Here's Your Sign...

I’m a connoisseur…a connoisseur of stupidity.  I kinda love it.  I love to see how silly things can get, and I enjoy it most when it plays itself out on signs.  Sometimes it’s just a spelling error, and I wonder why they just didn’t use spell check, but other times it's so much more, and that makes me laugh all the harder.  When I see stupid signs, my mind always goes to ‘Why?”  Why do they feel like they need that sign…if they’re warning against something, have they had a bad experience previously where they got sued or something?  “Let’s put up a sign so we never get sued again.”  That’ll work.

Really?  You need a sign for that?   I wonder what would happen if it said GO.

I was in a mall recently, and I walked past those shopping carts for rent.   They’re the ones where you insert a dollar or two, and borrow the cart to walk around the mall for the day do you don’t have to haul your bags on your back like a sherpa.  An excellent idea.  I don’t know what drew my attention to the basket on the back where you can stash your treasures, but when I looked at it, I was delighted.  A sign.  A notice.  A real warning:  Do Not Put Child In Bag.   I’ve decided that this is why we have cameras on our cell phones.  So we can capture all this brilliance.

Got it?  No kids in bags.

So what must have happened to this supplier of buggies that would cause them to emblazon this warning all over their carts?  Did some non-thinking father (cuz a mother would never do that kind of thing) stash his crying kid in the bag?  Worse, once he stashed the kid there, did he forget the child, and next renter of the buggie found somebody else’s kid in the bag when they went to put their own child there?  Wow.

One loser puts his kid in a bag and it ruins it for all of us.

I have been known to take a picture of a sign while driving.  I know that breaks a whole bunch of laws and rules and whatever, but sometimes you just need to take a picture.  One I wish I took, but didn’t, was in the US south a couple of years ago.  It was a horrible sign, put up by the Tea Party, or some radical group (I hope).  It was right around the time that President Obama’s health care bill was going through the congress.  We were heading down to Florida, and we were in the Carolinas or Georgia or somewhere south, and along the side of the interstate was a sign, with huge letters that said KILL OBAMA, and in tiny little letters, in a colour that blended in with the background of the sign, the word ‘care’.  The sign really read KILL OBAMACARE, but at 70 miles an hour, you got their real point.

It's almost as bad as Sarah Palin's advertisement with the gun sights, except one of those congresswomen wound up getting shot

Another less horrible sign that I took a picture of while driving was painted on the side of a truck.  I have to wonder how the driver feels every single day when he (or she) gets into a truck that says Canada’s Favourite Wiener.    I guess sometimes the people that paint these things on the trucks don’t stand back and look.

Please.  Let me drive the wiener truck today.

If you’re not from Alberta, you may have never heard of the Wild Rose Party…they are to Alberta what the Tea Party is to the United States.  More or less.  Their leader is a feisty chick called Danielle Smith.  As with all political leaders during an election campaign, she had her face plastered all over the side of a bus.  What nobody noticed until it was way, way too late, was that her face was plastered right above the rear wheels.  When you look at the bus, the wheels are in the exact position where her northern-most lady parts  (the boobs) should be.   You would have thought that it would have been somebody’s job to approve the proof before they bussed it up.

Seriously?  Nobody noticed this before they wrapped the bus

One of my favourite signs is very clearly done on purpose.  It’s the name of a store in Myrtle Beach.  It’s called the Stupid Factory.  And here’s their sign.

Finally...a store for me.

And in another shout out to South Carolina, we were down on holidays a few years ago and came across a bizarre sign at, of all places, KFC.  I guess it’s wrong to assume that all franchises carry the same product, or perhaps this franchise has a cowboy owner or manager.   I had no idea that livers and gizzards are something that people would ever think to eat at KFC, but apparently they’re a fairly popular menu item.  A delicacy even.

Imagine how fast I slammed on the brakes...Gotta get me some of that...

A year and a half later, Laura and I shot down to Myrtle Beach for a week alone.  We were out for a drive, and we drove by a KFC.  Not only did the sign say that they had Livers and Gizzards, but that they were BACK!!!  Who knew Livers and Gizzards were like the illusive McRib at McDonalds…it’s only available for a limited time, so get ‘em while we got ‘em.  Who knew?

Who knew they left?  And where did they go?

