Happy Holidays! It Must Be Poem Time!

 


This poem has become such a part of my Christmas tradition that I can't even think about the holidays without sitting down to try and rhyme some couplets.  Enjoy.






It’s about a week before Christmas

And I can't believe the fast pace, 
That this year did fly by
Like a rocket in space.

Our kids a year older
My hair so much more gray,
And my wife's getting hotter
With each passing day. 

She grows younger each year
Like that flick with Brad Pitt,
And I feel older each day
As I moan, ache and sit. 

But this poem should be festive
Not a rant about time,
After all, it is Christmas
So let each silver bell chime. 

It has become my tradition

Every year on this date, 
To send a poem for my friends
The past year, my update.  

My girls are real rock stars
Those ladies impress me each day,

But they shop like their mother
So I thank God for my pay. 

Twelve more months in the air
In 1D, my fave seat, 

Being first on each flight
It's a magical feat.

Ya, I’ve pushed aside old folks
When the boarding begins,
But it’s all part of my quest
For those overhead bins.

A big change to my life
A virtual punch in my gut,
A bright shiny new iPhone
Ended my Blackberry rut.

I was wildly worried
That I’d miss the red light,
And while I love this new Apple
I’m afraid I was right.

I don’t miss the phone
And I don’t miss the keys,
But when I see flashing red lights
I go weak in the knees.

So onward and upward,
It’s just a phone, get a grip,
But living with autocorrect
Now that’s been a trip. 

My lovely dear wife

Says I'm dim and obtuse, 
Her texts make up new words
Don't understand?  No excuse! 

I should know what she types
Is clearly not what she meant,
And that her crazy device
Changed the message she sent. 

But that’s why it works
For me and my spectacular bride,
She’s right, and I’m wrong
Don’t dare correct her, I’ve tried.

If I keep talking ‘bout Laura

I’m bound for the pen,
I’ll be so deep in trouble
And made to sleep in the den.

This poem, like this year

Draws soon to its end,
So an opportunity arises
For my best wishes to send.

It’s my hope for this Christmas

For all the folks I hold dear,
That you share the joy of the season
With your peeps far and near.

Happy Holidays from Sean, Laura, Haley, Ainsley & Madeline

 

Check out our video Christmas wish for you

It's Summer, So Why Am I SAD?

It feels like a year since my phone has rung. I’ve been sitting staring at it, waiting for something to happen. Anything. Even a wrong number would be welcomed. It’s the last day of August, and we are officially in the dog days of summer. I know that we all long for summer. Lust for it even. But summer makes me SAD.

For other people, the normal people, summer is a delight. They begin to look forward to the next one even as the sun is setting on the current one. It’s about heat and sun and vacations and relaxation. Let me just be clear…I love vacationing with my family and spending extra time with them. I like barbeques and beer. (Just for the record, I do NOT enjoy the beach or swimming in the ocean-but that’s a story for another day.)  I enjoy the nice weather and the long days, but when it comes to work, for me, summertime is a horror show.

Over the last few years, it’s become crystal clear to me (and anyone that works with me) that I’m pretty much an adrenaline junky. I love it when things are crazy busy. I love to have multiple balls in the air at one time. I thrive when things are happening. As long as it keeps going, I can keep going. I like my phone ringing, my email binging and my text messages pinging. The wilder it gets, the more I enjoy it. I really like visiting customers, I love writing proposals, and I look forward to making presentations. I even love the traveling for work. 

I love being busy at work.  Love it.

May is a crazy month in my industry. There are a number of big industry events, and customers are trying to clear things up before summer, so it’s a wild time. Trade shows and conferences and all manner of stimulating things to think about and do. June is really a month where customers are getting their last quotes and proposals before summer, and getting all questions answered, reports submitted, and plans made for the fall, so my phone is ringing like crazy.

Then July. All of a sudden, it’s like I’m the last person left on the earth. I feel like Will Smith in I Am Legend where he thinks he’s the last person on earth. I swear to God that I have gone for two days without receiving one email. It’s like even the spammers are on holidays too. I have been known to restart my phone just to make sure I’m connected the world. Occasionally around 3pm, I’ll send an email out to the universe just to see if I get something back. Crickets. I’m alone, and it drives me crazy.

