I sometimes work with children. Petty children.
A big project I'm participating in at work is a move of about 30 people from our main building to a new space in another building just across the sidewalk. The move is to accommodate growth, and the new space is quite nice. I would be happy to move over there myself - it's a pretty cool setup, designed by a talented architect.
One of the higher-level people moving is a person who has worked at the company for quite a long time and has since gone pretty much batshit insane with office politics and who slots where in the office pecking order. Ever since this person found out that they would be moving, they've nit-picked every last ridiculous detail of the construction of the space, to the extent of hassling the project managers on a daily basis.
Over the last few days, I've been stopped in the hallways repeatedly by various people, all of whom work under batshit insane person, and they've all asked me the same question: "Where will my office be in the new space?" Since I haven't yet committed the 3rd grade seating chart to memory, I've only been able to give out vague info to those who have asked, and I've been starting to wonder where all the questions are coming from.
Until tonight, when this email from the nit-picker hit my inbox:
What the fuck? I can't think of ANY valid reason for keeping this information secret. Maybe if we worked for the CIA, but for fuck's sake, we make ads selling cars, recliners, cameras and un-tasty energy bars. What are we worried about? Ze Germans?
Why not come out and just admit that you can't manage your department, and that you've let the situation devolve to the point where you're unable to wrangle a bunch of screaming ten year olds?
One of the higher-level people moving is a person who has worked at the company for quite a long time and has since gone pretty much batshit insane with office politics and who slots where in the office pecking order. Ever since this person found out that they would be moving, they've nit-picked every last ridiculous detail of the construction of the space, to the extent of hassling the project managers on a daily basis.
Over the last few days, I've been stopped in the hallways repeatedly by various people, all of whom work under batshit insane person, and they've all asked me the same question: "Where will my office be in the new space?" Since I haven't yet committed the 3rd grade seating chart to memory, I've only been able to give out vague info to those who have asked, and I've been starting to wonder where all the questions are coming from.
Until tonight, when this email from the nit-picker hit my inbox:
Currently there are only a few people who are aware of where they are sitting in the new building. We have a lot of inquiring minds right now so please do not share the chart you have with anyone.
Thanks
Q.
What the fuck? I can't think of ANY valid reason for keeping this information secret. Maybe if we worked for the CIA, but for fuck's sake, we make ads selling cars, recliners, cameras and un-tasty energy bars. What are we worried about? Ze Germans?
Why not come out and just admit that you can't manage your department, and that you've let the situation devolve to the point where you're unable to wrangle a bunch of screaming ten year olds?
Labels: work
posted by steve at 1:49 AM
3 Comments:
This is one of the reasons I work at home. I sit where I say.
Smart move, Ms. Flurry.
Print out that email, so whenever someone asks you if they're moving, tell them you have been told not to say and hand them a copy of the letter.
How people like this stay employed is beyond me.
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