Earlier this year we were in Ohio for a weekend of shopping.  One of the kids’ fave places to eat is IHOP.  Yep, the International House of Pancakes.  Now they have red velvet pancakes with cream cheese frosting on the top, which is Haley’s favourite, so it’s a must stop.  Whilst in Ohio, we rolled into the IHOP, parked the car, and as we were going in, I noticed a sign…it seemed as common as one of those No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service signs that you often see, except this one was No Guns.  At the IHOP.  Who’s packing at the IHOP, and how do you keep a gun stuck in the waistband of your sweatpants anyway?

Please...leave your handgun in your pickup truck

Driving home from work the other day, I came up to a stop light, and I was looking around, and my eyes came to rest on some kind of trailer box sitting in the parking lot of a warehouse company.  Stenciled across the box was a sign that said “Do Not Hump”.  I’m not sure whether that was some kind of public service announcement, or if it’s some kind of technical term used in shipping.  But it made me smile, and it also made me drive around the block a few times so that I could hit the red light again and take a picture while I was waiting.  I briefly thought about parking and jumping out to snap the shot, but I thought that would look a little silly.

So is that No Humping here, or no humping anywhere?

There’s a comedian I enjoy watching called Bill Engvall.  You may have seen him on the Blue Collar Comedy Tour with Jeff Foxworthy, Larry the Cable Guy and Ron White.  I think those guys are a blast.  They speak to me.  Where Jeff Foxworthy has his famous bit, “You know you’re a redneck when…”, Bill Engvall’s signature bit is called “Here’s your sign…”  Every time I see a sign that makes me laugh, or that makes me want to take a picture while I’m driving, I think of Bill Engvall.  Here’s your sign…

Click here to see Bill in action

Il Divo...How a Rational Traveler can be Turned into a Raving Diva

We all know the famous divas, Cher, Madonna, Paris Hilton, any Kardashian, Elton John…those over the top celebs who have been known to throw a fit when things don’t go their way.  I think that a male diva is called a divo, but we don’t usually use that word to describe people like Alec Baldwin or Russell Crowe when things don’t go their way, and a punch, or a cell phone, or some rashly chosen words get thrown.  

I love Alec Baldwin because the guy just says what's on his mind!  @alecbaldwin

If you’ve been even an occasional reader of this blog over the past year, you’ll remember that when I travel, I like for things to be simple, predictable, and straight forward.  You’ll also recall that I’m fully aware of the few privileges I’ve earned through my loyalty to the airlines and hotels that I frequently use.  I don’t think I make a big deal of using those privileges, but I do use them.  I also plan, and usually time my travel so that it all comes together pretty well.  I can also say without exaggeration that I’ve been through the Montreal Airport at least 65 times in the last 18 months, so I’ve got a pretty good idea of how it works.

I need an extra wallet for my frequent flyer and hotel cards

After that lead-in, I guess you’ve got a pretty good idea where this story is going.  After my airline experience on Friday, I’m fairly certain that my Diva or Divo card may be on the way in the mail.  It was one of those days where everything, and seemingly, everyone, was conspiring to get me.  Before I continue, I will say in my own defense that nothing got thrown, no insults were hurled, and nobody got called any names (at least that they could hear).

Nobody got hurt...but it was close

I had a rental car this time, which is unusual for me, and I was already running late when I arrived at the terminal to find it absolutely overflowing with people.  There are a number of international flights that depart Montreal on Fridays, and it seemed like all of those departing passengers and all of their luggage arrived at the airport at the same time.  I found an automated check in kiosk (I normally check in via my blackberry while I’m in the cab on the way to the airport, but since I was driving this time, I didn’t.  See that…I didn’t use my blackberry while driving).  

Not what you want to see when you get to the airport a bit late

I did my self-serve check in, and in the final step, the machine told me that instead of checking me in, and giving me the seat that I had already reserved, that I was now on standby, and that a seat may be assigned at the gate.  That is sooo not right.  As always, I had booked my flight, and selected my seat at that time, and in fact, I had an email from Air Canada to prove it.  Assuming that it was some kind of mistake, I headed for security, with a plan to sort it out at the gate.  When I arrived at Security, I went through the Priority line, which allows you to bypass the line and go right to the screening area.  You can use the priority line if you’re Elite, or Super Elite, or Business Class, or something like that.  It’s one of the privileges of being Elite that I most appreciate.