Will and I are the same.  Except for the machine gun.  And other stuff.

When August hits, whoever isn’t on holidays goes on holidays, and I’m truly by myself. I start to get paranoid. And then anxious. By 2pm on a Tuesday I am in mid-anxiety attack when finally, and without warning, I get an email. Immediately the anxiety goes away, at least for a minute. No projects are getting done in the summer, no new business, and customers don’t want to have meetings. In fact, if I try to set up a meeting I’m met with silence on the other end of the phone that if voiced would certainly sound something like, “Are you freaking insane?  Why do we want to have a meeting in August?...Catch me in October.”  If it weren’t for the odd golf tournament, I probably wouldn’t see a customer between June and September

There’s this well-defined condition called Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD). Essentially, it’s seasonal depression. Most people afflicted with SAD experience symptoms in the depths of winter (the winter blues), and it’s often associated with the amount of light that they get, so treatment often begins with light therapy. I clearly am not reacting the lack of light, so shining a light therapy lamp on me is not going to help the situation. When I checked the Mayo Clinic website, they confirm that Summer SAD is a real thing. I have all of the symptoms of Summer SAD, with a smattering of Winter SAD symptoms thrown in just for fun. My energy is drained, and if you ask my lovely wife, I’m moody.  I don't feel like doing things that I usually love to do (like writing this blog, for instance). Her suggested treatment?  A smack in the back of the head followed by a swift kick in the ass. The only summer SAD symptom I don’t have…weight loss. (For me, that would be the benefit of Summer SAD).  

The light is just not gonna help me.

I’m not sure I have a full-blown case of summer SAD, but I’m sure of one thing…My wojo (work-related mojo) has departed, as it does every summer. The only thing that will bring it back is a ringing phone, a binging in-box, and a bunch of pinging text messages. Let the autumn commence!

Confessions of a Blackberry Traitor

Well I’ve now been an iPhone user for just over a month. I made such a big deal about my anxiety related to giving up my Blackberry that I thought it would be worth putting it all to bed with one last Blackberry/iPhone post. As it turns out, the world hasn’t ended, at least not yet. I can now admit that I had a minor Chicken Little moment leading up to the deactivation of my blackberry and the permanent extinguishing of my little flashing red light. 

No matter how I feel about my Blackberry, the iPhone is a thing of beauty

There is clearly life in my post-Torch world. Who knew?  It did take about 2 weeks to get through the initial withdrawal stage. Every time I spotted a flashing light (even out of the corner of my eye), I had a real physical response. I learned that I live in some kind of freakish Pavlovian blur where any little flashing light can evoke a programmed response. I also learned that it doesn’t even have to be a red flashing light. Any colour will do. I’m ashamed to admit that even seeing the flashing signal light on a passing car has caused to me look for incoming mail. Sad.

In the absence of the flashing red light, I’ve got my  new iPhone set up to send out every conceivable signal it can when I get an email, just to make sure I don’t miss anything. Where my little red blackberry light felt like my pulse, my iPhone’s vibrations emulate an actual heartbeat when I get a message. Problem solved.

On the positive side, I have been introduced to the world of apps. I had no idea what I’ve been missing. I didn’t realize that I was so disorganized and out of control. Thank you App Store for helping me solve all the problems I didn’t know I had. I have discovered so many new things, and I now understand the truth behind the marketing slogan, “There’s an app for that.”  If there isn’t an app, it’s just not a problem worth solving.

At the moment, I have four different weather apps on my device. One from Yahoo, one from the Weather Channel, one called Solar, and one called Swackett. Yahoo is very utilitarian, the Weather Channel app is highly informative, Solar is fun, and Swackett is like a game. The problem?  None of them agree. Four weather apps, four different forecasts. None of them have effectively replaced simply looking out the window, and none of them is better than the one I had on my blackberry.

It's Solar.  It doesn't do much, but it sure is pretty

It's Swackett.  It does so much, it's hard to get the weather.

