So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, LATER!

July 25, 2008

CD is driving home, for the last time, from C0untryw1de.

For the three of you that may remember, he took that job in 2004 as a contractor. He was hired, not too long after, as the job grew. And grew.

Eventually, he was the IT department supporting like 12 branches and 600 people. Pretty much on his own. He eventually squawked, and they hired him someone to help.

OK, maybe I AM a little biased about my guy. But C0untryw1de agreed - some time back the very remote (like Mount Olympus kind of remote) executives took notice of the dozens of emails from people across the power spectrum about how wonderful CD was and the very dashing way his superhero cape rippled in the wind and informed him that he would be promoted in title and pay to reflect the job he was actually doing.

We all know what happened next.

Yeah. Nothing.

In the meantime, the mortgage pendulum swung and CD watched over 400 people get laid off. Watched them walk by his office on the ground floor, wide-eyed in disbelief and holding a box with their belongings.

While his status in the department shielded him from a layoff, it didn't shield him from what has been going on at that company. One bloody Monday morning, executives stood at the elevators and turned 90 people away as they came into work. CD came home utterly shattered in spirit.

So you can imagine how good it felt for him to finally be offered a job somewhere else that he wanted. After turning down other offers and wondering if his own standards would eventually bite him in the ass.

Anyway, he was graciously sent off by those who were left, today. He's driving home right now, his own cardboard box in the back of the car.

Oh, and the Olympians? Were outraged that he quit. In fact, despite 2 weeks notice, despite confirming it with phone calls, he ended up exiting himself. He called me as he was opening tickets so that his access would be removed and soberly handing over his equipment to his second-in-charge.

By the time he'd left, he was loaded down with hugs and calls and email addresses. But not one of his management so much as said goodbye.

No, I'm not kidding.

And then...

July 14, 2008

So, CD quit his job!

I'll tell you after he's served his notice where he worked - and you'll get right away why this place wasn't a happy place to work.

Wait, wait, don't tell me - you want to know if he got a new one first?

HE DID!!!!!!!!

After all these years, he found a job he wanted and the job wanted him right back. (Well, 5 months of interviews later. No, not kidding.) He starts in about two weeks, and if I were any happier or prouder? I'd frigging explode.

For those who are curious - he's an IT SR. ADMIN. The new job bumped his title, but he was already doing the work at soul-sucking job. His long-term dream is to be a robotics engineer, and he goes to school part time for it.

Oh, and one more thing - the new job, like the old one, has the hours he wanted - 6AM to 3PM. He likes being home in the afternoons to help homeschool, take classes himself, putter on the house, and throw the ball around.

Excuse me while I sorta float around for a while :)

Nursing in the Conference Room

August 22, 2007

A few weeks ago, I went to the BlogHer conference. Being in a male-dominated field like back-end IT, it was an eyeball-popping revelation to be around other corporate mothers.

First thing one of the reps from Yahoo asked me: "Where's the strangest place you've nursed?"

Their stories made me laugh at loud and nod with empathy.

Oh, sister. Sister.

Just having the covnersation made me want to bust out in some choreography from High School Musical.

I needed the conversation.

It was like being liberated from a tight corset I'd been wearing so long I'd forgotten I had it on.

When I went back to work, Bear was 5 months old and I was still nursing. Trying to, anyway, I never had a lot of milk.

I was immediately assigned to an office in Raleigh, North Carolina.

Not moved, assigned.

Which meant that on Monday mornings at 4AM, I would get up and quietly slip to the driveway. A car would take me to the airport, and I would be on the first plane out.

Home again on Thursday nights.

The first trip, I pushed my hospital-grade bright blue breast pump into my large laptop bag. With no room left for my laptop, I stuck that (wrapped in sweatpants) in my suitcase.

As I went through security, they pulled it out of the bag and inspected it down to its little plastic pores. I stood by, blushing.

By the time I got to my gate to wait for my flight, I was sore and leaking. I didn't know what to do or where to go, so I ducked into the big public bathroom. Found an outlet by the sinks and stuck the cups on my breasts under my blouse as subtly as I could (like a cow at a dairy) and stood, facing the wall, as the machine went 'WHOOSHA shug WOOSHA shug'.

With no way to keep the milk cold, and unprepared, I threw it out.

I was the last one on the plane, disheveled and jittery.

The temporary offices I was given didn't even have walls. Just a big room with desks. And there was no working outlet in the bathroom.

At a loss, I found one of the admins and confessed my problem. The only room with a door and an outlet was the conference room. She dutifully scheduled me in for half-hours throughout the days of that first week.

I would exit to a small crowd waiting each time, the bulky bag over my shoulder, and a small cooler over my arm.

The guys would look at me. I wouldn't look back.

At the end of the first week, I arrived home with two coffee thermoses filled with milk and a thousand unshed tears of frustration and embarrassment.

The next week, when I got to the airport, I marched into the American Airlines club and handed over my corporate credit card. 'Sign me up,' I said.

'We aren't paying for this,' my boss said over the phone. 'Policy is only Grade 7 or higher'.

'You're paying,' I informed him, something in my voice I'd never had before.

'Half,' he capitulated.

The manager of the club found me a private office and even reserved one at the North Carolina airport for my trip home. His understanding efficiency, once I was able to articulate what I needed, was fantastic.

But back on site, there just was no alternative. It was the conference room, or out in the open amongst a brigade of tan-panted Engineers and executives.

So it was the conference room. For over a month. Twice a day (I would go back to the hotel at lunchtime).

Everything I have been taught in the American Corporate culture of the technology field has taught me this: to break through the glass ceiling, women can never ask for any consideration or privilege that a man wouldn't ask for.

And as a new mother amongst so many child-free men or fathers of older-children, this standard was even more heavily applied.

If you want the luxury of having a new baby while navigating a career in the upward trajectory - then play it down, baby. Play it down.

But none of that tells you what to do when milk is leaking out of your breasts during a budget meeting. So I would just pop an Advil, discreetly head to the bathroom, trying to remember risks to the return on investment while stuffing toilet paper in my bra. Rinsing the wet spots on my blouse over the sink, and then sticking my chest under the air dryer.

It didn't make me smarter, stronger, or more hardened - in any way. All it made me, as I would slip back into the meeting (with my cell phone obvious in my hand, as though I'd just had to pop out for an emergency call), was a corporate mommy.

The Core (and unrelated pictures)

May 25, 2006

Mark Twain said that if you put all your eggs in one basket, then you better watch that basket.

So CD's job has suddenly gone from being someplace he goes every day to being an epicenter. It provides our insurance, our income, our current concept of future.

