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Renee's Blog

When our son was in grade school, he accompanied me to my company's annual "Take Your Kid to Work Day." He attended because the day gave him a reprieve from school and he got as much pizza as he could shove in his mouth. Mothers know these things.

My workload on this special day one year was heavier than expected, so I could not accompany him on the tours. Since he was only six, he required a chaperone. My assistant Mary had volunteered that day anyway to travel with packs of children because she brought her own kiddos, so she said she would keep him with her. Problem solved.

I squeezed in time at lunch to eat pizza with him. While pizza sauce dribbled from his chin, he regaled me with stories about wire in bundles fatter than arm and that he got a free ball that bounced over his head. The assistant reported he'd behaved. All was well. After the meal they departed for the afternoon sessions.

When they returned back to my office later that afternoon, I asked how the other presentations went. Mary, sucking air through her gritted teeth, said, "Oh, we almost had an incident." 

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"Well, at the data center, your fella here asked what the glass cover was for that enclosed a control panel on the wall. The tour guide explained it prevented anybody from touching the buttons unless they had the key, because the buttons triggered the sprinklers overhead."


He always was a curious sort, so I nodded back at Mary, "What's the problem, then?"

"Genius here retorted back to the lady guiding us around, 'Oh, my hand will fit up through this opening.' Sure enough, he stuck his hand up through the tiny opening in the bottom of the glass case which allowed the air to come in for smoke detection. His fingers were an inch from the buttons before I could pull his arm back."

Cold sweat broke out on my forehead. My kid nearly set off the sprinklers in the data center housing millions of dollars of computer equipment containing vital data. I wondered if my 16 years at this job had come that close to being marred by one inch. The "Take Your Kid to Work Day" program ended the data center tours henceforth.



T
echnology has its moments. Yesterday I worked feverishly on a release, tested it to the max and got everything to work perfectly with the aid of some awesome co-workers. I prepared the communication for the release, proofed it three times and only had issue with one letter that would not change font size no matter what I did to it. Since it was late Friday and I needed in the worst way not to have this on my plate for Monday morning, I sent the communication.  Who would notice? When I received my cc'd copy of the email, the letter I could not get to change was totally missing.  So now instead of instructing clients to "Click" on a link in a window, I was advising them to "lick" on the link.  If they were opening it on their iPad, I guess the tongue pressure might activate the link. Oh for one photo of somebody doing that.


Occasionally my morning commute to work inspires me to write poetry of sorts:

Ode to the Woman Who Flipped Me the Bird Today

Oh you who greeted me
With upraised finger three
As I passed your car mess
I hope your day was blessed.

I did not take your sign
With insult or with whine.
Smiling, to you I sent
Wishes with good intent.

You have a left arm, dear
To turn on your blinker
When changing lanes, my word,
Not to flip me the bird.

I honked just right before
You gestured out your door
Because your car sat so
When the signal said go. 



L
ife has a way of recycling. A few years ago I was relocated to our older building I had been hired into three decades before.  How old?  The site had been constructed in the 1930s.  Much of the building was updated in the past fifteen years or so, including a new facade, though thankfully the magnificent and ornate lobby was not touched.

Unfortunately, neither were the elevators.  I recently instructed a young coworker (who happens to be claustrophobic and was caught for an extended time between floors on one of our elevators) on how to survive riding them.  Survive, you say?  Surely it cannot be that bad.  How about having an employee go out on permanent disability because the elevator dropped a dozen floors and caught suddenly, causing him permanent backbone damage?

So here are Renee's Elevator Survival Rules:

1.  Take the stairs.  Seriously, if you are able-bodied and not carrying something, walk those stairs whenever possible.
2.  Well, if you have continued reading, you must be determined to take the elevator despite the hazards.  Start riding by standing with your back braced against one of the side walls so you do not fall down if the elevator catch
es on the way down.
3.  Place yourself near the front of the elevator.  If one of the other riders begins a coughing/sneezing fit you can exit at the next stop.
4.  Do NOT board an elevator with a person who is obviously ill.
5.  Keep a distance from an
y individuals on the elevator with an open beverage, especially a hot coffee.  If the elevator jerks and you are by them, you will get an unanticipated baptism and be simultaneously scalded.
6.  Keep your knees flexed the entire ride.  If you lock your knees and the elevator free falls and comes to a sudden stop, your vertebrae are in danger.
7.  If you are claustrophobic, learn to count the dots on the ceiling tiles, the wood grain whorls, the stains on the carpet, something, to distract yourself.
8.  If you feel faint riding the elevator, tell somebody by you and lie down on the filthy floor.  I had to do this once after I donated blood.  Just swallow your pride and do it.
9.  One of our auditors was trapped for an hour and a half on a stalled elevator.  So ALWAYS make a restroom facilities visit BEFORE you get on an elevator if you feel anywhere close to a call of nature, or have just imbibed a beverage.  I should probably have put this rule first since it is the most basic rule.
10.  Carry an "elevator book" with you, something you can read a handful of pages at a time.  You'll finish a book before you know it and not be so annoyed with waiting for the elevator or the multiple stops on the way to your destination.  Now don't pick a book you can't put down.  I watched a driver on a highway once who was so engrossed in a book that she simultaneously read and drove, scraping the passenger side of her car against the right side of a flyover ramp, sparks shooting yards in either direction.  I would, though, like to write a book like that
.



T
esting, calling all employees to test the latest and greatest whatever. Raise your hand if testing is your thing. Hmmm, no hands up that I see.

If your boss and co-workers are understanding like mine are, you can volunteer for testing and enjoy it. I'll admit I chickened out first and sent a note to my supervisor to inform him I had not lost all my marbles, and another note to the developer who asked for a tester of a survey he created so he would know I was just a gal wanting to have fun.


T
he survey asked if I encrypted stored sensitive data and I replied, "No." When the survey then inquired as to why, I said, "because I'm silly." I probably should have said "stupid." To describe the data at rest, I responded, "they're tired."

The survey proceeded to ask what encryption method I used ("scissors", of course) and about the process ("Cut, Paste and Attach," which is what CPA (which I am professionally) also stands for). The questions continued to ask where I send the data ("Gilligan's Island") and how I identified the data ("closed my eyes and threw rubber darts"). As to who could view the info via the dashboards, I answered, "bumper car drivers."


The survey then queried me about sensitive data being transferred and how it was identifed. I said, "eenie, meenie, minie, moe." As to why the data is in transit, I replied, "it's got places to go." How did I keep the data from the falling into the wrong hands--that's easy: "I used cotton candy to make it stick." To the question about describing the user profiles, I answered, "carnies." Where did I transfer it--"to Captain Kangaroo."

Now who's smiling and wants to do testing with me? Ahhh, I see a few hands up. Make work enjoyable and you'll perform your duties better, faster and with less stress. Whose responsibility is it to make work fun? Yours.



I received an email from another manager asking if she should process a credit memo from a vendor in our accounts payable system. She overpaid the vendor to begin with when the vendor double charged us and she didn't notice. I replied back inquiring as to how would the vendor cash a negative check, and that's assuming the system would even issue a check with a negative amount on it. She eventually arrived at the logical conclusion that she should apply the negative number to next month's balance if the vendor hadn't done it already. 



A
t home I type on a Mac. I have owned 4 iPhones. My family members nearly all have iPhones, iPads, iPods.  At last count we had 16 of the devices at once. So when I saw an article about "Apple Fanboys" written by a female editor of Wired magazine, I thought I'd have some fun. So I tweeted her as to why not also have "Fangirls" in the title?  She tweeted me back that she had thought about it, but the title would have been too long and a retweet likely would have exceeded the 140-character limit.

I replied in response that I considered myself an Apple fangirl with all the Apple gadgets we had, plus I had stuck an Apple sticker on my company-issued HP laptop and covered up the letters so from a distance the clunky thing looks like a Mac. Well, from a great distance, and assuming the observer is quite myopic.


The Wired magazine editor dismissed my claim to Apple fangirldom. "Stickers do not a fangirl make" was her retort. "Show me the ink!" Ink? Oh, she meant I needed to have an Apple tattoo to be a true fangirl. Well, uh, sorry there, but while I adore Apple products, I have yet to get a tattoo and I doubt if I ever did the first one would be an Apple logo. Some good came of our tweeting, however: I gained another couple dozen Twitter followers.

     
Today was one of those head down, answer-as-many-calls-and-emails-as-possible, as-fast-as-you-can days. One after the other like machine gun fire, I was peppered with inquiries and issues from everywhere, at least one no where close to my area of expertise.  I finally glanced at my watch and was simultaneously shocked and relieved at the time.  Was it really that late?  I stared at my watch in disbelief that I could have worked through lunch and only had a few hours left to the day. I refocused my eyes on the face and wondered why the numbers looked so odd. Then I realized I had worked most of a morning sporting my watch upside down on my wrist.