I now have an app called Card Munch. The purpose of Card Munch is to take a photo of somebody’s business card, and the hamsters inside the device add the contact details to your contact file, then, and here’s the magic, search the card-owner up on Linkedin, and send them an invite to connect. You would think that as a Linkedin junky that Card Munch would be right up my alley. I’ve had it three weeks and I haven’t munched a single soul. I suppose I’m just a Linkedin purist. No short cuts.

 

I also have an app called StoCard. The purpose of StoCard is to store the details of all your affinity and loyalty cards in one place, instead of in your wallet. You can simply take a picture of the bar code on your Baskin Robbins Frequent Buyer card and shazam, it’s in your phone. I spent a great deal of time adding all my frequent flyer cards, my hotel frequent guest cards, my Air Miles card, and guess what?  I’ve never flashed my phone. Not once. I privately think those people who flash their virtual Starbucks card instead of paying cash are just a little bit hoity toity for me. (Sorry, honey.).

Have you heard of Songza?  Of course you have. Songza is about curated soundtracks for your life. If you wake up on Saturday morning and you’re sitting around the house sipping your chai tea, petting your cat while doing the New York Times crossword, and you need some background music, Songza anticipates that need and abracadabra, a list of songs you’ve never heard by artists you’ve never heard of is ready for your listening pleasure. If it’s Tuesday night and you’re standing in the kitchen yelling at the kids because they’ve ignored your demands to empty the garbage for the eighth time, and the dishes you told them to put in the dishwasher on Monday are still in the sink, guess what?  Songza doesn’t have a list for you. If you need a playlist for that you’re on your own. Maybe I should create that app.

I guess I just don't have a lifestyle that requires a soundtrack

So all in all, the transition to iPhone was pretty smooth. Our friends at Apple don’t make it as easy to load up your custom ringtones as our friends at Blackberry do. Transferring my contacts and syncing my calendar didn’t happen as lickety-split as promised, and managing email is a little quirky. They clearly designed the iPhone for pleasure over business, and now they’re working the business in. It’s fun. Accessing the internet is better and faster. And now, in breaking news, I kind of like it. Words I never thought I’d say. You heard it here first. And I promise, Ana Maria, you’ll never hear about my Blackberry again.

Sheldon is my twin brother...I'm convinced.

If you’ve been following along, you’ll recall that I’m a fan of the Big Bang Theory. I love Sheldon. I’m starting to think the reason that I love Sheldon is because I am Sheldon. At least from the moment I enter an airport ‘til the moment I leave the airport at the other end, I become Sheldon Cooper. You know I’m a bit of a diva, and you know I don’t like it when people approach me or talk to me, and I would never think to start up a conversation with someone on the plane, but something happened today that had Dr. Sheldon Cooper written all over it.

If you’re also a fan of the Big Bang Theory you’ll understand what I’m about to share. If you’re not, you may as well shut it down now. Take a second to click on this link to put the rest of this story into context.

Sheldon has a spot.  I have a spot.

So now you see where this is going. I have a seat. It’s where I like to sit. If I’m lucky enough to get upgraded to Business Class, that seat is 1D. I pick it every time. I like it a lot. For today’s flight, I picked that seat. Yesterday. I’m quite deliberate about it. It’s the first seat on the plane. It’s on the aisle. It has lots of legroom. You get served first by the flight attendant, and you are close enough to the galley and the flight deck to hear the real reasons for delays or diversions. It also offers easy access to the lavatory. To me, it’s the best seat on the plane. They say that in the event of a crash, it’s better to be at the back of the plane, but that seat is so good, I risk it. Every time.

I’ve said before that I do everything I possibly can to be the first one on-board the plane. There’s a method to my madness. If I’m there first, I get my crap into the overhead bin before anyone else. I can sit down and get myself situated before my seatmate arrives, and I can get my headphones in to discourage any and all attempts at conversation. Today things went horribly wrong at the airport.