Which sucks, because his job? ... Sucks.

He works in IT at a financial company. Which means, first of all - he's not core.

Best career planning advice anyone can ever give you is this: If you want to move up, you need to be in the core.

That means, you need to be creating the product that your company is selling.

If you're in IT, then work for an IT Company. If you cook, work at a restaurant. If you're in marketing, work for a marketing firm.

If you're a nurse and you work in the health office of a high school, you may be very happy. But there's no "up" from there.

CD keeps the lights on for the IT infrastructure of a company that provides financial services. Which means that there is limited "up". There will be limited compensation. The technology will always be an afterthought that meets the needs of the company's production.

Which is a big reason we continue to look for something else for him - anywhere, as long as it would challenge him and support us.

And the reason why I get these phone calls now, to listen and support as he bangs his head (metaphorically) against the wall. 'Cuz, sure - it didn't matter much back in the day that he knew he could quit if he had to. Ha. Big changes, I'm telling you.

Meanwhile, we finally dumped all the pictures off the camera's flashcard...

Bear and the ceiling at Union Station during one of Bear and I's day trips into the city. One of the things I love about going anywhere with Bear is that it is never just a trip to Point A. There are trees to inspect and designs to study and ceilings with patterns to look up at.

Clearly, Bear has been having fun. I have no clue which Transformer this is, but it was in a series of MANY pictures. It scares me a little, that he lined up his toys and carefully took portraits of each and CD and I had NO CLUE.

OK, now this I remember. This was one of Bear's recent karate tournaments. No one believes me when I try to explain the level of chaos and cacophony.

The moment it gets warm, this boy runs out and starts dousing himself with the hose. You should SEE our water bill in the summer months. It is insane. Can someone explain to me the compulsion this child has with being wet?

The INFAMOUS FOX EARS. The bunny ones I tried to dye? Yeah, that was a disaster. But I let him tie-dye one of his shirts with "fox colors" and that turned out pretty good. His first tie-dye experience and my first in at least a decade. I mean, the backyard grass is now spotted but the shirt isn't bad. Bear loves it, which is most important I think.

Here are CD and Bear hanging out in front of the school after the show. I may be projecting, but even with our impending fall into utter poverty I really believe that, as a family, we're happier. Or it could be that this is the eye of the storm. Huh.

This is a battle cruiser of Bear's. You wouldn't believe how long it took me to figure that out, because the pictures on the card just after it...

... were of the U-Boat 505 that lives at Chicago's Museum of Science and Industry. Where we went the day after the thing at Bear's school. It is so incredibly huge on the outside and so incredibly tiny inside. And an amazing sight altogether, to turn the corner down a hallway and suddenly be looking down on an entire German submarine that was captured in the Atlantic over 60 years ago.

Three generations walking down the sidewalk as we left the museum. My mom, CD, and Bear far off in the lead.

And finally, some sculptures tucked along the side of the Museum, easy to miss unless you had a curious and bright redhead pointing them out.

Guilty

March 16, 2006

Once I got into management, headhunters started calling me. The odd job offers and requests to interview would come my way. Vendors I hired for my programs would usually make overtures to me. And because it is the smart thing to do, I would show interest up to a point and leave the doors open.

But there had never been anything serious that I would consider.

Except for a government consulting job that I wanted, offered about 3 years ago.

Based back on the East Coast, managing the kind of programs that really give my brain a thrill, working with some great people.

But, I would need to be vetted for Top Secret clearance for the job and in order to get Top Secret clearance you need first to be an American citizen and, if married, then married to an American citizen.

Aha.

I am married to a foreigner, you see. From the seditious country of Iceland. Ya, I know - they don't even have an army and their political agenda consists of codfish. But tell that to the fine people at the Department of Defense. Rules is rules.

So I convinced CD when the overture was first made to me to promise he would get dual citizenship (apply for American citizenship) if ever Iceland would allow it. And like a Muppets movie that will always have a happy ending, a few months later Iceland passed a law allowing dual citizenship.

Yesterday, in the flurry of final goodbye-ing and paperwork, I received a phone call from one of the guys who'd been part of that offer about 3 years ago. He warned me that I had no reasons left not to come over to the dark side - er, the government sector.

I agreed, but admitted that we hadn't finished dealing with CD's citizenship thing.

"It takes time," I sighed.

"Right-o. Then it is going to be on to the lie detector test. Are you Catholic?"

"No, Episcopalian. Why?"

"Guilt. It will trip you up."

"Are you kidding?"

"No."

I sat back and thought about it. Not that I am going to run out tomorrow and apply for this job, but it is a serious 'what if' in my back pocket.

Is there much in my life to feel guilty about? Oh, I suppose there is the regular amount. I have not always been kind, or scrupulously honest. There are lovers I have hurt. There are friends I have let down. I have turned my back on God more than once in frustration. I have used legal pads from work for my own personal grocery lists.

When I think of it objectively I know I meet criteria. There is a government tolerance for things and my experiments with life fall within them.

But lie detectors are decidedly not objective. They can not measure what you have done - they measure more how you feel about what you have done.

"Guilt?" I repeated.

"Yes," he said. "This is why many folks go through it twice."

I laughed nervously. The truth is that I would need that second chance, too, if it ever comes down to actually doing this thing.

Exhibit A: I am up at 5:30AM with a knot in my gut. I am about to apply for unemployment after 20 years of working hard. And I feel guilty, horribly guilty, about it.

Yeah.

Good news...

March 15, 2006

I wrestled with it for over a week. I wrote blog entries that I .....then erased. I wrote out lists of budget numbers and pro's and con's. I sat on the couch, staring at the wall.

Couldn't fight reality, though. CD hasn't been able to come up with the better/second job that was needed to support us without my income. And my little second gig (as a Blogger 4 Hire for the irrepresible and amazing Genuine) has been tottering on the edge of being cancelled.

It was time. To walk into this office and, regrettfully, pick up the phone. Mega had given me 30 days "unpaid sabbatical" before formally terminating me. They paid my benefits and everything for those 30 days, time for me to reconsider if I wanted to come back.

I was so confident that it would never happen, but I didn't say no to a month's free benefits.

But today, I swallowed crow (munch munch) and called them.

I didn't want to do it.

I left a message and my manager called back quickly. He sighed when I told him I was ready to report for duty.

"We've been told to make cuts," he replied. "So..."

And then he laid me off.

48 hours before my resignation was formally executed.

I'm not kidding.

I am crying with relief. Unemployment! I am eligible for unemployment!!!!

(Yes, I thanked him profusely.)

The end of now

February 10, 2006

Sitting at the edge of my chair.

