Friday, December 16, 2005
why i love my boss... part 655
another friday... another morning meeting.
I've managed to skip the last 2 weeks worth of these things, through a mixture of feigning a busy workload (a la George Costanza) and taking days off.
Apparently, my absence is beginning to draw unwanted attention so I figured I'd better make the effort today.
8.40 and I'm running late. I don't have time to grab a coffee to keep me awake, so I just have to sit there and look alert. And interested in marketing.
8.42 - I'm beginning to fall asleep.
8.45 - I wish I hadn't drank that bottle of cheep red wine last night.
That late night jumbo bag of Cheesi-Nachos didn't help either
8.55 - I'm sweating and I feel I need to vomit.
The droning continues and then...
9.15 - people around me are beginning to rustle their papers and diaries.
I perk up instantly because it looks like we might be getting out but just as I get to my feet my boss, Number One, speaks.
"One last thing... as you all may or amy not know, we were pitching to a major bank this week. And well, I won the account! Well that is, we won the account."
...pause.
"No, you know what? I won the account! I know a lot of people worked on it and obviously a few of you design chaps had to do all that design work and so on but I feel that if I hadn't been there we wouldn't have won the account".
As if on cue, there was a mass of nervous shifting in seats as ranks of pushy marketing girls internally spontaneously combusted and designers grimaced at having a week of their lives written off to stress and late nights at work with such ease.
I thought of David Brent's classic monologue in 'The Office' on the merits of team work.
No 'i' in 'team' indeed!
The room looked at Number One, waiting, hoping for a punchline.
"I could tell that they were very impressed by MY input. So I think that entitles me to a round of applause...
Don't you?" He menaced.
Smithers led the way with a short, school marm-ish clap and like sheep we all followed, slowly at first, until, encouraged by Igor's darting glares hoping to catch someone not clapping, it grew to a loud, standing ovation.
Number One sat back on his thrown, basking in the adulation.
I looked around the room at this scene of madness, threw back my head and laughed the laugh of the damned.
I've managed to skip the last 2 weeks worth of these things, through a mixture of feigning a busy workload (a la George Costanza) and taking days off.
Apparently, my absence is beginning to draw unwanted attention so I figured I'd better make the effort today.
8.40 and I'm running late. I don't have time to grab a coffee to keep me awake, so I just have to sit there and look alert. And interested in marketing.
8.42 - I'm beginning to fall asleep.
8.45 - I wish I hadn't drank that bottle of cheep red wine last night.
That late night jumbo bag of Cheesi-Nachos didn't help either
8.55 - I'm sweating and I feel I need to vomit.
The droning continues and then...
9.15 - people around me are beginning to rustle their papers and diaries.
I perk up instantly because it looks like we might be getting out but just as I get to my feet my boss, Number One, speaks.
"One last thing... as you all may or amy not know, we were pitching to a major bank this week. And well, I won the account! Well that is, we won the account."
...pause.
"No, you know what? I won the account! I know a lot of people worked on it and obviously a few of you design chaps had to do all that design work and so on but I feel that if I hadn't been there we wouldn't have won the account".
As if on cue, there was a mass of nervous shifting in seats as ranks of pushy marketing girls internally spontaneously combusted and designers grimaced at having a week of their lives written off to stress and late nights at work with such ease.
I thought of David Brent's classic monologue in 'The Office' on the merits of team work.
No 'i' in 'team' indeed!
The room looked at Number One, waiting, hoping for a punchline.
"I could tell that they were very impressed by MY input. So I think that entitles me to a round of applause...
Don't you?" He menaced.
Smithers led the way with a short, school marm-ish clap and like sheep we all followed, slowly at first, until, encouraged by Igor's darting glares hoping to catch someone not clapping, it grew to a loud, standing ovation.
Number One sat back on his thrown, basking in the adulation.
I looked around the room at this scene of madness, threw back my head and laughed the laugh of the damned.