The priority lane has saved my ass numerous times.  More times than I can count

I presented myself at the screening area where they check your boarding pass.  For some reason, the Air Canada electronic boarding pass refused to open, so the security guy sent me back to get a printed boarding pass.  I was already concerned that I didn’t have a seat to sit in, and now I was worried that I wouldn’t even make the plane if I had to wait in line for a boarding pass.  I was down to about 10 minutes to boarding and 40 minutes to departure.

For the first time ever, my boarding card wouldn't load.  I blame Mike and Jim at RIM.

This time, I bypassed the regular line at Air Canada and queued up in the priority line.  I was called up by the agent who spent the first 3 minutes verifying my status, and therefore my eligibility to even receive service from her (my most major pet peeve with Air Canada).  Without batting an eyelash, she just said, “Yep, you’re here, and you’re on standby…better hurry if you’re going to make it.”   “Hold up,” I said…”I’m confirmed, and I’ve already selected my seat.  How do I wind up on standby?”

The actual location where Air Canada made me feel like an idiot.

In her very best, ‘well you’re clearly an idiot, sir’ voice, this employee of the month candidate basically explained to me like it was my first day, how airlines go ahead and overbook.  When the delightful words, “What exactly do you want from me?” came flying out of her mouth, I had already turned and started to walk away, shaking my head.

I don't have many hot buttons, but she found one of them

I returned to security, again using the priority line, and arrived at the screening area, just to be met by another star employee, this time of the screening company, named Domenic.  Domenic took one look at me, disgusted that I had bypassed the entire line, opened the retractable herding ropes, and told me to get to the back of the line, because he said I had butt in front of all of these people who were dutifully waiting their turns.  He informed me that I had no business being in the front of the line, and that I should wait my turn like everybody else.

Hold on there...you have absolutely no right to be here...now go to the back of the line, dumbass.

I now get why some people lose it at the airport and either wind up arrested or on a do not fly list.  I’ve never been so close to exploding.  I pointed at the sign that gave me the permission to be where I was, and the words, “are you freaking kidding me?” may have flown out of my mouth.  He was clearly not going to budge, so I backed up, but instead of going to the back of the line, I went back through the priority screening line, and asked the primary screener if I was allowed to be there, and he confirmed that I was.  I got back to Domenic, who was very clearly not happy to see me again.  He pointed to a woman and said, “Well, if you would have just done what I told you to do, you would be right where you are right now, behind that woman..." and with that, he made me wait until she passed, and let me go right after her.  There are a bunch of bad names that rhyme with DomeNIC (think D**k, or PR**k)…just pick one, it’ll be appropriate.

Angry.  Tired.  Hot.  And Dealing with Domenic the ****k.

So I arrived at gate 49 just to learn that some rock star at Air Canada made a decision to take me off the flight in favour of an Air Canada pilot traveling back to Toronto.  Thanks to an awesome gate agent called Fernand, and a very accommodating pilot called Captain Caron who gave up his seat for me, I was able to get home.  The pilot of the plane allowed Captain Caron to sit in the ‘jump seat’, something like a hidden lawn chair they stash in the cockpit, which meant I got to go home.

The Jumpseat...leave it to the airlines to find an even more uncomfortable way to fly.

 When it comes to travel, I thrive on predictability.   I’m a pretty good traveller.  I get where I’m going, and I usually don’t have a lot of surprises.  On Friday, one Air Canada employee lit my fuse by basically treating me like I was stupid, and another one expertly managed to defuse the ticking time bomb that I was rapidly becoming. Fernand was really surprised when I told him that this was the third time in the last year that he personally has managed a situation that allowed me to successfully get home to my family.  In addition, he skillfully, and single handedly flipped the off-switch on my escalating transition from well-adjusted business traveller to a hissy, prissy, airport divo.

Lots of folks at Air Canada know how to do it right.  Go Fernand!

Are We Calling Them Generation Z?

I was speaking at a conference the other day, and the discussion turned to Generation-Y employees.  In fact, it’s been coming up for some time now, ever since these folks started to enter the workforce a few years ago.  They present a challenge to managers and organizations, and as I was speaking, I mentioned my own kids as part of a story I was telling.  Right then and there, it occurred to me that as concerned as I have been about what kind of women we’re raising our girls to be, I haven’t spent one second thinking about what kind of employees I’m raising.  Is that even my responsibility?  Crap.

What kind of employees will my delightful children become?