Wondering why I have propelled myself in this way to this point. But it doesn't matter when I am looking in the rear-view mirror at a place where I have spent the last 7 or 8 years of my life.

I pulse with emotion and no reason.

I've taken to heart comments that I have talked too much of work lately, of this decision, of this very moment. Even as I pretend to laugh them off, I wince - just a bit. No one wants to hear, anymore. Ah. OK.

I understand.

My little moment is not much for me to have made all this sound and fury. Not special, or earth-shattering. No. Not much at all.

It is a good thing, for all my Hamlet-esque agonies.

And will lead to more good things, I believe.

And I had power over it. When the roads diverged, it was me who picked this path. There are no victims or losers here. We should be celebrating, I think. I should have thought of that. Planned something, maybe.

Never mind.

It is already this afternoon. Watching as the sky goes steel gray, again. Maybe snow, again. To replace what melted away.

I sit and rub my arms against the chill. Realize that I have already turned off the little radiator.

And I sift through a pile of business cards, crisp and new-smelling. Stroke my finger over the letters of my name and title.

Then, carefully, back in the box.

It is over.

Goodbye to the Army of the Tan Pants

February 09, 2006

As anyone knows, an army runs on its stomach - so I am loading up the van with my goodbye offering of lunch and driving downtown to the hive - the data center where most of them have officies.

After a last review of my project, there is a planned corporate announcement for employees of our division. An "All-Hands".

Every few years, Mega likes to lay off massive quantities of people or completely rearrange the organizations. To keep lean, you know. It has nothing to do with long-term profit or loss - Mega actually had a very successful quarter.

So most folks are figuring that this is what is about to happen again. I know one guy who has been laid off and rehired 4 times. I know another who has had the same job for 20 years under 10 different acronyms.

So it goes.

Whatever is said, we'll listen to it together. Gathered around a warm speakerphone with drippy pizza in our hands.

This corporation has some of the finest damn engineers and technicians on the planet. They make the whole planet go round, from cubbies and data center floors. They have been some of the best times I've had at Mega - duct tape solutions in the middle of the night from guys who make MacGyver look like a lightweight. It's been an honor to learn from them, to work from them, and so, for them, I will bring nothing but the best:

Sausage AND pepperoni. And diet Coke.

Thank you for making it so much easier to say goodbye

February 07, 2006

I received a “satisfaction survey” of my project today.

Guess who they sent it to?

My customer?

No.

My other customer?

No.

Guess who.

You know it was over 6 months ago that my customer’s manager (and one over to the left) started his vendetta and asked that I be replaced. At the time, we were painted as junior executives in a squabble, which made me feel one part outraged and one part "yeah, that's how it goes." I put my head down and kept working to my professional best.

And because the guy was outside my chain, I had no contact with him at all. Which was good, in some ways. On the other hand, it meant there was no chance to redeem or grow the relationship.

But THIS was the guy they sent the survey to.

On paper, the project I was managing was strong - the scope was clear, the budget was met, the work was being managed, that status went out each week, the schedule was within parameters, and I escalated appropriately.

And so, he graded most of the “objective criteria” at the minimum acceptable levels.

You know, for months now I have had the pleasure *cough* of hearing back through my comrades that this guy really didn't give a damn about the actual work. Whenever I was mentioned, he would cast whatever the news was in the worst light. Every good thing was diminished as "probably owing to someone else's effort".

He never said anything to me – we haven’t spoken 2 words in… well, since this happened. But his comments went permanently in my file. I was chastised for his low opinion. And for a while, I tried to learn from what was going on.

But when my lawful family leave to tend to Bear was denounced as me being a "poor team player", I realized I was stuck in what we call, in the corporate world, "a train wreck".

My mentors shouted "run" - to make an internal transfer as soon as I could.

But I chose to make this my last stand at Mega. To use it as my wedge to finally move on....

W. Clement Stone said “So many fail because they don't get started; they don't go. They don't overcome inertia. They don't begin.”

I’ve finally begun. I should be excited.

This shouldn’t bother me, 48 hours before goodbye.

*sigh*

But it does. It does.

Just as I grow weepy (again!) receiving more emails from people about how much they will miss working with me and yada yada yada.

That’s how come I am just a wee bit pissed instead of dismissive that this dumbass just couldn't walk away gracefully. Couldn't say thank you for a job - if not done well enough for him, done. He had to fill in the comments block with the same vitriol he’s been spouting – and for the first time, it is actually sent to me. He called me "high maintenance" and "not well suited to working in a collaborative team environment".

My emotions - all of them - are very close to the surface these days. But once I had 5 seconds to cool down, you know what I thought? Really?

Thank you for making it so much easier to say goodbye

But there my generosity ends.

I have been with Mega for a long time. And I have made many, many mistakes. Made some people angry. And just downright embarrassed myself on some occasions.

But each year, I gained in responsibility. I was graded among the best. I was rewarded financially for my contribution. And I had the mentoring and feedback of professional, honest men and women who have helped me craft my performance and my profession.

So it took no small doing to make me question my career, my corporation, and my own skills. It took a vendetta, which wasted hours of time and misdirected resources. It took a meanness of spirit and a short-sightedness that has, ultimately, robbed my company of a good employee and robbed my project of the full measure of its success.

So.

Dear manager,

And be sure, VERY sure that I sit in the tall grass for you. And it will be my honor, if the opportunity ever arises, to serve you up to karma.

For this I owe you: here comes other reckonings.

February 01, 2006

I fight tears. I knew I was a sentimental fool but I find myself drowning in it. I know the kind words & actions of my coworkers are polite, generous tokens but my emotions have rough edges and push away my logic, the cool professionalism I have cultivated for so long.

"They are just being nice to me because I'm leaving" I remind myself. No good. I'm weepy and mushy and it's all I can do to keep a brave face on.

I am facing the end of the familiarity of my compatriots in the trenches. Of the echoes of their voices in teleconferences, the quick words and odd chuckle echoing over my speakerphone.

I know that the relationships aren’t real in the sense of my tangible life. When it comes time to move, it’s not like these men and women would trade their tan pants for ripped jeans and a strong shoulder against our belongings. I know that my son is just a notion to them as their children and wives and partners and friends and dogs and cats are all just ideas to me.

For all our years together, we could pass each other in an airport without a wave, without a nod.

And so much of the past year has been bad. Just cruel and crazy and nothing any sane person would want to hang onto. I tell myself that this is so healthy, to walk away before I spend one more week in such a place that can be so dark.

The truth of this job is clear.

Yet I'm fighting back tears.

