?" doesn't respond immediately. He twitches and the flesh on his face squirms like slugs on salt. "Well..." he says. "Okay, but..."

"But, what? I thought we were migrating to a SQL-based system." Emphasis on "migrate." IT type like to think they're real scientists, so they misappropriate words from the other sciences. Birds migrate and apparently, so too do systems.

"There isn't going to be much money for training." Read: Upper-management spent all the money attending faux-seminars in Hawaii. "So you'll need a strong justification for that."


Again I am surfing the web. This time exploring the news of the world:

*Goal:Win Powerball Empress of the Known Universe. Learn SQL. SUICIDE BOMBER
*Training/Tools: Training/Tools: A raise to provide for purchase of Powerball tickets. "Lasers." Training, duh. Dynamite and wires. Much.

Supervisor's beady eyes widen behind his cheek fat. "O-kay," he says, pudgy hands shaking. "If you could just sign this...we're all done here."

Who says terrorism doesn't work?



Graphics and Content Copyright © Patricia Kirby 2005