When I think about myself as an employee, I can absolutely point to my parents, and specifically, my dad, as the place from where I inherited whatever work ethic I have.  He was loyal to his organization and expected the same from them.  He was truthful and honest with his customers, and this I know to be true, as he has remained in contact with many of them as friends, many years after his retirement.  It’s the same with his co-workers and the people who worked for him.  He was the kind of employee and boss, and co-worker that I aspire to be.

I learned everything I know about work from my Dad.  And Michael Scott.

I look also to my lovely wife Laura, and it’s clear that her notions of work also come from her parents.  Before she dedicated herself to motherhood, she was serious about her work, and she did it well.  She knew exactly when starting time was, and when the clock struck 5, she was outtie… Nothing wrong with it…it’s what she grew up knowing and it worked well for her.  We have very different ideas about work, and it’s just become clear to me the reason behind that.  Our parents bred into us our ideas about work.  It’s actually a bit of a relief to find the real source of so many of our arguments over the last twenty-plus years (or at least that’s what I’m telling myself).

Oh, we've had some doozies over work. 

Up until this week, it never really occurred to me to think about what my three girls are going to be like as employees.  And now, it’s all I think about.  I love them dearly, but I can’t possibly conceive of them as working adults…or working teens.  I look around at the service type roles that appeal to working teen-agers, and I just can’t see it.  They also don't seem to be developing the skills that hopefully are going to help them get jobs, and keep them-one doesn’t think spelling is important; one thinks all things get handed to her on a silver platter; and the third will likely poke your eyes out if you look at her the wrong way.   For god’s sake, I want to fire them on a regular basis.

Can I get the Donald to fire my kids?  I'm sure he's fired one or two of his own

My thirteen year old has been test-driving her teen-age attitude for at least the last 2 years.  Now that she’s past the magical 13^th birthday, it’s full-on attitude.  As I do with work, I tend to pick my battles with this beautiful alien creature.  I don’t call her on every sarcastic little comment she makes (in fact, I’m pretty happy that she’s developing this evolving sense of sarcasm, I just don’t like it when she turns it on me).   I can only imagine what she’s going to be like when she gets her first job in a drive-through and some sorry chap gives her some lip.

If even Ronald lashes out, watch out for Haley and her attitude

She fights tooth and nail when it comes to going to swimming lessons.  It’s something that her mother and I have forced on her (poor her).  She’s 13 and she’s at the end of lessons and right at the beginning of her lifeguard training.  She doesn’t understand at all that as a lifeguard, she can get some rockin’ jobs that will pretty much guarantee that she’ll never have to ask people if they want fries with their order.    I suppose, however, that the last thing you want is a sarcastic lifeguard who will most likely mock you if you start to drown.  Maybe that plan needs a complete re-think. 

The biggest battle we have is with her expectations, and from everything I read and everything I’ve experienced, this is the very biggest challenge for managers when they are trying to sort out how to manage the newest working generation.  These new kids at work want prizes for showing up (like they got in soccer and hockey and baseball…’even though your team sucked and didn’t win a game all year, here’s the same trophy that the championship team got…great work').  They want to be vice presidents within a couple of years of exiting the womb, and if not, they’ll get their mothers to call and sort it out for them. 

Ya, I'm the VP...Better listen to me, or I'm calling my mom.

I remember years ago, as a manager of a small resort hotel, I was hiring housekeepers, and placed ads in newspapers across the country.  I can’t even count the number of calls I got from anxious moms…not just before they got hired, but during their employment, and again, once they got canned.  I felt more like a counselor at a summer camp than a manager.

Best job in the world...unless you're really a hotel manager.

We worried for a couple of years that my delightful, beautiful middle daughter (and a middle-child she is, in every single sense of the word) was going to grow up to be a stripper.  For many years this child loved to roam around with no clothes on, and swing on the banister pole at the bottom of our front hall staircase.  As she’s grown, she’s become more attached to her underwear, which is a huge relief to her mother and me. 

You never wanna think of your daughter and a stripper pole in the same thought.

With her, however, I suspect that getting the job is going to be the challenge.  I’m pretty sure she’ll be able to hang onto it, but unless job interviews change drastically into a purely ‘texting’ experience, she’s going to be hard pressed to sit there and have a conversation.  I noticed it on the phone with her today.  She’s so distracted and busy doing other things, that she doesn’t really string together enough words to complete a sentence.