    

I received a meeting invitation to an hour and one-half conference call. One-half hour is about tops for my attention span.  An hour is intolerable. An hour and one-half?  Torture.  I was expected to attend as my workgroup's representative. No choice.
 

At the appointed time I reluctantly dialed in to the meeting. Ten, then twenty, then thirty, then forty, then fifty minutes crept by. So when the host started to go into let's-wrap-this-up mode 55 minutes into the call, I perked up, but thought wait, this call has another 35 minutes. Ha, she thinks she only scheduled an hour.  

So two dozen people on the call said nothing about the extra half hour, possibly feeling guilty like me, but smugly exuberant. Another minute ticked by, still no one betrayed us. Three minutes before the hour was up, one person's conscience got the better of her and she chirped, "but I thought you scheduled 90 minutes?" The meeting organizer was cheery as she acknowledged her blunder, "You're right! So we have another 33 minutes, not just three minutes." The collective silent groans of the rest of the attendees were palpable. Our imminent hope of freedom, dashed, by a do-gooder.  


In anticipation of the upcoming heat wave, our building manager has turned on the air-conditioning full force in the ladies room.  So there's a wind tunnel on top of what feels like about 55º F tops.  The powers that be have finally managed to accomplish what the less fair sex has rattled their brains on how to do for eons--get women out of a restroom faster.  The bright side?  I have heard that cold applied to fatty tissue reduces it.  Perhaps this is the answer to my prayers.  Best part is there is no waiting for a stall anymore.



I have set up several expenditure type codes (EXTCs) in my day as an accountant. The codes are issued in sequence under various groupings, depending on the cost type family to which the expenditures are related.  I requested yet another code, and I was issued "CYA." I figured they were joking, but I was instructed that CY1 through CY9 were taken, and they did not use CYO to avoid the zero-alpha confusion, so now they were starting on alphas.  Accordingly I had been assigned CYA.  An office full of CPAs was chuckling over my EXTC, proof that accountants truly are actuaries with a sense of humor.  And CYA was just absolutely perfect for the accruals I happened to be booking, since you accrue estimated costs to cover your forecasted expenditures, hopefully.  CYA was doubly appropriate based on the look I got when I was given the code--like, good luck to me CYAing, since I have a plentiful back porch.

 
  

Ever have the feeling you are a broken record, repeating the same guidance over and over, sort of like Sisyphus struggling to roll a boulder up hill, only to have it roll down again?  Such is the lot a fellow worker and I have at times providing guidance to our colleagues on a very technical area of governmental rules.  One day we coddled and diapered so many managers to the point I asked her if she preferred talcum powder or zinc oxide.

  
Transferring to another subsidiary or even a different part of the country or globe is not unusual if you desire a promotion at my company.   I sometimes feel for those who are forced to move to the sultry summers/unpredictable winters of the Midwest from more pleasant climes like southern California.  Such might be the case with a Honda owner whose car I observed in my company's garage bearing plates declaring "LA4ever". I guess that employee's heart is still in Los Angeles but they have at least temporarily reconciled themselves to having to live in St. Louis since "LA4ever" is now stamped on Missouri car tags.

   
I just finished two weeks of training on a position I likely will never perform. Why? We are required to be prepared to stand in for others should the need arise. Nothing helps you appreciate your regular job more than learning to do another that would push you to the ledge if only the windows would open. I usually can find humor in most work situations. I laughed a lot over those ten days.

I did have the fortunate opportunity to meet and learn about ten other fellow employees who are employed by the same company I am but are in different departments than I. Nearly all these individuals toil from home much of the time; one is a dedicated telecommuter.  Not me.  My department will not let me work from home.  Well, if I had a serious contagious disease, or if there would be a blizzard, I could work from home.  But thankfully I have been well and it has been a warm winter.

One of the women fussed about how annoying it was to have to wear shoes all day every day during the two weeks of class. She goes barefoot when she works at home apparently. The full-time telecommuter chuckled. He retorted he was not accustomed to wearing pants, much less shoes.

    

An out-of-state colleague who works in credit and collections revealed to me how she managed to agitate a clutch of engineers.  (Yes, I know a "clutch" as in a group is usually assigned to chickens, but in the instant case for obvious reasons I could not resist.)   She is, based on some unknown logic, assuming there even is one, assigned shared floor space with fellow employees in the engineering department.

