Wednesday, November 30, 2005

HR? Don't believe the hype!

I swear one of the biggest lies ever sold to the prospective working woman and man is that the HR department exists to protect and serve the employee. Matter of fact, I question this notion as much as many an urban-dwelling Cocoa questions the antics of the boys in blue. Yet, the striking similarities between these two powerful forces - which purportedly exist to service everyone equally, yet somehow always manage to only help the same folk - shouldn't shock anyone, particularly a black woman professional with common sense and a handle of politics at work.

That's why, while I cannot prove it for sure, I have to surmise that the member of my writers-with-too-much-damn-time-AND-too-many-opinions online forum who supplied the following quite truthful H.R. analogy had to be black. Or, at least, an honorary negro, e.g. a flamboyantly gay, a thick-accented foreigner, a fat white girl publicist or an in-tune-with-their-heritage Asian. Ya know, someone who has experienced some degree of unfair, biased attitudes and/or treatment at work and erroneously thought they could bring the sh*t to human resources for a lil' neutral intervention...

Question to the Forum: Can someone explain H.R.?

Answer: Think of HR as a bouncer at a club. Not just any bouncer, but an ugly, hairy ogre who is unbelievably stupid, drunk with power, and loves setting policy based upon their own whim. Voila, HR!

I personally could add a few more points to this analogy! Namely how the "orges" almost are always incredibly-poor dressers who boast (in nearly terrifying unison) an android-like ability for appearing to be the same damn person. On top of their poor fashion taste, these orgres generally don't care for employees with good style and personality, making a C-girl's chances of getting a fair shake even slimmer than these usually-plumper-than-average (putting it mildly) pod people wish to be.


Monday, November 28, 2005

Daily 'hi' and inhaling on the job...

If after reading this morning's headline your mind automatically registered anything to do with the title of Dre's first solo album, a nasty, persistent cough and/or sniffle, Rick James or how you chose to fill some extra time (read: several hours) this past weekend, then you need help, mi hija, in a real bad way....

The "hi" and inhaling at work that I am referring to is of the barely-audible-grunt variety. Confused? On Friday, I was happily strolling from the office pantry to the trading floor, when low and behold appeared Bob. Now, I am just assigning dude a name for purposes of my post, but who the hell knows what his mother calls him. But, anyhow, I digress...

I noticed dude approaching me from afar and suddenly became annoyed at the thought I would have to produce a cheery greeting for yet another perfectly unknown 25-20. Now, considering the happy and uber-gregarious, original-Midwesterner that I be, I generally don't have problems speaking to anybody -- EVEN with dimmed lights, barren, narrow hallways and rumors of white men going Postal and gunning down people like me at work abound. So, of course, I was taken aback when I failed to produce my usual workplace Uncle Willie hello and instead came with the same 'ish that Bob's peeps are notoriously known for doing when faced with people whom make them feel uncomfortable. People who just happen to look like you and me.

I inhaled the word 'hi,' which more so ended up sounding like I was short of breath or, even more so, the quickened pant of a Project pooch neck-chained to a fence and stuck on a hot ass patch of asphalt in the middle of July, taunted by the sight of an empty, overturned pickle jar promoted to a makeshift water bowl... Ok, so you get the point already...

Dude looked pretty damn confused. Kind of like "what the hell do you have to be scared about???" His obvious as hell reaction was actually pretty funny. Yet, I do need to work on my corporate game. I'm slipping a bit...


Friday, November 25, 2005

Pour out a lil' pinot...

...for all our true Saks, Neiman's and Walmart cubicle Cocoa girly-thugs and thugettes...

Givin' you mad LUV and props for holdin' it down on dis yur's Black Friday. Errbody, ain't ready for dose' commission-jacking biotches and Jewish-mafia ho's, ready to throw bows over rows and rows of crackhead-booster-reduced-priced clothez. All deez homies get tha' mos-glamorest honor of da Retail Wurld (itz own verjun of the muzik wurld's four mics): 4 plat'num, blingin', snowballin' price scannas...

"...Dey beepin' n*gga; they beepin!"

RIP 2 da who wont hang in da game past the deuce-thirty time frame...ur effotz wuz truly emackulant. One.


Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Why are we at work today?

I mean, really. You or I should not be subject to the excruciating slowness of working the day before a major holiday - especially Thanksgiving. If you think about it, Turkey Day should be treated with the utmost reverence since it's one of the few holidays that ALL Americans can celebrate without feeling a tad bit slighted. Okay, "all" Americans with the exception of the original ones, who probably still carry a little beef with all things Pilgrim.

Okay, but I digress. Getting back to the topic at hand, I should not feel too slighted by working today. For one, I do get out early and two, things could be much worst... I could be one of those people leaving work and heading directly to the airport, where they will inevitably be delayed for no less than three hours. I could be a Macy's, Bloomingdales or TJ Maxx manager already OD'ing on Valium and nicotine, in anticipation of the crazies who plan to get an early start throwing bows for X-boxes, teletype's and ho-Hilton dolls. Or, as I don't remind myself nearly enough: I could be unemployed.