They don't talk...how are they going to survive a job interview?

On the flipside, when she does get started with a story, she couldn’t find her point with a GPS.  She is all over the freaking place, and sometimes I’m so lost that neither of us knew why she started talking, or what she was trying to say.  I’ve interviewed people like that, and I didn’t hire them.

I love that child, but when she gets going, there's not a point in sight

Which brings me to my third and youngest.  To look at her, she’s a smart, cute little pixie.  As much as I love her, this child has a side of her that is going to get her into wicked trouble at work.   I suppose as a third child she needs to fight for every little victory, and every bit of space she ultimately gets to occupy.  She will look into your eyes, smile, and lie her little ass off.  She’s been doing it for years.  

If only her nose grew when she told a lie...would be so much easier to spot

When that little chick hits the workforce, watch out.  If you’re working with her, there’s a good chance she’s gonna take you down.  If you’re managing her, you’re gonna wanna pull your hair out.  And God forbid, if she’s managing you, you’d better learn to manage up.  And start looking for somewhere else to work.  In order to make life easier for future generations of employees and managers, we’re trying to break her of her evil ways, but it’s a struggle.

This devil wears Prada...not sure what my little devil is gonna wear...

So based on what it’s like to be a parent of one of these Gen-Z’s (or whatever we’re calling the generation after Gen-Y), I can only imagine what trying to manage them is going to be like.   I was at a parent-teacher interview one day a couple of years ago, and all the teacher did was talk about how hard her class was to manage.  Apparently she had a higher percentage of ‘only children’ than she’s ever had before, and she spent the majority of her time managing the inability of those kids to fit into the classroom environment.  They were demanding and difficult.  I don’t know about you, but I have enough challenges at work, the idea of managing the residual impacts of ‘only-childness’ on future employees makes me shudder.  And that's why I play the lotto.

Uniform for the workplace of tomorrow?

 

PS...I love my girls more than anything...and maybe at 9, 11, and 13 it's too early for me to be worried about what kind of employees they're going to be...but if how they are today is any indication of what their generation is going to be like at work, they better add a new chapter to the 'How to be a Manager' handbook.

What's a little HR Violation between friends?

Webster’s dictionary doesn’t have a definition for the phrase HR Violation.  Just because it doesn’t exist in Webster’s doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.  This I know to be true, because I’ve committed them.  Lots of them.  So, like any inquisitive person, when Webster’s doesn’t have what I’m looking for, I turn to the next best source of online information (no, not Wikipedia), the Urban Dictionary.   The Urban Dictionary defines an HR Violation as ‘breaking the policies set in place by the Human Resources department…a synonym for saying something rude, crude, or politically incorrect.’

The Urban Dictionary...a resource par excellence

Just to be clear, my HR violations are always of the spoken or written variety.  I’m not gropey, and as I’ve mentioned before, I’ve never felt the need to reach out and grab a butt or a boob.  I do, occasionally, (or some may say frequently) forget to engage the part of my brain that filters out the garbage before it exits my mouth.  My big mouth has helped me find my way into trouble of the HR variety on a number of occasions.  I’m not one of those managers who resists or dislikes HR.  Really…some of my very best friends are HR people.  I just don’t always think before I blurt.  Or hit send.

One of my earliest HR violations that I remember didn’t start out that way (although, I guess they never do).  I worked in Ottawa for a national hotel chain famous for its chateau style properties.  I started my career there working the night shift, and I had a co-worker who was also my supervisor two nights a week.  She was a wretched thing, just angry at life.  She strutted about the hotel like a big nasty peacock.  She never smiled, and she was completely unpleasant.  Excellent qualities in a guest-facing position.  But, we were unionized, and she was there for the long haul.

Ever seen a bitchy peacock?  I have.

One of the day managers had quit, and as I have been known to do over the years, I wrote her a good bye poem in the style of ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas’.  It was a private note, wishing her good luck, but also taking shots at some of the things that nobody liked about the hotel.  I wrote it and hit send, then went for my break.  No harm, no foul.  I returned, finished my shift, and went home to bed.

About noon, my phone rang, rousing me from a delightful sleep.  At the other end was my boss.  “What the hell were you thinking?” he bellowed.  “What the hell are you talking about?” I bellowed back.  As it turned out, the angry peacock went through my email when I was away on my break, found this poem, and forwarded it to the general manager, HR director, and director of operations.  When that power trio read my poem, they were slightly miffed (even though there was really nothing of any substance in it), and suspended me immediately.  I was to appear at a hearing at 9am the next morning.