As the goodbyes begin to accumulate. As the instant messages ring onto my screen. "How many more days?" they ask. "Got the short-timer's disease yet?" The phone rings... "Do you have plans?”

“Have you decided what you are going to do that first Monday?"

"Stay just one more week, then you can get paid for President's Day!"

And in meetings, I find my work being snatched away. Gestures of understanding and affection that mist me up. "Elizabeth, I have this - I will get the IP addresses from Security..." "Elizabeth, I will deal with gruff President, don't worry..." "Elizabeth, you’re doing so much tying up loose ends, what can I do to..."

And I hit the Mute button, and huff out breath and take a moment.

I have affectionately called the engineers I work with the Tan Pants Brigade. As tens and tens of millions of dollars of equipment has passed through my projects - these are the people who have done the actual work. From the architecture to the delivery, installation, and production certification, I've grown to respect them and trust them.

I will miss them.

Maybe they aren’t real. In my virtual job maybe most of them are just faces from my infrequent trips or voices that drift into my ear during endless teleconferences. Yeah, ok.

But I will miss them.

"Elizabeth," says the Director as I call to close down one of the last action items. "There will be no replacing you. I hope you know that."

"There's no such thing as an irreplacable resource," I parrot, which is part of Mega's standard philosophy.

"True," he laughs. "But there is in life. Take care of yourself, and of that amazing Bear of yours. We're pulling for you."

And I finally let the tears fall as I hang up the phone. I thought this choice would be easier, because it was what I wanted for so long. But it is turning out to be one of the most difficult months of my life.

I pick up Bear's picture and hold it to my heart and think about all the people I don't know - and will miss so damn much.

And I squeeze my eyes shut and cry.

extra credit if you can identify the title without Googling:)

I'm going to save the world. And get in a nap.

January 20, 2006

I have been in a fugue state for weeks, and the quality of my writing has suffered, I know. The quality of my life has suffered. I hang on, a day at a time. And look forward to my life without Mega.

What's it like to be a SAHM? I remember, from being home with Bear until he was 6 months old, being utterly exhausted all the time.

Does it stay that way, now that he's walking and talking?

Bitches. Of The Corporate Variety.

January 17, 2006

Warning: This is a post where I am going to swear, so stop now if it offends you. Or not. Whatever. I'm not here to tell you what to do - I got my own shit to worry about.

Yesterday sucked.

It started with a phone call from one of my co-workers.

I'm going to say right now that I am not a sexist, I don't give a hot shit the gender of the people I work with - or the shape, size, color, sexual orientation, religion, or level of sarcasm.

I even understand that sometimes smart people choose to go to non-Jesuit Universities for their education and while that baffles the crap out of me I don't discriminate against them because they obviously didn't know better.

So when I call this woman a bitch, please understand that it is because she is a bitch. She'll talk to you like she's buttering you up for something but watch out, because the moment you look away - she'll get you. She's nasty.

She's like the scorpion who's ferried by the frog across the lake and kills the frog halfway there - dooming them both. This woman finds trouble because that's what she does. There is no reason for it, no rhyme to it.

And she never lets up.

Someone who is dotted-line reporting to me, but not a member of my beloved Tan Pants Brigade, did something. Something dumb (you know, like realizing your fly is down?), but human, and our customer wasn't effected.

Bitch was the one who saw it happen.

She could have handled it 1 of 2 ways - she could have leaned in and whispered to the guy "Hey, your fly is down".

OR she could have done what she did, which was to call a meeting of everyone that would come to discuss the possible sexual harassment implications of the guy's fly being down and the possible insult it could have meant to our customer.

This is the kind of politics I abhor. And the kind of human beings that exist everywhere and give the rest of us a bad name.

I hardly know the guy who made the mistake. For all I know, he's a dog molester. But he's mine to deal with. My guy. So I had to head into the breach.

Cancel the meeting, I told her.

Why? She asked, all sweet and patronizing.

Because it was a dumb one-time mistake, and no one will learn anything from discussing it except that we're the types who get caught up in the small shit instead of keeping our eye on the big picture, I said.

The customer is counting on me to be honest with them. That is the most important relationship here, she insisted.

The guy's fly was down, you think that is something the customer considers important? They never saw it and it didn't have a flipping thing to do with his job performance, I countered.

I decide what's important for the customer, she snapped, hanging up on me.

A few hours later, I get a call from the guy's solid-line supervisor telling me that he was disappointed to hear that I reported this employee for having a fly at half-mast.

Fuck. No.

I clearly, succinctly laid out the situation. And, of course, he asked me to do what I could to resolve things.

Sighing, I hung up and tried to plan my next move.

No matter what path I had walked the past 5 years - I would have bumped into a few Bitches over the years. If not in corporate America then as a room parent at Bear's school or answering the phones at the community center.

But the corporate variety? Gives me hives.

This is not Schadenfreude - that kind of 'told you so!' thrill we all get sometimes.

This is just power-crazed Nasty with a capital 'N'. Bitches who think nothing of what they do to a person's dignity, or their own souls. Who lie, manipulate, and maneuver just to get the momentary sick thrill of making themselves feel all pompous and big by making someone else small.

I just, I dunno....

But.

No, I still don't know.

I hate dealing with them.

Hate it. Hate it. It just gets to me. Every time.

Then the bitch called me after lunch, wanting to talk to me about something. "Have you canceled the meeting yet?" I asked her.

She spluttered that she had no intention of...

"Right," I interrupted. "Here's the thing..." And I admit, from there I made some veiled threats about the opinion our Exec. VP would have on the situation.

"You wouldn't take this up the line," she responded, sounding pretty sure of the fact.

"Your call," I sighed. "I'm hanging up now."

And I did.

I don't know if I would have actually walked this around; I just had to hope she saw that there would be no winners if I did.

A few hours later, I got the meeting cancellation notice. I was shutting down for the night, exhausted, and it slipped into my inbox. "Due to schedule conflicts, we'll address agenda items in the regular weekly customer reviews."

Doubletalk that meant she was letting it go. I felt a small wave of relief and then moved on.

Or tried to.

An instant message flashed onto my screen. From her. "Have informed guy's direct-report supervisor that he's no longer welcome on this project due to customer dissatisfaction. This account released him at Close of Business today."

It wasn't hers to have done it. It was mine. But she was having the last word. As the customer relations rep, she was flexing every ounce of inferred power. Posing for the adoring masses in her mind.

If his supervisor couldn't find another account for him to work with no notice, he'd probably be laid off. His salary and benefits gone. Even best case scenario, the guy's career, at the very least, would take a small hit.

