Snowball 2 - And So We Meet.

You are entering another dimension, a dimension not only of projects and flowcharts but of deliverables. A journey into a land of micromanagement. Next stop, the Corporate Zone!

(Dramatic music)

Submitted for your approval: Vinny C - A typical government office employee who does his best to survive the tedious day-to-day grind. Vinny is about to learn that no good gesture goes unpunished as he take a wrong turn into the cubicle of...

The Corporate Zone!

(Dramatic music repeats)

******

Vinny (*walking into Coworker 1's cubicle*): Hey, Coworker 2 (who happened to be just hanging out with Coworker 1), I just came from the admin's desk so I picked you up some cold pills since you said you weren't feeling too hot.

Coworker 2: Thanks V! You're a lifesaver.

Coworker 1: Oh, Vinny, while you're here, did you get a chance to review the the meeting notes The Executive (*lightning flashes, thunder rumbles, building shakes slightly*) emailed?

Vinny: No, not yet.

Coworker 1: Okay. How about we sit and go over them now?

Vinny: Actually, I was just about to go... Sure. No problem

That is the start of meeting# 1.

Half an hour later...

Vinny: Hmm... There isn't really anything here that's different here than the notes we took.

Coworker 1: True... Anyway, let's go over to the Director's office so he can update the new data.

...

Director: Hmm... Good! The Executive (*lightning flashes, thunder rumbles, building shakes slightly*) is in a hurry for our part of the financial plan. I'll update this. While you're both here, let's take a minute to discuss how the new financial workup affects the division.

Thus begins meeting# 2...

Coworker 1: Boring financial plan talk.
Director: Boring financial plan talk.
Vinny: *Pretends to understand what's being said and take notes. Actually doodling*

About thirty-five minutes into it, the Head of Accounts (HoA) walks in...

HoA: Hi, Director, are you ready for our meeting?
Director: Oh, I almost completely forgot about it.We were just going over the division's financial plan for the next fiscal.
HoA: That's no problem. Our meeting's related. In fact, why don't you both (*turns to Vinny & Coworker 1) stick around. I'm sure this information could be useful to you too (meeting# 3 is set).
Coworker 1: Sure thing.
Vinny: Wait, what?

One hour and twenty minutes later.

Director: Well, Vinny, looks like you got your work cut out for you. Lucky thing you were here. Remember, the Executive (*lightning flashes, thunder rumbles, building shakes slightly*) wants this done "pronto" so let's set a deadline of noon the day after. K?
HoA: Remember to shoot me an email in the morning too, Vin so I can grant you site access.
Coworker 1: Vinny, I know it's well past quitting time for you for today but let's just go back to my cube for a quick (meeting# 4) review of what we need to do.
.
.
.
Vinny: ...huh..?

******

Vinny C. A man who has found himself stuck in an endless black hole of back-to-back meetings where responsibilities and assignments he could never dream to comprehend are forever stacked one on top of the other on his plate. This meal Vinny will have to consume in...

The Corporate Zone! (Dramatic music swells and ends)

Carnival Weekend Burn.

Carnival here in T&T recently happened. It was on February 16th and 17th to be exact. Like most years, I ignored it. Except for that one year while working at The Paper, I have had no reason to go out on Carnival Monday and Tuesday. I'm lucky I'm not one of those who look forward to this every year because, this year, would have totally sucked for me since I was forced to spend the entire long weekend laid up with a second-degree burn injury.

Actually, yeah, that still pretty much sucked.

It all started the Friday before the long weekend, or "Fantastic Friday" as it's come to be known. Mrs C and I were getting ready for work and, as I do every year, I was looking forward to getting a long weekend of rest and relaxation while most everyone else would parading through the streets in feathers and sequined bikinis. As an added bonus, because most people couldn't wait to get the partying, a lot of workplaces - my own included - were shutting it down early that day.

We were tired. We had not been getting to bed as early as we should have for the past few days and, as a result of that, Mrs C lost control of a pot of boiling-hot and spilled some of it on me.

I know! Ouch doesn't even come close.

Not to brag but I'm normally the "just walk it off" kind of guy when it comes to pain. I owe that to the years of training I received at Masochists' Gym. But this one hurt. I knew it was bad because it was the type of pain I couldn't ignore. Still I handled it pretty well...

You should have seen me! I knew it was bad and I still handled it like a boss. I went into the bedroom to check it out in the mirror. The hot water went right through the fabric of what I was wearing and burned what looked like about two inches of skin off (I found out later it was closer to six inches when the rest of the damage started to show).

Sorry if that's too TMI.

Did I cry? No! Did I panic? Nuh-uh! Instead I was the one who stopped and consoled Mrs C, who started crying after she realized what she'd done. Dammit, I even finished getting dressed and went off to work after applying some basic first aid. ON MYSELF! I was so cool.

There was only one thing... ONE THING that took away from my absolute awesomeness in this story. You see, what actually happened was that Mrs C had, in fact spilled the boiling-hot water... on my ass.

Yeah...

"Only you could find a joke in all this." Mrs C said when I mentioned her failure to choose a more convenient location to injure me.

It's funny how it's not as much fun to lie around and do next to nothing on a long weekend when you're actually forced to do it. I spent the entire four-day weekend lying on my stomach and the first half of that time I had to be (literally) butt-naked until the-um-wound was healed properly. If I could have done that without the benefit of getting burned that might have probably been my idea of a perfect weekend.

On a side note, while I'm not one of those guys who believes that women are evil mean and secretly reveling in the pain and suffering of their male oppressors, I could not help but notice the marked increase of Mrs C's uncontrollable urge to slap me on the behind during my recovery. Maybe someone could explain that one for me.