My manager wondered WTF I was doing

I arrived at the hotel and was met my by shop steward who proclaimed that he was going to represent me in this hearing.  We walked in, and the HR director read me the riot act about disrespecting the hotel and its employees and asked me if there was anything I wanted to say before she fired me.  My shop steward, Norma Rae’s stupid cousin, Norman, flew into his rant about big brother, and how dare they read my personal email blah blah blah.  Even at this early stage of my working life, I was pretty sure that I was wrong, and that Stormin’ Norman was gonna get me axed, so I promptly fired him, threw myself on the mercy of the angry HR director, and begged for forgiveness.  A work of art resulting in a 2 shift suspension and a promise not to use the hotel as my poetic muse ever again.  Turns out that slagging the hotel was a big HR violation.  Who knew?  (Smart people, that’s who knew.)

Unlike Sally Field as Norma Rae, I didn't like my union rep, I really didn't.

Oddly, there were no repercussions for the angry peacock.  In fact, it emboldened her for more nastiness in the future.  (Stay tuned for more about her).   I did learn, however, to log out.

Words to live by

I started a new job a couple of years ago.  I was in a meeting with the President of the company, the CFO, and one of my direct reports, a Director.  We were talking about a big project that was going to have a big impact on the number of staff and the locations in which we operated.  This was really my first meeting with this group of people. 

My first meeting...the smiles didn't last long

The Director and I disagree on how this whole story played out, but here’s how I see it.  We were in a slightly heated discussion about this project, and we were trying to figure out an appropriate solution.  He recommended a solution that I wasn’t wild about, because to me, it felt like we passing the buck on the problem.  I remember clearly saying, “We just have to grow a pair and deal with it.”  Of course, he heard, “You just have to grow a pair and deal with it.”  We’re both pretty firm on how we remember it, but the reality is, that in the first meeting this guy had with his new boss, the boss basically told him to man-up.  Not the usual suave way I start a new job, that’s for sure.

Now this did not land me in trouble with HR, but a few days later, I was doing some Christmas shopping, and I ran into him and his lovely wife in the mall.  He introduced me, and because I had recently invited him to grow a set of gonads, (or at least that’s what he thinks) it was a slightly awkward interaction.   It was clear that he had also told his wife about this conversation because she was obviously ready to go all Tammy Wynette on my ass for slagging her husband.

Click Here to hear Tammy Wynette's most famous song, Stand By Your Man

The good news is that we got beyond that, and 10 months later he repaid the favour by firing an inadvertent (or so he says) political scud missile right into me in a meeting with the President that promptly earned him the nickname, Scudly.  I left that job shortly after, and he remains one of my closest friends.  And I no longer think his wife wants me dead.  At least I don’t think she does.

Scudly got his revenge

I worked in Saskatoon for many years.  I had a team there that I simply adored.  We worked well together, and we were really close knit.  We had some really excellent times there.  Because of the closeness of the group, I got a way with saying a whole lot of things that would otherwise have landed me in some serious hot water.  

Saskatoon...birthplace of my daughters and still my favourite city

I remember one day in a meeting, one of ladies on the team excused herself to go to the washroom for about the fourth time.  Without even thinking (notice the common thread that weaves through all my HR violations), I stopped talking and in a completely inappropriate way, I said, “What’s going on…all these trips to the bathroom…what are you, pregnant?”  What in the hell was I thinking?

If you pee a lot, you must be pregnant.  Right?

She froze, then blushed, then went completely crimson.  A couple of embarrassed giggles from the group, but mainly crickets.  Turns out she was just about 3 months pregnant, hadn’t shared the news, and I had just outted her.  Publically.  I think she and I managed to recover from that one, but I’ve never, ever said anything like that again.  To anybody.   Ever.

Still can't believe those words fell outta my mouth

If you’ve ever seen the episode of the office where Toby shows Michael the bankers boxes full of HR violations and complaints, you’ll know the fear that I live in everyday…that someday, somewhere, I’m going to walk into a boardroom full of bankers boxes with files full of my own HR violations.   Maybe they’ll be waiting when I show up at the pearly gates.

One day it's all gonna catch up with me