So, folks, no matter how much we complain about life and our jobs (which seems to take up a huge portion of our lives), please remember to surely give thanks to God that you possess a job to annoy in the first place. While a pain in the arse, I'm sure the minor aggravations of work, helps us fight off many major aggravations that come with being unemployed.



Monday, November 14, 2005

A serious 'case of the Mondays'...

Have you seen this one? Although I have not viewed the movie personally, I know so many details about its contents that I've started to think it's like the P.U.H.D. of the workplace movie circuit. If you have been so blessed to see seen this flick, then you know that the head of my today (" of the Mondays") is one of many classic, uber-identifiable lines from the movie, much like "B*tch betta ho up or blow up," "Let me pimp or let me die," (Pat Henry just turned over for the one thousandth time) and "Ho's get broke for reckless eyeballing."

I know what you're thinking while shaking your head in disgust... it's been too damn long since I last saw that Oscar-worthy classic, too! I need to check out Amazon and see if I can get a copy on DVD.

Anyho - oops! - anyhoo...back to today's topic: sad, pathetic Mondays. So, I started off the day unable to locate my house keys - for 16 minutes! Now, if you're the type of person who gets ready for work while watching TV and sipping English Breakfast, then I'm sure this would not have been a problem for you. However, that chick ain't moi. I grew up watching my mother zip and dash throughout the house EVERY SINGLE day, while trying to ready for work on time. And I am sure I can count on one hand how many times she actually made it there on time. So, needless to say, I have a few issues allotting extra time in the morning.

Adding to the late problem is that even if I get out of the bed an hour earlier than usual, I always figure out a way to dwindle down my "extra" time, thereby, necessitating a need for the rush. I think it's official: I'm addicting to running on the clock...kind of like I'm addicting to dining out and splurge shopping (a couple of other addictions that I can trace back to childhood/blame on my mom:)

Well, back to the topic at hand I made it to work and THANK GOD my boss called out today. So, while my Monday has been blue thus far, at least I didn't have to face my boss with a bullsh*t-sounding-but-true excuse as to why I arrived at 820 for a job that is supposed to start at 8a.

Hope your Monday morning has at least been swell...


Thursday, November 10, 2005

Attack of the Workplace 'Blob'

Yeah, the blog is supposedly now 'bi-daily' but I felt like writing this morning. So there:-P

On the way back from the office pantry, where I acquired a bland cup of Joe and some fried, stale mystery pastry-thingy, I bumped into 'Renzo,' the receptionist. In a very android-worker sort of way, I proceeded with the typical 'hi - how are's it any plans for the holiday..." line of questioning, yet, for some reason still unknown to me, attempted to break free of the Miss Roboto thing. With that said, I dared to ask him something real and inquired as to how things have been going for him following the departure of his reception partner-in-crime (coworker for those of you still waiting to have your morning cup).

"Fine," said RR.

"Are you lonely out there now," said Me.

"Um. No," he said.

"Oh...okay...I guess that makes sense," said me.

It's official. I've become one of those killa-Beckies who seem to think that everything at work must be done in pairs, groups, frats or however else you prefer to classify the blob. You remember the blob, right? It’s that slimy, sticky thing that goos people to death by sucking them in and never letting go. Yeah, it's pretty much like that thing called working on teams/teamwork/cohorts/colleagues, etc.

How did I get to this point? I can remember being one of a few workers (read Negra) who valued solitude during business hours even before "teamwork" became the cult du jour. I personally don't get what's up with people and the constant need to be "grouped," anyways. As if I need a witness, ahem, coworker right on top of me EVERY MOMENT OF THE DAY, corroborating the dirty lil' rumor that I like to surf the Net, write books, blog and shop all day long.


Wednesday, November 02, 2005

Okay, so now I am tired AND stressed!

A straight up quicky, post-but-not-really... I am beyond tired and stressed and surviving off a 48-hour diet of Sunkist Orange (I don't even drink soda), Welch's Grape (again, the fizzy stuff), Utz BBQ pork rinds, Cheez It, Mickey D's, fried fish sandwich, tasty, flaky pastry, peanut butter cookie, Reeses Pieces PB cups, donut and an Udon noodle bowl from the cafe (read Midtown bodega) across the street from the j-o-b.

Needless to say, I am seriously stressed out and tired and not making things any better by blogging at 11:50p.

Once the current trauma of the month has lessened in traumatic nature (I ain't even exaggerating), I will share details. Just know the plot involves a very much NYC-centric storyline (expired rental lease, police officers, illegal activity, thoughts of extortion, shady aliens who happily slither on the fringe of society, heart-to-hearts with slumlords and recent parolees, crackhead movers and more). The bit also plays out much like one of those dark comedies where with every development the main character sees a flicker of hope stamped out by one of those "daaaaaaaaaaamn" moments that makes you hear "and just when you thought it couldn't get any worst..." over and over again in your mind.

Yeah, that's me. If I am not killed by my crazy former tenant, or the high level of preservatives, sulfites and trans fat currently filling every pore on my body, I'll tell you about it later. Until then, pray for me ya'll...