First, the plane was late which on its own shouldn’t cause a great deal of concern. For some reason all the flights were overbooked, and people were jockeying for all available standby seats. People get a little antsy when they’re trying to get on a plane and they can’t. I was standing beside a man who, with every minute of delay, got sweatier and sweatier. Another man pushed his way up to the desk and announced that he wasn’t moving until he got satisfaction. I don’t know what his issue was but I kept hearing him say ‘unethical’. Because of him, the agent got way behind on the flight, and when it was time to board, another agent had to do the boarding and I was stuck on the wrong side of the line, and thus, missed my opportunity to board first.

So I was about the 5^th passenger to board the plane. I was ahead of Mr. Sweaty, and definitely ahead of Mr. Unethical, who had put down roots at the desk. But I was far behind Ms. Bitchy and her traveling companion, Mr. Greasy Hair. When I got on the plane, Ms. Bitchy was in my seat. I just kind of stopped in my tracks…a bit dazed and confused. When I informed her that she was in my seat, from behind her C-list aging Hollywood starlet sunglasses she said, “Ya, you can have my seat.”  But that’s not my seat. I had the best seat. 1D. I angle for that seat.

Take my seat, will ya? 

“And what seat is that?” I asked. 3F she informed me. 3F?  There are so many things wrong with that answer. First, it’s not 1D. Second, it’s a window, not an aisle. I don’t have a particular issue with looking out the window, but since I turned 40, I pee more often, and as a result, I occasionally visit the washroom during the flight. If I’m on the aisle, I don’t have to bother anyone. 3F also has less legroom. And I don’t like to be blocked in. I’m not claustrophobic, it’s a preference. 

Because, while I am definitely a bit of a flying diva, I also have a massive aversion to making a scene, I grunted at her, gave her the look, and went to seat 3F. It’s kind of prissy to get upgraded, sit in business class, then make a scene because you didn’t get your favourite seat. I’ve seen people do it, and I’m just not that guy. I’m the kind of guy that will sit and stew. When I'm lucky enough to get upgraded, I'm sure as hell not gonna make a scene. I’m not sure how he knew about it but the flight attendant thanked me twice during the flight for moving for them.

If you sit in 1D you are absolutely, without question, the first one off the plane. There is nothing and nobody standing in your way. If I am in the window seat, the speed of my exit is absolutely determined by whoever is sitting on the aisle. I’ve had too many experiences where that person has decided to let half the passengers deplane before they get up, and today was no different. I was stuck sitting while everyone else was halfway to the parking lot. Argh.

I know how crazy this all sounds. I really do. But like Sheldon, I have a seat, and I know exactly why I want it. I want it because it’s the best. 

PS...I'm just the same when I don't get upgraded. Then my seat is the exit row aisle.  Don't make me fight you.

So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Adieu...

Someone once said that parting is such sweet sorrow.  I don’t know about sweet, but there’s certainly lots of sorrow.  I’ve known it was coming for quite some time, but it finally happened yesterday.  I said good bye to a dear, dear friend forever.  It’s officially the end of my relationship with my blackberry, and I’m going to miss it.

Many people have said that I should give it a week with my new phone and I’ll forget all about my blackberry.  They say that the iPhone is so much more in so many ways, but I just can’t see it.  I’ve entered the withdrawal stage, and it’s not pleasant.  I’m so programmed to feel that little red light, it's like my pulse, and as if attached to one of those heart monitors in the hospital, my little red pulse has stopped blinking. Flatlined. Forever. 

My first blackberry was made of stone.  It weighed about 6 pounds, and you couldn’t break it.  It came with a hard plastic holster, and in those days, wearing your blackberry on your hip like a six shooter was super cool.  I had that blackberry for a number of years, until the metal frame around the screen came loose and started to scratch up my face.  That was the first time in my life that technology started fighting back.  With your black plastic holster that clicked every time you moved it around, the world knew that you were awesome.  That things were happening in your life that you couldn’t be separated from for even one minute.  I was always anal about what was happening at work when I wasn't there, and now, finally, I had something that allowed me to take the edge off that terrible stress.  

Then I met Curve. I never loved you and you never loved me, but like all good couples, we powered through.  I never wanted anything bad to happen to you, but I sure wasn’t sad when your little nasty trackball fell out.  What made me sad was that it was a condition that could be fixed.  Our relationship after that was touch and go until you mysteriously got dropped into the toilet.  Sayonara, Curve !

