Orwellian Double-Speak

Below is an actual, mostly-unedited e-mail conversation I had with my supervisor a few days ago. It is EXACTLY what Orwell was talking about in "1984" when he mentioned Double-Speak. Ny friend The Anamoly said that it is almost as if he pulled out the corporate excuses-when-they-ask-questions-that-make-you-look-stupid book. Did I mention I hate Corporate America? Can you just fucking level with me and talk to me like a human being?

From Me: I don't mean to be a pain, but I just discovered something that makes no sense. As far as back-end collectors, we have always worked either the first Saturday or the fourth Saturday. The fifth Saturdays, when they occur, are divided up at the beginning of the year (The Scrump has a list). Having no late night, due to coverage issues, we are required to work an extra Saturday. At this point I am covering Flamer's late night and my own (which is the first and fourth). What makes absolutely no sense to me is why I am even required to cover Flamer's Saturday when there is clearly no coverage issue.

Here's how it breaks down:

First Saturday: Myself, Catnip, Cynicism, Sirsirsir = 4

Fourth Saturday: Myself, Catnip, Mushmouth, Cutie, Crazy, Tiny, Biceps, Diver and WT = 9 ?!!

Obviously, there is a big disparity here. Why are 9 people required to work on the fourth saturday? I can tell you that on the First Saturdays we rarely get calls and we rarely get people on the phone. That's with four people. There is no void in coverage anywhere. Is it to somehow make up for missing out on a late night? I rarely had success with payments on late nights as well and seriously doubt this will affect my numbers. I'm just trying to understand this. Again, I'm not trying to be a pain, this just makes absolutely no sense to me. To have nine people working one Saturday is ridiculous.

From Him: The amount of coverage is monitored on a regular basis and adjusted when necessary. We appreciate your observation.

From me: So, you're telling me that you believe it is necessary to have 9 people work on the fourth Saturday? The way I understood it, when the new people started, they were just asked which Saturday they would like to work.

From Him: It's necessary to do what's in the best interest of the dept.

From Me: Ok. So you're saying that it's in the best interest of the department for there to be 9 people working on one Saturday, and 4 working on another? My opinion is that the two Saturdays thing is in place just to "punish" people for not working a late night. It seems to serve no other purpose. My idea would be this: Since it is clear that four people are more than adequate enough coverage for a Saturday, why don't we rotate which Saturdays we work? When there were 6 supervisors, the supervisors rotated which Saturdays they worked.

From Him: At this point, it's in the best interest of the dept to have nine collectors working the last Saturday.

Business Casual: The Insidious Plot

I think I've finally figured out exactly what it is that is so insidious and evil about Business Casual dress codes. Business Casual clothes allow you to display NOTHING of your personality and individuality. They are drab, boring and most of the time, shapeless. Here at The Bank, we can't even wear any kind of logo on Fridays (except, apparently, FOOTBALL STUFF which also makes me wonder if The Bank is being paid off by the NFL to promote their product and only their product.). Now I'm not about running around advertising for everything, but at least you can display something of your personality and interests and commonality. Being forced into Business Casual forces us to conform to a certain standard and makes us all afraid of each other's individuality. I have found, however, that if I am allowed to dress like a slob at work, I tend to dress like a slob everywhere. My problem is, in ANY Dress Code, the list of options of acceptable wear for females is roughly twice the length that it is for males. And polo shirts and khakis suck!!

Louis XIII: A Smashing Success AND How I Got Someone Committed Today

On Saturday, I decided to splurge and try yet ANOTHER new restaurant I have never been to. It was Louis XIII (Louis Trezz as those "in the know" call it.) in Edina, a very hoity-toity and expensive restaurant. The place is interestingly furnished and when Math-Girl and I arrived I was happy to see that our reservations were not necessary and we were immediately ushered to one of the booths with the big tent over it. The booth is one step up, leather and shaped like a half moon to match the half-moon shaped table. Math-girl and I started scooting around to the middle. Then, life becomes slow motion: I see the entire table tipping and all of it's expensive glass contents sliding off and smashing on the floor leaving Math-girl and I, mortified, in a weird tent on a white leather couch. We were utterly trapped and there was nowhere to hide. There is also a glass wall that stops you from plummeting to your death in the lower level. I was sure the heavy table would smash that as well and probably mutilate and disfigure one of the waiters or an unsuspecting patron on the floor below us. It didn't but the waiters did come rushing over to find me more humiliated than I can remember being in quite some time. They were, first and foremost, concerned about our welfare, which I appreciated. They ushered us to another identical booth and we gingerly took our places, Math-girl, whose errant foot had caused the catastrophe, wisely stayed closest to the edge. Later, when she was taking the glass elevator down to the bathroom she was told that it happens all the time.

Today, I got someone in my building dragged off to the psych ward. It's a long story, but basically I heard a lot of yelling and crashing going on and called the cops. The guy was on some kind of drugs. It was bizarre that I picked up my phone and caused two cop cars, an ambulance and a fire truck loaded with very buff, cute firemen to show up at my building. That could be the beginning of an entire pornographic fantasy I won't describe here. All that happened in reality is that I ended up getting disturbed by the whole event. The guy sounded like he was tearing his apartment apart and was screaming so loud you could hear it blocks away. I don't think anyone else would have called the cops if I hadn't and I did that on a whim because I was annoyed. The girl I ran into in the hall said she just thought someone was bored. BORED?! Someone bellowing like that and tearing their place up because they are bored?! Oh the humanity!

Biting It or Why I Laid In the Street At Nicollet and Franklin Last Tuesday

So, on Tuesday morning I was walking to Nicollet to catch the bus to carry out my latest shameful descent into the humiliating trap that is a payday loan when I stepped in a pothole, twisted my ankle, did a weird kind of pirouette and bit it in the street at the intersection of Franklin and Nicollet. It was very hot on Tuesday, the pavement was hot and I was LAYING IN A CITY STREET. That's gross!! Not to mention, my backpack (laden with the latest behemoth Harry Potter book and other goodies) spun around, caught my counter-balance and performed some twisted wrestling move on me that nearly popped my shoulder out of it's socket. A guy who was crossing in the opposite direction with a small child said: "Whooooaaaahhh! Are you alright?" When I realized I was, I said: "Yes, I'm fine. I just feel like a big dumb-ass. Stupid gravity." The 4 people at the bus stop were completely reactionless which was more humiliating. The weird thing is, part of me was wishing I had broken something so I would have a legitimate excuse to call in. Do I need a new job or what?