I could have gone to the mattresses. I might even have won. But there's another 50 guys out there counting on me to fight another day.

Feeling tired and defeated, I simply shut it down for the night.

Bitch.

Stiff Upper Something

January 10, 2006

I spoke with my management today. I got out the indelible, permanent ink, big, honking marker and I said - time to fix an end date.

We used to be so friendly, you know. We used to chat. But the last 6 months has marked me, subtly. I am no longer the Golden One.

She exhaled, and agreed. She asked if I was going to stick it out.

The end date originally chosen was the big milestone for my project - the 3rd week of January. But then a bunch of people saw the new casino we were building and wanted in on the deal. (Yes, euphemism. It's actually an Ice Cream shop. Ah! I'm lying again! Stop me!!!)

The Army of the Tan Pants is counting on me, so I knew before she asked what I was going to do.

I'm staying until the new customers are integrated, and the initial inspection date, I told her. But no longer. You'll have to find a new deputy to shadow me and handle the inevitible delays and corrections.

But you'll stay until the initial inspection date? She asked.

And I said, yes. I will.

And we got the paperwork from Human Resources and filled in the date - February 10.

And despite the fact that I just floored the car heading towards financial ruin...
I can breathe.

And it feels fine.

Waiting to Exhale

January 04, 2006

I have never felt like this before in my life.

Years ago, I got on a plane for England. I had no plan. No idea what was coming next. Just a lifelong dream to walk along the streets of somewhere else, sunk deep in history and, maybe, the future too.

But even then, I felt grounded in myself. I knew God was close. In each new day, in the kiss of a stranger or in the breeze over the ruins of a castle. There was a sense that I was chasing my destiny and from that, everything was going to be all right.

Ambiguity and uncertainty are unsettling bedmates, but my internal compass kept me going.

Everything was going to be all right.

I don't know that anymore. I don't know that Bear's challenges are going to be met and conquered. I don't know that I will fall back in love with my husband. I don't know if he can support us, when all the evidence tells me different. I don't know that I should quit. I know my son needs me. But I don't know how. Damn it, I don't know everything. I don't know anything.

I don't know.

All my life, I have built up my confidence. Brick by brick. By faith. By love. By strength when I didn't know I had any. Until I was accused of suffering of an overabundance of it.

But now, now I am deflated and sad and scared.

I don't know.

I was talking with my manager today, and I just said bluntly look - the deadline on this next milestone is being moved back and while it seems reasonable - hey, I just want out of here.

Yeah, he said. Yeah, he understood.

These past 6 months have shattered more than my career. This series of bad bosses and bad assignments have shattered me. Until I want to claw at my own insides, trying to shake myself awake because this feels like a long, dim sleep.

I got on a plane with no money once, no idea, but sure I was headed towards my life.

I walk into the doors of my home now, and I can't find my life anywhere.

I think I've made a decision, but I don't know if it is the right one. I want to be Bear's mother, to help him and parent him and love him - instead, I feel his small arm around me. His eyes grow quiet.

Hey Bear, I say - don't you worry about all this. I'm the mommy, it's my job to make this all right.

You're the mommy, he says. And we're a family.

And I hold him, and cry, and try not to. Because he's so little and this is nothing he should feel responsible for. He deserves better, but I don't know how to give it to him. I've been doing it all, which means I've been doing it all badly - because even though he thinks I am - I'm not a superhero.

And I want to stroke his hair and promise, that everything is going to be all right.

Tell me that you want the kind of thing that money just can't buy

December 14, 2005

2 point bonus if you can name the song that the title lyric is from - and no fair Googling.

We've been scrambling, in the few free moments we find, to figure out how we can lose my income and survive. We've counted up the months we can get by on our savings. But the long-term dilemma is clear - if we can't find a way to augment CD's salary, then we can not afford Happy Montessori and all their programs for Bear. In fact, we'll probably have to sell the house.

We know we're not the only family facing the holidays unsure of what comes next. I look over at CD and know that at least we have each other, we have Bear, we have the things money can't buy.

Tonight I am thinking about all the people in world for whom it never gets easier. And for those without the luxury of the choices we have.

Our home is full of prayers, sparkling like snow. Drifting upwards, into the sky. And carried on hope.

I Will Survive

December 12, 2005

There are changes coming. Soon. I will be dropping the semi-anonymous shroud.

I am not very good at being semi-anonymous, anyway.

Please be patient with me.

Tonight was difficult. I can not say more about what happened yet.

But I can repeat the great advice my lawyer gave me in prep for the meeting:

He said: "Elizabeth, many of the people on this planet live in societies where they know that anytime they step into court, the verdict has already been decided. They know that truth will not get in the way of it, either. Remember when you go into this meeting, that the decision has already been made. There is nothing you can say that will challenge it or alter its course. You're a fighter, you'll want to get in there and prove yourself. You can't, And it will only hurt you to try. Maintain your composure. Agree to nothing. Make no comments. Acknowledge you have heard them when they force a response. And do no more."

And so it went. My trusty mute button earning its pay. It felt like surrender at first, and, yeah, my outrage still simmers.

CD sat beside me, in the pretty office he built me, and rubbed my back. And afterwards, when I cried, held me close.

I will survive. That's all I know for sure right now.

P.S. - I think I have the comments working again. Fingers crossed. Amazing what I have learned to do in Notepad on my off hours....

Letter to X

October 19, 2005

One of the women who's looked to me as a mentor (yeah, I tried to warn her off and send her to someone more savvy but she stuck) was talking with me yesterday morning. She's going offshore for a few months, so it was probably our last talk for a while. She asked me for advice about a bunch of things, and it was too much for me. So I said I would send her an email.

Here it is.

Dear X,

The first piece of advice I ever give anyone is to believe in yourself. The corporate world will use you up and spit you out if you let it, and if you need to look outside yourself for approval then you will most certainly let it. Self-confidence will save your soul, and it is also the fastest path between you and the executive washroom.

If you don't have it? If a day is grey and you feel made of spun glass? Then fake it. Trust me on this one.

Never let anyone give you responsibility without the power to make it happen.

Your bosses may say - "Hey, build me a new bridge across the Hudson" and you feel so good at being given the opportunity that you shout "yes!". Now you're screwed because you've got a bright red pail, a shovel shaped like a mermaid, and a bag of popsicle sticks and a river to cross. Of course you'll fail, there's no way to win, and that failure will follow you.

Be smarter than that.

And on those occcasions when, despite demanding every good thing to succeed, you do fail (and it will happen), make sure that you left it all on the field. That you did your best. And then stand straight and own the mistake; let 'em know that the buck stops with you. And don't make excuses. Know the lessons the mistake taught you. Be able to explain what went wrong.