Wanting to be social, at Halloween she brought in a Boston cream pie/cake with a spider web design on top.  She offered to cut and serve the pie.  The others gladly accepted the gesture.  The first piece she cut was directly on the lines of the spider web.  Totally unintended on her part, but apropos for engineers.


The second piece was not so precisely excised.  She cut a little to the side of the line and the engineers went into a frenzy. Couldn't she see the obvious?  The lines of the spider web formed the exact dimensions intended for each piece.  Free cake, or no free cake, a major violation of the law of cake-cutting had been committed.  You'd think one of the laws of physics had been upended with all the fuss.  But of course they still ate i
t.

      

I read an enlightening article that declared 'bureaucracy' is truly a neutral term, and is actually the reason the West has done so well at innovating.  (See www.innovationexcellence.com/blog/2011/09/26/what-is-the-innovation-that-led-to-civilization/.)  Bureaucracy provides the structure innovation needs, but has gotten a bad rap that really should be pinned on people and how they implement it. 

For example, many people follow rules just for the sake of following rules.  I have observed this personally when it comes to the revolving door going from our work garage into the aerial bridge.  When the automatic door sensor detects an individual walking too far back in the door opening, it announces "please step forward" (like we would step backwards?) and slows to a crawl.  I have witnessed employee after employee enter the revolving door, moving at a snail's pace in slow motion, allowing their movement to be dictated by the door.  The door sensor was meant to aid those without the speed or strength to make the door go faster.  For the rest of us, just PUSH the door already; it will speed up.
 

(BTW--Somebody took me seriously about this and REALLY pushed the door.  The culprit managed to demolish one of the door fins, so there was one flapping loose.)

   

Earlier this year I was notified my position was caught in a reorganization, and my job would be migrating out-of-state.  I was asked if I wanted to follow it.  No, I responded, especially considering my better half is more gainfully employed than I.  Normally work finds me, so I was not terribly concerned.  I told my friend about the situation, and likened myself to a cat that usually lands on its feet when dropped.  My buddy retorted she must then be a catfish, since job-wise she is typically a bottom feeder.

           

The spacing between railroad metal rails is based on the width between wagon wheels on a cart.  The cart wheel spacing was based on the width of a horse's rump.  To this day in the modern work place, quite a bit often depends on a horse's rear end.

   

Overheard at work from a colleague who was apologizing for his confusing remarks:  "Not only am I comparing apples and oranges, I have tossed in kumquats and persimmons."

      

One day while I was working civil service, a gentleman approached my desk with an undefined gadget and asked me to move my chair back a little.  He put the device on my desk right on the spot where I would put reading material and then humphed a satisfied, "well, that's about right."  Then he placed what I realized was a light meter of some sort on the edges of my desk, which was a challenge because they were warped, most likely due to someone's having spilled liquid on the hard cardboard-like surface, and he moaned, "mmmmmmm--too much light."

So he scampered up his ladder and promptly removed a fluorescent light, remeasured, and uttered a happy, "that'll do."  Then the keeper of the light meter also proceeded to remove overhead lighting from the hallways and unused office spaces.  So when a subsequent employer requested cost saving suggestions, I turned in the light removal idea.  And it was accepted and administered enthusiastically.  Yes, I am the cause of the sinisterly dark halls
.

      

How not to deal with a potential customer:  When we were on vacation in the Bahamas and I was trying to buy a t-shirt for my son at one of the stalls, I asked the sales lady if she had the next size up for a particular shirt.  She looked at my boy and compared the shirt, and said the smaller size I had in my hand would fit him.  I agreed, but expressed concern that since it was all cotton, I was sure it would shrink some after I washed it and ran it through the dryer.  Her response?  "If the nice American lady would know how to do laundry, the shirt would not shrink."

        

There is a sign above the kitchen sink at work that reminds everyone to dump coffee grounds into the trash can, not into the sink.  But of course periodically somebody still cleans out a French press in the sink and manages to eventually clog the drain with coffee grounds.  So one day I entered the kitchen to find the sink half full of water with a janitor trying to snake the clogged drain.  When that did not work an additional janitor was called into help and together they dismantled the pipes under the sink.

When there still was no progress, a building manager was called in and together the three suctioned out the pipes with a wet vac. The initial janitor was then instructed by the manager to empty out the wet vac.  So he took the wet vac into the janitor's room and emptied the vacuum into the sink.  Of course the coffee grounds he had just removed from the kitchen sink clogged the janitor's sink and in addition caused water to overflow which flooded the janitor's room and part of the carpeting into the hall.

