Came November 5 and we crashed. We are officially in the voter hangover state. Or post-sugar-rush syndrome. Or PTSD. Call it any name you like, but my 50+ character office never been quieter than on that day. No arguing, yelling, whispering under breath, or else. Nothing, Nada, none. Balloon popped, air’s gone. Elvis had left the building.

Had he? No, he is just playing invisible man.

I’d say, those who had lost were not in the mood; those who had won,  did not want to tease the elephant. Either side had not settled yet  with what just had happened. As rare as they are, emotional withdrawals get us up close to what ancient Greek called “catharsis”.

Though sensationally it may vary from a cold shower to hitting a brick wall, the end result is sudden awakening as one is being thrown out of his comfy stalemate state.

Regardless of the Mr. President Elect agenda, we have to face facts that are hard to argue - something gonna give and we all do not want to be on the fault line when the crack opens.

Call it socialism, marxismm, communism - but the era of burgeoning middle-men must end.

Personally, I do not give a cow’s fart for  what they do - sell shares, sign-off risky mortgages, run distribution center, or push overpriced tickets on the street’s corner. Speculation is not a reputable profession. Even the World oldest  profession demands for the provider’s participation on a very personal level. Middle-men are the pimps of the unregulated Globalization.

“We, the consumers…” already expressed our will by switching over to the supply chains that bare less of the middle-man  influence, - Internet or mail-order, namely. On-line sales numbers are climbing every year. One actually can call the place and bargain for a deal. Regardless of the end-result, nobody would stick corporate policy up to your nose as the fig leaf of an excuse to avoid admitting that free market principals do not apply to the middle-men driven stores.

“We do not bargain, but we can match.” Nice…,  so you would rather lose this sale opportunity, but could not stand temptation to bring your competitor’s numbers down. How about you sell 50 items at bargain price and make more money than your fig leaf of policy worth?

Now, imaging our World without pimps on every corner.

Imaging a doctor who does not prescribe trial medicine for your kids to get kickbacks from pharmaceutical company; imaging government working for you, rather than those who can afford buying its attention; imaging jobs not being lost over corporate greed; imaging elderly people getting health care they deserve instead of discounted services approved by insurance companies; imaging working to live rather than the opposite; and more, and more and more…

I would like it. Time has come. Let’s give it a chance. Long Live Change. We need it.

Well, if only that world were not bound by one’s fantasy.
Sounds familiar? Not really ? Let’s make it close and personal.

Office Aborigine

( Play in One Life - No entr’acte allowed, play goes on until the main character dies…)

Characters in no particular order:

• Manager - middle-aged functionare, concerned with “not letting others to make a mistake that could cost him his job”

• Manager’s Manager - middle-aged functionare, concerned with “not making a mistake that could cost him his job”. Has more tenure than his subordinate managers.

• Director - post-middle-age functionare, concerned with “his subordinate managers making a mistake that could cost him early retirement”.

• Manager’s Pet - Coworker who has extracurricular relations with the manager.

• Cherry picker - Manager’s Pet who is allowed to pick his(her) own projects.

• Techno Whiz - Owns latest gadgets and tips management on the important usability trends, such as winning “Doom 3″ in under five minutes. Often chosen for technology research.

• Kudos Ripper - Pursues management with ingenious ideas of finishing other people’s work. Depending on her social status, she gets it, most of the times.

• The Genius - It’s less troublesome to let him win his way than argue. Countless examples of his intellectual superiority, from teaching Australian Aborigines to hunt to citations of the sources you cannot verify, take most of his work hours. Management hates, fears, and promotes him.

• The Customer - Anyone in the Company having feedback powers affecting one’s career.

• Aborigine - Office inhabitant of undetermined age trying to survive between recessions, management power wars, re-orgs, political games, etc… His social obligations tamed his natural responses into politically correct reflections. He longs to run free. Some day…

So, one perfectly normal day, while Aborigine is cutting through this game of stolen ideas, unfair workload, unexplainable promotions, customers’ complaints, inquires into his IQ, decimating his achievements, lying, betraying, being not heard, asked to leave the room, etc.., etc…, etc…

He just gets up from the ergonomic chair of his and decides that it’s time to SPEAK UP !!!

**** Now, in the best traditions of the B. Brecht’s Theater,  it is time for the actor-the-person to step out of his character and present his very own views on the situation. Here we go:

Actor: “Please, don’t do it. They do not speak your language. They detest it. They find your common English a slur - offensive, rude, inexcusable, unfit for communicating on the premises. Everything you say could be used against you. Remember - you have right to remain silent. Be smart. Use it.
SHUT UP !!! ”

• Footnote: Functionare (Fr) - A bureaucrat

Well, as innocent as it is, neither inquirer nor responder are truthful. The former usually does not care, while the latter does not want to expose his or her soft inner self by opening up before a stranger, who by default does not give a damn of what you really feel.

On a personal note, I have met two individuals in my life who were exceptions to this rule.

The first one always answered the question straight and truthful, “Mediocre!”
Later, he moved to Midwest and changed his name to “Honest Abe”.

The second one, obviously troubled by the perspective of being involved in the casual lies, would avert his eyes from the oncoming coworkers, while attempting to pass them by in the narrow isle between the laser printer and the coffee machine. Due to the stiff neck problem, his entire body would jerk up, like a stubborn puppy that is dragged away by the annoyed owner.

Next time before you submit to your natural instinct of producing the politically correct version of “Get away, none of your business”; stop and think of this - what if you die the next instant with a casual lie being the last thing you have done in this world?

We probably should ban “How are you?” greeting. To the time we are ready for it.

Has anyone ever counted number of casual lies dropped by an average person a day?

They are sent away as the prodigal sons, just to return inevitably to their issue point, sender, creator, whoever, and hit him( her ) right in between those wide opened eyes with a deafening, “Why did you let me happen at the first place?”.

Unbelievable as it is, we all do it on a daily basis. Why? Oh, if there was an easy answer, we would not need to blog it, wouldn’t we? Let’s lie about it, err … talk about it.

And I promise to be truthful as long as you are truthful about your feelings of what you are about to read…

So, let’s the truthful lies begin…