Remember as you climb up the ladder to remain what you already are - someone others can look up to.

The most powerful words in your arsenal are "Yes" and "No", so be sure you mean them before you say them and use them both sparingly. If you are not sure of something, then do not answer for sure. Qualify your answer.

For example: When a data center is wiped out by a hurricane and the Executives want to know if their payroll information can be restored immediately, you may want to say No. Because it looks impossible.

Do NOT say No.

Say "It looks impossible. It will take a helicopter rental, a qualified pilot, a kamikaze tech to ride along, some sled dogs, and a case of bottle water. But if we can get all that, I have a snorkel in my closet and I would be glad to ride along."

THAT is truth to power.

And speaking of the folks in power, remember that everyone you meet as you go up the food chain is there because they want to be, because they worked hard and long to be there. No magic bullet. No fairy godmother. And for the glamorous bits, like the travel and the input into the major decisions there is also the dark side. Like the time I had to lay off 40 people one Thanksgiving. There is no easy shortcut to the chair at the big table, and once you get there you will find it is still just a job. There are no villains, no heroes - just employees.

So keep it in perspective. Make sure there is life in your life. That you are whole and happy away from your desk.

And X, this is the most important piece of advice I can give you. Shamefully, I am going to crib from Polonius; To thine own self be true.

No matter what the corporate culture, or any examples around you, you stay honest to your humanity.

Respect yourself and your limits. Respect the people around you. Be kind. Laugh. Reach into your own pocket and buy the guys a dozen donuts once in a while. Never use whatever clout you have just because you can (not that you would, but we all get tested sometimes...) Protect those who help you along the way. Remember names. Ask questions. Listen to the answers. Challenge the information people give you until you are comfortable with it. Don't do anything that feels wrong inside.

Because there is no promotion high enough, no salary large enough, no perk cool enough that it is worth sacrificing your ability to look yourself in the mirror and like who you see.

Good luck.

The Alamo

October 06, 2005

My stomach turned sour as I picked up the phone. The hatchetman answered after one ring.

He asked about my son, as though he cared. He made a little smalltalk like we were friends. I swallowed back the bile.

The dust on my desk lays thick and I swirled my finger through it. Whenever he said anything that sounded like real words , I would grab my pen - the inkgel one that glides with thick black ink - and jot it down. "I don't want to put words in anyone's mouth," he said. "But I can speculate..."

I folded my paper, and carefully drew lines under each of his sounds bites as I captured them.

"Some stakeholders have voiced their feelings..." he said. I dutifully nodded, although he couldn't see me 1000 miles away. "Project needs to be successful..." he reminded me. I nodded again. I continued writing.

"The project is green," I reminded him. "So what is the problem?"

"No problem, we just want to accomodate the customer's concerns. Bring in a little management support over you. Someone to help direct your efforts. Provide you some cover..."

"Demote me," I translated. I have directed projects totalling nearly $100Million over the last few years. I can translate corporate doublespeak perfectly.

"No, not officially," he carefully responded. "In fact, this kind of flexibility is important in our assessments of ...."

We both knew he was lying.

But I nodded, and wrote it all down.

He never asked me my opinion. Hatchetmen don't. He talked right around me. He counseled me to go with the flow, and not push it. He whipped me with words and then offered a little carrot that somehow this would end up being great for me.

I nodded to myself, and breathed little, shallow puffs.

Inside I knew that I could turn this all around, and end up stronger than before. I've done it in the past. Bumps in the road? Oh, I've been a steamroller, baby.

Pushing my way to the executive washroom, a seat at the even bigger table...

No. Wait. Not this time.

He told me that my misunderstanding would not reflect badly on me. That he was counting on me, now that I was no longer distracted by my family, to put aside my bias and work closely for the guy who stalked me while I was on leave.

It hurt, and I winced, and twisted, and wanted to strike back at his clipped, cold pomposity.

He was so aggravating that I wanted to pound the phone on my dusty desk and roar. Uncoil the wave of emotions and logic and outrage inside me. Shake him with my strength and confidence.

But I didn't.

In the deep dark of the night, under a taupe blanket with my husband, the strategy had been mapped. I reminded myself of the long plan. Of the leap of faith I had decided to make.

My hand shaking, I put down my pen.

No. This is my Alamo, I reminded myself.

He told me that this was a temporary gesture, meant to build success for everyone.

Temporary? Ha! Little did the hatchetman know.

This is the last stand of my corporate life.

I see it coming, and know how it will end.

Status Review Process

June 17, 2005

Plaid Jammies? check!
Fan blasting? check!
Cell phone OFF? check!
Logged out of all instant messengers? check!
Dunkin Donut's decaf? check! *wait, um, it's almost empty. dang.*
ACDC's "Back in Black" LOUD enough to shake my keyboard? check! I said CHECK!!

Will 1200 rows of data be audited and updated in preparation for review by executives in 45 minutes?

You bet yer sweet patootie.

The Chocolate Bar Caper

May 23, 2005

OK, I'm going to call one of my current projects Operation Chocolate Bars.

I'm doing it in addition to my regular day job because its a pet project of my Exec VP. Operation Chocolate Bars is like a high-profile charity gig for the company. And? A pain in the ass.

Right now, I've got to refit a Chocolate Bar Factory to manufacture these special Chocolate Bars to be sold.

Last week, I headed into Chicago to tour the factory and sit down with the guys. The agenda was to drill down on the plan I'd drawn up, review the budget, and hash out where the risks were against the schedule.

I brought with me the Marshmallow Guys. It had been decided, on high, that the Chcolate Bars would be filled with flavored Marshmallow.

The Marshmallow Company, elitists but in a good way, would be actually setting up a piece of the assembly line to their own special specifications and staffing it themselves. This was to protect the secret recipe of their Marshmallow Fluff and ensure their excruciating standards of quality.

So we all got into the conference room; a group of us that included the Plant Manager of the facility and two of his minions, the Kitchen Manager, myself, and the three preppy guys from the Marshmallow Company.

We all sat down. They looked at me; I looked at them. The Marshmallow Guys started handing out business cards and introducing themselves and we all went around shaking hands.

And sat down again.

Then the Plant Manager took a deep breath, looked at me, and said, "Elizabeth. Explain to me why we are using Marshamallow."

I gave him a look that clearly telegraphed that a Plant Manager has about zero input on the ingredients.

The Plant Manager sighed again, leaned back in his char, and said sadly; "We have a problem. This factory was originally designed for peanut butter filling. My guys, they've worked with peanut butter. It is a much better filling choice than Marshmallow. I must insist that we use peanut butter."