       

At my government job, I would often have to visit an adjacent building to audit their contracts.  One day I was quite involved in my assignment and was startled when suddenly a huge black cat with white paws jumped onto my desk surface.  The lady at a nearby desk said "Don't mind Boots--he's a good cat."  I asked if he was her pet and she said not really just hers since he was tended to by all the employees in her unit and Boots actually lived in the building on a permanent basis.

I expressed my amazement that her supervisor would allow a cat to live in the building.  She said the boss was actually grateful for the cat.  "You see the building was tunneled under years ago to store ammunition and now the abandoned tunnels were occupied by rats.  We have not seen a rat in the building since Boots came to call the place home.
"

          

One of my employers replaced an aged but functioning accounting system tailored to our specific needs with a modified off-the-shelf accounting application.  I think the purpose was to share the pain equally across all subsidiaries so everyone could commiserate with each other over their woes.

One engineer was asked how the new construction job accounting module was working out that tracked actual costs incurred against the funds budgeted for his job.  His truthful and totally serious reply:  "I'd get greater data accuracy, and in a more user-friendly and timely fashion, if I tracked actual job costs by writing with a burnt stick on the back of a brown paper grocery bag.
"

        

Once I had a coworker who thoroughly enjoyed playing practical jokes, especially on her supervisors in disbursements.  She and her fellow employees decided that one shift supervisor in particular needed to be taught not to be so flamboyant when he left for the day, abandoning the clerical workers there to trudge through the remainder of their shifts when he was replaced by another manager.  This especially offending supervisor would twirl around putting on his overcoat and pull his gloves out of his pockets with a flourish, holding them by the end of a finger on each and waving them in the air, before putting them  on.

So one afternoon the assistant secretly stuffed the supervisor's gloves with paper circle punch-outs from a three-hole punch.  When the manager performed his daily ritual of the glove wave, the holes flew mightily this way and that--on his coat, in his hair, on his pants, everywhere, rendering him a spontaneous snowman.  His clerks got the last laugh that day
.

       

I have wondered a long while as to why we have the removable carpet squares at my work site.  It certainly is not to permit their ready replacement when they become excessively stained or wear out, because that is not commonplace.  I recently comprehended the removable carpet squares make it easier for our management, as they progress through yet another regularly scheduled downsizing, to pull the literal rug out from under us.


Well, guess what, incredulous as it may be, my work replaced the elevator lobby carpeting and the strips in the immediately adjoining main halls.  I remarked to a colleague as we exited the elevator onto the new carpet tiles how nice the new carpeting was, especially after two decades of walking on the old.  She commented that she thought the new carpet pattern made the elevator lobby look wider and more spacious.  I retorted that was one fabric print I surely would not be wearing.

There is nothing like a hot cup of tea on a brisk February morning in St. Louis, Missouri. Fortunately, an event I attended last week had Earl Grey tea, one of my favorites, but there were no mugs, no hot water, no sauce pans, nothing with which to heat water. There were styrofoam cups, but I have melted a few of those in microwaves before. I had not planned on creating wet, withered, holey plastic sculptures.

I opened the cabinets and the refrigerator with no discovery of any water-boiling vessels. Then I delved into the freezer, the last place I expected to find anything useable. I eyed ice trays with cubes readily available should I desire to make iced tea. No thanks.

But wait, ice is just another form of water, and the ice trays appeared to be sturdy enough to go into the microwave other than the crack on the corner. Oh well, I popped out that cube and into the microwave went the remainder of the cubes. A minute and half later I had steaming water and a minute after that luscious hot tea. Mmmm!       

O
ne morning (after another headcount reduction) I responded to a fellow surviving coworker's friendly "How are you?" with the usual "Fine" and then added it'll be a really great day if my name plaque is still on the cubicle wall when I head down the hall.  He said he was already happy--he had managed to make it by the security guard and his name was not on the "Do Not Admit" list
.

 

My heritage is that I know how to rig up almost anything, and usually duct tape, packing tape or bread ties are involved.  A couple winters ago, my employer's cost-cutting required lowering the setting of the locked thermostat more than ever.  With the external temperature hovering between zero and ten above, even the south side of the floor I was on was so cold the ice I put in my uninsulated water cup at 8:30 a.m. would not melt until about 3 p.m.  I threatened to move my chair next to the photocopy machine to stay warm; wearing my winter coat in my cubicle just was not doing the trick.