Oh Curvy, you almost caused me to fall out of love with Blackberry

Then came the Bold.  You, I loved.  Maybe I loved you because you weren’t a Curve.  I loved you because you didn’t have the stupid trackball, but rather, a sleek and sexy trackpad.  The plasticky curve you were not…you had some presence…you were so, I don't know, bold!  Where I didn’t really care what happened to my Curve, I was devastated when, as I was climbing out a window onto my roof, your beautiful brilliant screen was pierced by a nail.  Sad on one hand, but on another, the nail pierced you and not my leg.  You may have saved me from a horrific tetanus shot (for a big boy, I’m unnaturally afraid of needles). I was sad to see you go.

Good-bye Bold, Hello World.  Blackberry World Phone, that is.  You came to me when I started a job that, thankfully, wasn’t long-lived, and frankly, I wasn’t sad to see either one of you go.  You may have had the ability to connect me to the world if I had decided to trek through Botswana, but you were missing some important stuff.  Once you’ve had a camera on your phone, it’s pretty hard to go camera-less, and If I've got a phone that lets me travel the world, I probably want to snap the odd picutre. I know it’s silly, but you just get used to having it there.

And the best came last.  Ahhh, the Torch.  Lots of folks disagree with me, but I have loved my Torch since the moment I laid hands on it.  It has presence and it has weight, but not too much weight.  It fits my hand beautifully, and I like how it looks.  A lot.  We’ve been together for over two years, and with the exception of sometimes giving me some attitude, and occasionally going to sleep when it’s not supposed to, I've loved it.  For two years we’ve been inseparable.  We’ve been from one end of this country to the other more times than I can count and we’ve pretty much covered the continent together.  You’ve been my only lifeline to my family when I’ve been away and lonely, you’ve kept work information flowing like digital intravenous, and you’ve kept me company when I’ve been stranded in airports and train stations, and even on the side of the road.  

I'd like to think my blackberry is going to be sad to lose me too.

I always said I’d never give you up, and here I am, giving you up.  I feel like I’ve let you down, when you’ve never let me down, not even for one second.  It's true...when your red light was extinguished for the very last time yesterday I felt sad.  Genuinely sad.  I’m about 22 hours into life without my blinking red light, and I feel lost without it.

Thank you Blackberry for always being there for me.  I’m going to miss you.

10,003 A very sweet number!

Woohoo! I just checked the blog, and today, Guess What Happened At Work Today had its 10,000th visitor (no prizes, no balloon drop, sorry). I posted my 50th entry the other day, and today, we're at 10,003 visitors!

So a huge thank you to everyone who's been reading, and thanks for all the encouragement and feedback (even the 'constructive' stuff). So onward. I really appreciate the folks who've 'starred' in the posts, and I mostly appreciate not being sued.

One of my favourite comments was received recently..."I love it when you post new stuff, especially when it's not about your blackberry." Oddly, the posts that were specifically about my insane relationship with my blackberry are the most read and shared. And my mother-in-law, possibly the most faithful reader of this blog, and who I happen to adore, got a huge kick out of the brown shoes blogpost.

Anyway enough of that. Thank you for your support.

____________________________ 

A really short post today:  

As a VP of Sales and Marketing, I really appreciate companies who spend the time to be creative and funny in their advertising. Last week I saw a commercial that I thought was the best commercial I have seen in a very long time, and from a place I never would have expected it to come from.  Kmart.  Enjoy.  Don't pee your pants.

Click here to see what may be the funniest commercial ever.

   

I Fought the Bed..And the Bed Won.

If you’ve been following along, you know that I spend a huge chunk of my life on the road.  Airports, car rentals, hotels.  In fact, I’m writing this blog in my hotel room, as I often do.  I’ve been at this travel-thing for a long time, so I’m pretty good at it.  True, I’ve become a bit of an airport diva, but it’s really more about getting where I’m going faster, easier, and as comfortably as possible.   I can handle pretty much anything the travel gods throw at me, and I usually don’t get too twisted out of shape.