The Kitchen Manager exploded, and said that the Plant Manager's job was to make chocolate bars to specifications. That it was outrageous that the Plant Manager would be so inappropriate.

One of Plant Manager's minions started badmouthing the Marshmallow Company in a mutter.

Oh yeah, then the Marshmallow Guys brought it.

Since I don't know how to wolf whistle, I just slapped the table. I asked Plant Manager if he was refusing to implement Marshmallow. He said he wanted an executive order, because he felt that peanut butter was the better choice. Then he walked out.

Meeting sandbagged, hijacked, and adjourned.

It took me 3 hours to get out of the building to my car. I was pulled into hallway corner after hallway corner by folks with a deeply felt need to express their STRONG opinions. I nodded so much that I'd become a human bobble-head.

Pulling on my headset as I finally began swimming upstream against Chicago traffic, I called the Plant Manager's manager. Who went through the 7 stages of grief in about 15 minutes. He couldn't believe his guy had headed off the reservation at supersonic speed. That he'd been such a pain in the ass, especially in a vendor meeting.

PMM: Elizabeth, my guess is that he's very concerned for his guys. They're all highly trained peanut butter technicians.

Me(groaning in frustration): We'll cross-train them in Marshmallow. It will expand their skill sets.

PMM: This was a disconnect between me and him, I was on vacation when the Marshmallow decision was finalized. I'll fix this, Elizabeth. Give me the day.

We hung up and a few minutes later my cell rung. It was the Vice President of Chocolate Affairs, who'd spoken with the PMM. He was forwarding me the Decision Memo that confirmed the Marshmallow Company as the vendor choice.

Another couple of minutes and the Director of North American Chocolate Production Factories called me, confirming Marshmallow and assuring me that the "local resistance" would be promptly resolved.

Then the Director of Recipes called me to say that Peanut Butter is not evil and it shouldn't be maligned. I told him that at no point had anyone bad-mouthed any other filling products. That the closest we'd come was to say that Peanut Butter had the market cornered and it was nice to be doing something different.

For the next two days it was a tempest in a Venti cup.

Last night, I got a message in my voice mail. Informing me that the peanut butter decision is being revisited.

You know, when I was growing up, my father sometimes worked from our home office. I can remember listening to the rumble of his voice through the door. The briefcase he carried, full of Very Important Documents that we were Not Allowed to Touch. I used to wonder what it would be like, to be "in the room" and having such serious discussions and making such hard decisions.

Well, now I know.

And I'm here to say: Dorothy? Head back! Oz is really run by lunatics and it's just a regular guy pulling all those levers!

*Thus pauseth the insanity. I'm taking a sick day.*

Never Again

April 22, 2005

We have a new travel agency that we're using and they booked me on a teeny-tiny baby jet for my ride home. 90 minutes on a swirling, rising, dropping, teacup ride from hell. I'm still nauseaus.

But I'm home.

How was the trip?

March 24, 2005

Let's start with a recap of the outfit: black silk pants that swung when I walked, high-heeled black pumps, deep periwinkle silk sweater, and a black silk blazer that, I kid you not, looked nice but was maybe not worth the price equivalent to a month's rent in my last apartment.

I don't know what color my hair was, because I dyed it a couple of times this week. But the cut was sharp. Furthermore, I had BOTH my eyebrows - a huge improvement over my last 3 meetings, when I over-groomed in a fit of anxiety (my poor left eyebrow).

And I went lo-accessory. Just earrings and my "smart" glasses, the ones with the tortoise-shell rims that make me look like a naughty schoolteacher.

Normally, I don't talk fashion. I leave that to Kalisah (for good reason). But stick with me, I have a point.

I was late. I called and said I would be, because I was juggling other teleconferences.

Which was fine because things were delayed due to lack of a conference room.

We finally got settled, about a dozen of us. A whole bunch of engineers in khaki's and polo shirts and then myself and the two Directors in pseudo-suits (You know, it's "casual" if you just leave off the tie).

So we spent the morning with a guy droning on about spreadsheets. This is the program budget. This is the budget on Metamucil. This is the impossible situation we are left with. I was cast in the position of class clown, in that I had a handful of comments that could have been brutal but I couched them in humor.

Then we went to lunch. This big cafeteria place. The two directors gave me a ride over, and I sat with them (discovering later that the rest of the team all sat together by pushing together a few tables).

Director A was trying to convince Director B that B should take over so A could move to a different assignment.

I tried to talk about other things, like deadlines and organizational structure and the customer expectations. They shut me down and talked about places they've lived and where they are retiring to and how A wants off and how B kept saying no dice.

I was eating a Reuben sandwich with a knife and fork, because the thing was so big it spewed sauce every time I tried to bite it.

The afternoon was more of the same. I was beginning to feel like comic relief, because the team kept asking my opinion and I think it was just in desperation I would break up the monotony of the never-ending 78 Excel spreadsheets with something funny or acerbic.

Finally, the Droning Guy got to my area of expertise. He started saying that lots of money was going to be found using a new piece of WonderSoftware (WS) in a certain way.

"No, it's not," I said.

"And you know that because..."

"Because I just spent the last year implementing WS."

"At which account?"

"All of them."

So the guy went to his archives and pulled up a presentation on WS, because he was the kind of guy who had to prove everything. And sure enough, there was my name on the first slide at the top of the org chart.

"Oh," he said.

"Leave that up," I told him. I moved to the front of the room and walked through some of the slides, explaining that WS could help us find some savings, if we approached it thus and so.

By the time I sat down, I wasn't comic relief anymore. Thank heavens.

As we broke up, Director B asked me how I'd gotten the WS gig. "Really," he asked. "Great program."

So we finally had a real conversation. Then most everyone drifted away, but not before I handed out all my business cards and negotiated my stay in St Louis down from the whole summer to 4 weeks.

A couple of the engineers stuck with me, asking questions, as I slung my briefcase over my shoulder and walked to the exit. There was the mini van, waiting. Door opened, my son waving to me.

"Oh," said the first engineer. "Is that your family?"

"That's my life, " I corrected him. (I used to think to be successful, I had to deny that anything else in my life was as important as my career. Now I know better. Success has absolutely nothing to do with my career and everything to do with my life. )

As we drove to meet friends for dinner, I asked about CD and Bear's adventures exploring the city. Bear was very excited to tell me about something called the Monster Truck and about the science center and the hotel (Bear: I like that house!).

Then we talked about my day. After all that sound and fury.

I was like, meh. If I'd ended up with the director gig, I'd be knee-deep in the craps but the assignment I've negotiated, not so much. In fact, it's a half-step down for me in terms of difficulty and responsibility.

