I?m a bitter old man, and a sore loser.
A while back the important people at the company where I work announced that they were cashing out and would be putting our company up for sale. Sure enough, a few short months later we are now owned by a massively large global conglomerate. We have been promised that the next couple of years will be chock full of nega-glee as we conform to the new parent's policies, procedures, computer systems, etc.
I was informed very early that several of the systems I administer would be replaced with the parent company's software right away. In particular, our Human Resources software had been targeted as the first to go. All of us who are stakeholders in this software got an email a couple of weeks ago to prepare us for a meeting that was scheduled for earlier this week. The email had lengthy questionaires and requests for information that it stressed in no uncertain terms needed to be completed for the meeting.
In today's rapidly declining economic climate with its shrinking job market, I find that I can pucker up and smooch hindquarters with the best of the best (even providing my customers with an open mouth / hint of tongue option). Also, I learned that several high-ranking overlords from the new parent company would attend this meeting, including the Global Director Of We're Actively Seeking Any Excuse To Annihilate Your Ass. To say the least, I fearfully put some extra effort into completing my portion of the survey, and to also create a top-shelf presentation on our current systems landscape.
I spent the long hours and did the research. I typed up a document detailing how all of our systems integrate with each other. I agonized over wording and grammar, scrutinizing every word until I found that sweet spot with just the right amount of detail, but keeping everything clear and concise. I printed large format posters of a highly detailed drawing of my systems that at a glance answered every question on the survey. I assembled information packets for each attendee, and rehearsed my presentation until I knew each word and vocal inflection. I honed and refined until my presentation was lean and sharp to the point of being lethal. I was ready. I would get in, slice up the audience, and get out before they even knew what hit them.
The day of my presentation came, and the whole thing went off perfectly. I put up my posters, passed out my packets, and put my presentation on the projector. I was witty and charming. I was informed. I answered a few polite questions. I was in command of my domain. And when I was finished, I was momentarily rewarded with the chirping sound of a single cricket (which quickly silenced itself when it realized it was alone). Puzzled and disappointed by the lack of response, I sat down and tried to slink unnoticed under the table.
Then it was Alice?s turn on deck. Alice works for Human Resources, and was in charge of explaining how HR handles day to day business. She handed out her information packets. She had about 5 copies, which had to be shared among 20 people. They were massive ? roughly 100 pages each ? and the contents were more or less an obviously half-assed attempt to answer the survey:
Question: What software do you use for HR functions?
Answer: I don?t know what you mean by ?software?
Question: Describe the steps you use to process payroll.
Answer: ?????
Question: How many new-hires do you process weekly?
Answer: I can?t give out that information to people I don?t know.
And on and on the lame answers went.
Looking at her packet, I felt embarrassed for Alice. Then she began speaking, and it only got worse. She stumbled through her presentation as though it was the first time she had ever seen it. She answered virtually every question with "I'll have to get back to you on that." Painfully long hours later, her smoldering trainwreck of a presentation was complete.
And they gushed. They applauded. The congratulated her on the endless pages of BS and non-answers (i.e. "valuable raw data") she had provided. I was standing around wondering exactly when it was that I had stepped into the Twilight Zone, while she was being offered cash bonuses, minions to mercilessly whip, and the corner window office.
Me confused.
A while back the important people at the company where I work announced that they were cashing out and would be putting our company up for sale. Sure enough, a few short months later we are now owned by a massively large global conglomerate. We have been promised that the next couple of years will be chock full of nega-glee as we conform to the new parent's policies, procedures, computer systems, etc.
I was informed very early that several of the systems I administer would be replaced with the parent company's software right away. In particular, our Human Resources software had been targeted as the first to go. All of us who are stakeholders in this software got an email a couple of weeks ago to prepare us for a meeting that was scheduled for earlier this week. The email had lengthy questionaires and requests for information that it stressed in no uncertain terms needed to be completed for the meeting.
In today's rapidly declining economic climate with its shrinking job market, I find that I can pucker up and smooch hindquarters with the best of the best (even providing my customers with an open mouth / hint of tongue option). Also, I learned that several high-ranking overlords from the new parent company would attend this meeting, including the Global Director Of We're Actively Seeking Any Excuse To Annihilate Your Ass. To say the least, I fearfully put some extra effort into completing my portion of the survey, and to also create a top-shelf presentation on our current systems landscape.
I spent the long hours and did the research. I typed up a document detailing how all of our systems integrate with each other. I agonized over wording and grammar, scrutinizing every word until I found that sweet spot with just the right amount of detail, but keeping everything clear and concise. I printed large format posters of a highly detailed drawing of my systems that at a glance answered every question on the survey. I assembled information packets for each attendee, and rehearsed my presentation until I knew each word and vocal inflection. I honed and refined until my presentation was lean and sharp to the point of being lethal. I was ready. I would get in, slice up the audience, and get out before they even knew what hit them.
The day of my presentation came, and the whole thing went off perfectly. I put up my posters, passed out my packets, and put my presentation on the projector. I was witty and charming. I was informed. I answered a few polite questions. I was in command of my domain. And when I was finished, I was momentarily rewarded with the chirping sound of a single cricket (which quickly silenced itself when it realized it was alone). Puzzled and disappointed by the lack of response, I sat down and tried to slink unnoticed under the table.
Then it was Alice?s turn on deck. Alice works for Human Resources, and was in charge of explaining how HR handles day to day business. She handed out her information packets. She had about 5 copies, which had to be shared among 20 people. They were massive ? roughly 100 pages each ? and the contents were more or less an obviously half-assed attempt to answer the survey:
Question: What software do you use for HR functions?
Answer: I don?t know what you mean by ?software?
Question: Describe the steps you use to process payroll.
Answer: ?????
Question: How many new-hires do you process weekly?
Answer: I can?t give out that information to people I don?t know.
And on and on the lame answers went.
Looking at her packet, I felt embarrassed for Alice. Then she began speaking, and it only got worse. She stumbled through her presentation as though it was the first time she had ever seen it. She answered virtually every question with "I'll have to get back to you on that." Painfully long hours later, her smoldering trainwreck of a presentation was complete.
And they gushed. They applauded. The congratulated her on the endless pages of BS and non-answers (i.e. "valuable raw data") she had provided. I was standing around wondering exactly when it was that I had stepped into the Twilight Zone, while she was being offered cash bonuses, minions to mercilessly whip, and the corner window office.
Me confused.