I can now say, after four nights in the Radisson Calgary that I have met my match.  The travel gods have thrown a curveball that I just don’t know how to deal with.  This curveball is called the “Sleep Number Bed”.  Whoever thought it was a good idea to install this new hellish torture device in a hotel should be shot.  I’m in my 40’s, and I’ve stayed in more hotels than the average guy, and I’m used to sleeping in lots of different beds (that sounds a little trampier than I meant it to), and I can’t figure this bloody thing out.

In theory, the sleep number bed is a good idea.  The mattress is full of air, and with a remote control, you control the firmness of the mattress.  Good idea, right?  Well, I dunno.  Clearly these beds are made for 2 people, because you can control both sides of the bed.  For example, if my lovely wife likes a firm mattress, and I like it a little softer, we should be able to be happy, and our marriage will be safe because we both get the bed we want, and we’re still able to sleep together.  

Looks delightful, doesn't it?

Try sleeping alone in one of these contraptions.  I jumped into it on Sunday night, and selected my personal sleep number.  Who knew I had a personal sleep number.  So I set it to medium. Apparently I like my bed the way I like my steak.  Who knew?  It seemed relatively comfortable and it never occurred to me to set the other side of the bed.  At some point during the early part of the night, I rolled over, and it felt like I fell into a hole.  I rolled off my medium-firm side of the bed into some über-soft pit of despair.  I seriously dropped off my side and fell into the other side.  That was a rude awakening.  In the dark of the night, I’m trying to scramble back up onto the medium firm side of the bed, and I’m having difficulty scaling the ledge.  I had to get up, walk around the bed, and get back in.  So not cool.  

Now, it’s 1:30 in the morning, and I’m seeking out the remote control so I can blow up the other side of the bed.  I set the passenger side to the same firmness of the driver’s side and waited for the magic to happen.  If  you’ve never slept in a bed with a built-in compressor, it’s quite an experience.  It clunks as it fires up, and then, like the air machine at the gas station, it starts blowing air, and you can feel and see the mattress rise.  Fun times at 1:30am.

Notice the freakin' ledge

You would think that when you set the left side at 65 (that’s medium) and the right side at 65 that the bed would then be level and that the firmness would be consistent.  You would be wrong.  For four nights I’ve been in a battle with my bed.  I wonder how many other people in this hotel are having the same battle.  I’ve blown up the bed, I’ve let air out.  I’ve drained both sides of the bed and maxed both sides out, and I can’t make this bed level.  There is a ledge in the middle of it that’s become my nemesis for these last four nights.  I’ve been trying to manage my bed, and I’m pretty sure that your bed is not something you should have to manage.  There were times where I almost resorted to sleeping on the floor, but instead, I just slept in the hole.

For years and years the hotel chains have been competing on the basis of the comfort level of their beds.  Westin has their ‘Heavenly Bed’, and it is heavenly.  Sheraton has the Sweet Sleeper bed.  Sweet enough.  In a bold stroke, Marriott has the “Marriott Bed”… kind of braggy, but still comfortable.  None of those beds have tried to kill me.  I mean you may get drowned in a sea of pillows on the Sweet Sleeper bed, but it’s comfortable.  The Sleep Number bed?  Not so much.

The way I see it, you go to a hotel to sleep.  It’s bad enough when you have to fight with your bed, but when your bed fights back, it might be time to find somewhere else to sleep.

It's Reality. Seriously?

Every Sunday night, I get the blues. Then I get in a fight. I’m not blue because I have to go to work on Monday morning, and I’m not fighting with my wife or my kids. I’m blue because I’ve just been stuck in a two-hour train wreck called The Apprentice, and I’m fighting with the crazy-haired freak on the screen called Donald Trump. And for the last two weeks, I’ve been yelling at the losing project manager.

If you haven’t seen or heard of The Apprentice, you’ve likely just arrived from your home planet, or you’ve been stuck in a North Korean prison for the last bunch of years. I find Donald and the crew highly entertaining, that is, until the last ten minutes of the show, when whatever shreds of ‘reality’ quickly dissolve in what’s called the ‘boardroom’, where the only certainty is that, ‘… someone WILL be fired.’ 