So CD and I talked about what we'll do now, and how long I could handle it if it converted to a work-from-home position (which I think I can pull off). I'm not excited, I'm not nervous. I'm .... nothing.

Yeah, after all that. I mean, I still want to quit. But otherwise?

Which is why I had to talk about the outfit? Because the outfit? Fantastic.

They still shoot messengers, don't they? (A story about Oprah Winfrey and me)

February 25, 2005

A little more than 10 years ago, I had quit my chaplaincy and I needed to make some money. So I signed up at every temp agency in town.

The first one sent me to basically do some electronic filing at the Chanel Store on Michigan Avenue. $7 an hour, I think.

I showed up in my vintage thrift store suit and my Hair Cuttery 'do and they quickly shoved me into the back room.

I was taught how to answer the phone and take messages and make coffee and where to hang up the lovely fur coats of their customers.

In between all that, they showed me the f*cked up computer they were using. That thing was as messed up as it could be and I started my actual assignment - organizing all their data and making back-ups.

At one point, they had me fetch a coat. "Hurry!" the woman snapped at me. "It's for OPRAH WINFREY!"

So I scurried, and the moment I got to the door that opened to the sales floor, the woman ripped the thing from my hands. But not before Oprah smiled at me for a nanosecond.

Afterwards, the boss lady came back and shouted. Was I an idiot? She demanded. Did I not understand the savoir-fair that is Chanel? I was not to be SEEN by customers. I was to reach just the coat through the door.

About 10 minutes later, the phone rang. It was Oprah Winfrey. She had left her sunglasses on the counter, and she was having her limo turn around. Oprah asked me my name, and I told her, and she asked if I could run the sunglasses out.

I told her the manager should do it.

She sighed and asked was there anyone else who was available?

I really felt for Oprah, there. I'd only spent 3 minutes with the manager and it was already obvious to me that she was quite the b*tch.

So when the limo pulled up a few minutes later, I quietly slipped the sunglasses to Oprah's driver. Oprah called out "Thank you, Elizabeth!" from the back.

Then I walked over to the Walgreens on some errand. But my ruse hadn't helped me, the manager came running back to scream at me the moment I returned.

Only the MANAGER spoke to Ms. Winfrey, you see. How DARE I speak to Ms. Winfrey? How DARE I not immediately inform the manager that Ms. Winfrey would be returning to Chanel?

I was fired on the spot.

As I walked down the sidewalk towards the bus stop, one of the sales associates came running up to me. She had a little Chanel shopping bag full of samples - perfumes, some make-up, and a giveaway change purse. I remember being extremely touched by her kindness.

I wear Chanel perfume, to this day.

Beware the Sharks

February 17, 2005

This is how I used to be sick (Sinus Infection, Fever, Lethargic):
Call in sick to work, pile up a few boxes of kleenex and a big trash basket, a huge jug of juice on ice, and roll the TV into the bedroom. Collapse for 24 hours. Shower, Change the sheets, Eat some soup. Repeat as needed.

This is how I spend Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday:
Propped up on pillows lying in bed with my WiFi laptop on a lapdesk and my cell plugged in with the headset attached (so I could still listen while on 'Mute' and blowing my nose). Halfheartedly working despite burning through "sick days" so I wouldn't feel guilty about the 2 hours naps I would drop into without notice.

And despite this, my leash-holder (LH) asked the executives ON TUESDAY MORNING to provide a new PM to take over some of my duties since my recent illness has made my contribution 'erratic'.

(With no diresepect meant, he hastened to say).

Memo to Wile E. Coyote (Everything Falls Faster Than Anvils)

January 21, 2005

Dear Mr. Coyote,

Thank you for allowing me attend your last seminar on such short notice. I can't believe that your "Introduction to Physics for Corporate Dummies" class isn't required for all new employees!

I thought I'd drop a line and let you know that I implemented ALL your theories in the last week, and the results have been amazing!

First of all, VARYING GRAVITY. Your hypothesis that everything falls faster than an anvil. Like pianos and 27-page memos about dress code? Let me tell you, you were SO right!

Well, with the possible exception of the anvils dropped by executives. The anvils dropped by executives fall really, really fast! Maybe that's something you want to teach in future classes, because anvils really hurt. Not that I blame you!

And GRAVITATIONAL COGNIZANCE. The theory that gravity does not take effect until you notice that you are not standing on anything. Wow, this is so AWESOME.

Not that I ever got the chance, because it turns out that on my team pretty much tells you the nanosecond you've stepped off the cliff. "Hope you didn't spend too much time on that!" they yell, "Because it's vaporware!" And then, yep, sure enough I would look down and see that my presentation's platform was indeed, just air.

And you know what happens after that. Yup, Ka-Plow! I felt the total Coyote Experience with that one.

Wow, who could forget your expert teachings on EXPLOSIVES? "An explosion cannot cause fatal injuries, but only leave you temporarily charred and smoking". Well, I am ashamed to admit to you Mr. Coyote - I didn't trust this amazing lesson.

When I saw the big red stack of dynamite, I actually skipped ahead to your Advanced Seminar theories - specifically, EFFICIENT DISPLACEMENT - the theory that a corporate employee passing through a solid object will leave a hole in the outline of his body (also known as the "silhouette of passage").

I know that this type of skipping ahead is not encouraged by Coyote Enterprises, but I really couldn't help myself. And I was so excited to learn that the EFFICIENT DISPLACEMENT theory has practical applications! From my silhouette I was able to see that my hemlines are far too low to be attractive.

Finally, MANIC AERONAUTICS: The belief that anyone who holds a feather in each hand can fly if he flaps his arms. Corollary: This flight is only temporary, lasting long enough to place the character over a large drop.

Some other, *cough* poser *cough*, seminars I've been to call this stuff like "Peter Principle". That's why I recommend your seminar so highly. You are a straight-shooter, Mr Coyote - at least, informationally!

And just like you taught, they did indeed lift me up only as far as that chasm. But I was ready. I had used your order-form and special seminar discount to get myself an Acme Parachute. Thank heavens! It was delivered just as I landed and they were able to use it to pillow my body as they gave me a ride to the hospital.

In sum, your seminar was more than worth the entry fee. As soon as I am realeased from the Acme Hospital for Dumbasses, I will be eagerly signing up for the next one.

Thanks again, you are an inspiration to us Corporate Dummies everywhere.

Your fan,
Elizabeth C. Mommy

* Cartoon theories taken (where you can go read ALL the cartoon theories of physics) with a big thanks from here and here and even here.