I really felt sorry, though, for the thin women sitting on either side of me.  One of them had resorted to not only wearing her coat, scarf and gloves while seated at her desk, but also had a blanket over her shoulders and a heating pad on her lap.  I  was really concerned about her when I saw her white cuticles, ghostly complexion, and bluish lips.

So I grabbed a plastic sandwich bag, filled it with ice and used the handy packing tape (which I had bought myself BTW) to secure my creation to the thermostat.  It was not long until toasty heat was pouring out of the vents.  Mmmmmm!  The heating pad gal actually got color back in her cheeks.  Oh the irony--a bag of ice brings heat.  Now that is creative rigging
.

         

Speaking of rigging, I have solved a longstanding, aggravating problem at my job.  How many of you have the paper towel dispensers in your work kitchens and restrooms with the dual rolls that keep jamming up multiple times a week, usually at the worst possible times?  You no longer can open the dispensers yourself because they are accessed with a special type of key that fits into the zig-zag slots on the top, right?

Well, no more, if you choose to accept this creative assignment.  Just remove the metal strip that supports a hanging folder (slide or rip it out of the folder) and then bend the strip into the shape of a long U, with about flat inch at the top (and you may want to tape just the top if the metal has a sharp edge) and two 1/2 foot legs (do not tape legs) extended downward that are the same length.  Insert the points of the legs into the zig-zag slot at the top of the dispenser at a slightly twisted angle, push down on the latch, pulling the cover of the dispenser forward with your other hand.  Voila!  You now have access to the dispenser innards to unjam the paper toweling.

Please keep your invention for future unjamming adventures. Oh, and don't unjam the dispenser in front of the cleaning crew or they are likely to confiscate your useful tool.  After all, they were "ordered" to load the second nearly spent roll (to save every cent) into the lower part of the dispenser which is what typically jams the apparatus.  And since now the dispensers are locked, we apparently are not to be trusted to be in them.  (Although I must say, I do remember the lady who got caught and fired at the government with a whole huge box of taxpayer-paid-for toilet paper in the trunk of her car; apparently there are nut cases who'd risk a job over paper products.) So you have a stealth assignment.  Can't you just hear the Mission Impossible theme
?

       

At one firm I spent a good deal of time proof-reading financial statements.  One of the senior managers had particularly horrific handwriting, but the typist was top notch and could generally decipher his hieroglyphics.  So while it  seemed odd to me for his client to name its multiple job sites Turkey 1, Turkey 2, Turkey 3, etc., I could not make out the handwriting to be anything other than this. I figured the typist had been through this before and reasoned this must be one of our rural clients.

I approved the statements and forwarded them on to the partner on the job for authorization.  Well, the sites were supposed to be (you guessed it) Turnkey 1, Turnkey 2, Turnkey 3, etc.  For what seemed forever after this event, my colleagues greeted me in the hall with a sarcastic "Gobble, gobble, gobble!"

          

If you consider your company's annual evaluation process to be of questionable value, then consider this:  When I worked for the government, my supervisor avoided all pretense of factually evaluating our accomplishments when preparing our ratings.  Instead he photocopied the same evaluation verbiage for all of us, just making the extra effort to type each of our names individually on the top of the copied evaluations.

         

A coworker shared with me the following incident from when she worked at a grocery store.  A customer's check was returned to the grocery store for non-sufficient funds in her account to cover the draft.  So it fell to my fellow employee to call the customer to tactfully request that she make good on the check.  The customer replied she would take care of the issue pronto and requested the store's fax number.  My coworker asked out of curiosity as to why the customer wanted the store's fax number.  The customer said she'd be faxing a money order to the grocery store right away to cover the draft.

 

I considered a former division manager excessively picky when he mandated our window blinds way up on the administrative 27th floor be at the exact same height so when he walked down the hall he would see consistency.  My colleague, however, topped that story when she informed me her husband's large international company recently ordered all push pins on their bulletin boards be in the same exact color, even though the boards were in the back halls by their break rooms, far away from any customers' eyes.

 

I read the results of a study that found that of all professionals' work surfaces tested, attorneys' desks harbored the fewest microbes.  Even vermin avoid lawyers.

 

Copyrighted 2007-2016, Renee Hughes, Squirrelb8.comTM 


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