That’s really the only thing you can count on when you invest two hours in watching the show. In it’s current iteration, Celebrity All-Star Apprentice you’ve got a bunch of C, D, and E list ‘stars’ coming back for their second kick at the Apprentice can. As an avid consumer of pop culture, I find it hard to call someone I’ve never heard of a star, much less an ‘all-star’. I mean we’re talking about aging Playboy bunnies, models, and lesser-known siblings like La Toya Jackson and some lame Baldwin dude.

 

Seriously.  Who the hell are these people?

So I watch shows like Celebrity All-Star Apprentice with one eye on the entertainment value, and one eye on the work aspect, since the show purports to be about work and teams and that kind of thing. Whatever. This show is to work as Taco Bell is to fine dining. And just as I enjoy the odd late-night cruise through the Taco Bell drive thru, I enjoy Sunday nights with the Donald. Trouble is, they both give me gas.

If I’m anal about the work part of the show, it drives me bloody insane. For the sake of entertainment, let’s set aside the crazy antics of the team tasks every week. There is no way that any of those tasks even look a little bit like work. Even when it’s not Celebrity Apprentice (although I’m sure the Donald has completely given up on the real nobodies, and now favours the celebrity nobodies full time), the tasks don’t resemble anything like actual work or actual work locations, so I’m focusing on Donald himself and his pretend boardroom meetings.

In the last two weeks, Donald has commented on Lisa Rinna’s reduced lip size (your lips look better smaller, Lisa), and on somebody’s boobs. I have chaired a thousand meetings in my career, and I’m fairly certain lips and boobs have never come up. At least out loud. He regularly comments on how beautiful the women look, and he’s been known to talk about how he could never be gay. I get that it’s the Donald, and that it’s TV. But reality it’s not. At least not any reality that I’m a part of. I’m pretty certain that even in the US, Donald would be getting his ass sued every single week for the smack he talks.

Speaking of smack talk, have you seen this prize-winner, Omarosa?  OHEMGEE!  Omarosa is a treat. This bitch will take you down before breakfast and have your body eaten up, digested, and crapped out before lunch. If ole Omorosa acted this way in any company, she’d be done, and this is her third time back at the Apprentice. She’s a ‘celebrity’ because of her three visits to the Apprentice, and nothing more. And she’s evil. She doesn’t stab you in the back. She doesn’t even stab you in the front…she stabs you right in the face, and smiles while she’s doing it. 

Omarosa.  Not afraid to bust out the tears to take somebody down.

For three seasons, they’ve called her every name in the book, sent her off on obscure magical mystery tours to get rid of her, and plotted her demise. She’s a menace. For the last two Sunday nights, she’s been at the root of my 10:59pm discontent and outrage. Let me explain my dissatisfaction. For two complete episodes, Omarosa has been her usual self, and her team went on to lose the competitions on both episodes. In both episodes the project managers identified at various times that Omarosa was their problem…their weak link. But Omarosa the bully, on both occasions had the project managers scared shitless, and when required to bring their poor performers back to face the music, both opted to let Omarosa go free, and both brought back their stars.

I’m sure there were millions of other people screaming at the TV on Sunday night, and it was good to hear Donald and his flunky kids berate the project managers for their lack of stones. Then the Donald, knowing that the project managers were just cowards who were afraid to engage Omarosa, duly turfed them both. Bye Bye,  La Toya. Bye Bye, Claudia (whoever the hell you are).

I hate myself for loving this show. As mad as I get, I know that I will be back there next Sunday, and the Sunday after, judging the project managers for their bad decisions and the Donald for his HR violations and his propensity to create hostile workplaces and fantastic entertainment at the same time. Reality?  I dunno. Good TV?  You betcha.

You Gotta Laugh...

I love work. There, I said it. Lots of people don’t get it, and I’ve given up trying to explain it. I’ve had great jobs, and a really shitty job, but, I love work. For me, it’s about the people. I have worked with some freaking awesome people in my career. Rockin’ bosses, great peers, and I’ve been lucky to have the very best people working for me. I’ve also worked with a couple of losers. Big time losers. This blog isn’t about the losers. It’s about somebody that I worked with for a short time who continues to make me smile every time I think about her. This is about Margaret.

Margaret and I were a very unlikely duo. Margaret is a petite, whispy little thing, and I’m, well, whatever the opposite of petite and whispy is. We looked painfully mismatched when we were together. Margaret is a wife, mother and grandmother who brings a boatload of life and work experience to the table. I, on the other hand, was a prissy young manager with a thimble full of life experience. I think it’s safe to say that she could easily look down her nose while staring up at me. So I’m not exactly sure where or when it was that I discovered Margaret’s awesomeness. She was good at her job, and her team liked her, but that’s not where her awesomeness came from. It’s because she made me laugh. A lot. It’s also from the fact that she had absolutely no trouble telling me like it was, and calling me on my bullshit. To me, that’s awesome. I managed her remotely, so a lot of what we did was on the phone.

One morning I was on the phone. She could talk. Blah, blah, blah. This is not what made her awesome. If it could be said in 5 words, Mags could say it in 50. During this conversation, I zoned out and went to the happy place I go when I’m not paying attention. I’m not sure how long I was gone for, but it was bliss. I was gone. Like really gone. At some point, something snapped me back to attention, and still the incessant blah blah. With that, I looked at the phone, and hit the key to delete this never-ending voicemail message. I was wondering why Margaret’s voice wouldn’t stop, and she busted me…”What the hell are you doing?  You’re trying to delete me, aren’t you?  You think I’m voicemail, don’t you?”  To that I responded that she was rambling and I thought it was a voicemail, to which she responded, “For Christ’s sakes Sean, you called me.”  And with that, Mags became totally awesome.

For some reason, Miss Margaret didn't appreciate being deleted.

Another time, I arrived to visit the team. I had this little sweatbox of an office where the temperature hovered somewhere between Sahara and Hell. I arrived at work tired, and not at my best. My first order of business was a meeting in the sweatbox with Mags and two other team leaders. It took about 8 minutes of all the nattering, together with the crazy heat, and the lack of sleep the night before to lull me into slumberville. I put my head back, closed my eyes, and I was out. Not just in my happy place, but in dreamland. Gonzo. I haven’t the foggiest idea how long I was out, but at some point the three team leaders noticed I was sleeping and decided to make me pay.

Margaret, the most petite of all of them, hopped up on my desk, crawled across, got right in my face and clapped her hands like she was killing a fly in midair. It was a tiny office so I was wedged between my desk and the wall, and that’s a good thing, because I was so startled that if I had jumped up, I would likely have killed poor Margaret. Mags and the two other team leaders were on the floor, tears rolling down their cheeks, in hysterics over me being about 8 seconds away from a coronary. I would love to say I learned my lesson, but later that day, when I was out for lunch with the three musketeers, I nodded off at the restaurant. I still haven’t lived it down.

Months later, I got a call from Margaret’s husband. He was calling to say that Margaret wouldn’t be in for a couple of days, and when I asked why, his response:  “She fell in a hole”. Now imagine my response. Remember that I’m not well known for my diplomacy. I was in full roar before I even thought to take a minute to find out if she was really hurt. Turns out she was hurt, and it took a while for Mags to get back to work. Apparently she opened some hole in her floor to access a crawlspace, and forgot it was open, and backed up, falling ass over tea-kettle into this hole. The whole thought of Mags stuck in a hole makes me laugh even to this day. That is if I don’t think about her injuries. (She recovered fully, by the way, I’m not that heinous.)

I'm sure it's not nice to laugh when people fall in holes, but I laughed.

I’ve gotta laugh. That’s my motto. Work is serious, but you don’t always have to be serious at work. Luckily, I’ve got a bunch of Margaret-types in my work life today (although nobody has fallen into a hole, at least that I know of), and they are why I jump out of bed ready to rock and roll every day. But there is only one Mags. I miss working with her, but when I really think about it, if we would have kept it up, we very well may have hurt each other.