I finished my early morning pre-work
preparation by affixing a pair of polished silver cuff links to my
black button-up dress shirt. That was the last thing I did that
required zero thought that day (although it did take a considerable
amount of dexterity). The CEO of my multi-billion dollar, 12,000+
employee company was scheduled to visit my office, and I needed to be
mentally prepared for any interaction that could occur. For those of
you who have not sold your soul and accepted a job in Corporate
America, a visit from the CEO is equivalent to a Catholic meeting the
Pope (or a Protestant meeting the President of Chick-fil-A).
This particular visit also to included
a pair of of the CEO's minions. They were the VP of Eastern
Operations and the VP of Marketing. Our CEO is a man of average
height, with average male pattern baldness, and an above average
mustache. The VP of Operations stood about 6'6” tall, and walked
around in the standard “Obama casual” ensemble (button-up shirt,
no tie, and a sport coat). The VP of marketing (aka the “Salesman
in Chief”) was not what I expected. His eyes seemed too close
together, his hair was thinner than I anticipated, and he didn't
smell of Axe body spray. All that
aside, I already knew this day would not be filled with joy and
revelry. The stars had aligned and we foresaw one of the busiest
days on record for our office. I had already prepared for the
inevitable unwinding session at my favorite watering hole that
evening after work. Keep in mind, it was only 7:15 am and I was
already looking forward to a tall glass of blended scotch (I'm a
sophisticated gentleman, but a gentleman on a budget).
The
morning went just as expected. The “big wigs” sequestered
themselves in the conference room for the better part of four hours.
While they were in the room discussing revenue projections, profit
margins, and the future-state of our company; we handled our daily
business out on “the floor.” As previously stated, this was not
an average day. Our clients flooded the phones with calls,
overloaded the email server with correspondence, and mounted an
electronic assault on our fax lines. Nothing was beyond the realm
for which we had prepared our mouse-clicking troops. Or so I
thought.
Our
team of twenty some-odd payroll specialists keyed in hours, salary
amounts, garnishments, and every other form of wage or deduction that
day. Unfortunately, one of the incoming calls brought with it the
voice and personality of a very angry “gentleman.” He was not
having a glorious experience with our service, and his business was
in dire straights. After he had expressed his discontent to one of
my specialists at great length and volume, he requested to speak to a
supervisor. The lucky recipient of the escalated call was yours
truly.
Just
as the call was transferred to my extension, I overheard the
pitter-patter of executive loafers coming my way. It had been nearly
two years since I last had the opportunity to converse with my CEO,
and it seemed as if the perturbed client would possibly thwart my
chance to end that streak. I listened intently to the client as he
vented about his struggling insurance business, and the perils of the
current market. It is a market that has a new player, and that
player is my company. His concerns were valid. He is a small
business owner that is being outmaneuvered by a multi-billion dollar
corporation. I continued to listen and express my empathy for his
plight, all while explaining the benefits of our service to the
payroll side of his business. We carried on into what eventually
became a mutually complimentary discourse. Once he felt as if his
concerns were appreciated and alleviated, he thanked me for my time
and understanding. I hung up the phone, and looked up to see the CEO
and the two VPs staring at me through the glass window of my cubicle.
They nodded their heads in recognition of my efforts. I felt like a
zoo animal that was being observed by a tour group dressed in
professional attire. I didn't know whether to return their gesture
of approval with a head nod of my own, or by rubbing my feces on the
glass. Luckily for my career and the office cleaning crew, I chose
the former.
It was
one of the most stressful conversations to which I had ever been
subjected. Knowing full well that the “Payroll Pope” was within
earshot, I had to ensure every word that escaped my mouth was both
eloquent and free of negative tone. My manager would surely hear of
any missteps or verbal stumbling I let slip out during my dialogue.
At that moment, I was representing my entire company to the client
and my collective branch to the CEO. My cubicle does not have a
door, but there was still no escaping the enclosure for safer
surroundings. I was a cuff-link clad, caged animal. Luckily, I was
spared any further ogling, and the group of executives made their way
to the next group of cubicles.
My
mind wandered as the adrenaline subsided. I envisioned an entire zoo
filled with assorted professionals in a maze of enclosures. I
pictured a Boiler Room-style cage of sales monkeys shouting “buy,
sell!” as they jumped around in a frenzy. Their pressed pinstriped
coat jackets snagging on the branches, causing them further angst and
fury.
In an
open air enclosure, the IT geeks would sit quietly at their cubicles.
Pausing their coding and Mountain Dew sipping whenever they heard a
sound. They would peek over the walls like Prairie Dogs, look around
for a spell, then return to creating a log-in page or adjusting the
search algorithm.
A
reinforced glass window would separate the administrative assistants
from the onlookers. They would require 100% soundproofing, so they
would not be interrupted. This is mutually beneficial; because they
can not be expected to type 100 words a minute whilst being
interrupted by every zoo patron, and the spectators' safety could be
at risk if they happened to disturb their focus (Minesweeper is
intense).
The
interns from the mail room would roam free and aimlessly, but only
because the zoo cared not about their health and well being. Plus,
nobody really comes to the office zoo to see them anyway.
In the
distance, a sawdust-covered plain would be inhabited by the free
range trainers and project managers. Their constant squawks would be
arrested by the occasional sip of coffee or tea. The open area where
they roamed was seemingly endless, but they would always been seen
congregated in one small area, for they are a social people.
Betwixt
a jungle of wires, cubicles and assorted decorative desk adornments
would sit the payroll specialists. Each would have staked a claim in
the organized chaos that was the centerpiece of the zoo. For the
most part, they would be busy with assigned tasks, but they monotony
would be broken up by occasional outbursts. Those would manifest
themselves in any overwhelming emotion that came over them. This was
why they were the most entertaining species in the office habitat.
Spread
evenly and strategically throughout the jungle, you would find the
supervisors. They were similar to the specialists, but you could
tell by their markings and the size of their jungle claim that they
were slightly different. They were also the only ones you would find
wandering from one area of the jungle to another. Their wandering
would seem aimless, but there was a certain purpose to the zig-zag
patterns they followed. They would also be the only ones with
permission to leave the jungle for any significant period of time.
Their trek would normally lead them to the conference cage, where
they would spend hours at a time barking and spitting at one another.
That show occurred every Tuesday at 9:30, but sometimes would be
repeated throughout the weekend unscheduled.
There
would also be executive suite cages for upper management types.
Inside of which; there would be an uncomfortable couch, a sectional
desk, and it would be strategically covered with paperwork that was
really only for aesthetic reasons. They would spend their time
staring intently at laptop screens. The patrons would assume
something very important was going on, but really they were just
watching videos on YouTube of monkeys peeing into their own mouths.
Occasionally, they would find their way into every other section of
the zoo to just “check-in” on the other animals. Once any
interaction would get too intense, they would retreat to their suite
to read the paper or watch the monkey video again (it really never
gets old to them).
By the
time I awoke from my day dream about the office zoo, I was startled
by the ninja-quiet CEO standing behind me. He had made his rounds
about the entire office at that point, but he made sure to
double-back and come see me. He wanted to shake my hand and
personally thank me for my efforts on the call he overheard. I was
taken aback, but eventually I was able to summon up a few words. I
explained the situation to him, and we discussed the client's concern
for a few minutes. I am sure he had some poignant points, or at the
very least, a few words of wisdom for future interactions of that
sort.
However,
all I could do was picture him as a lion in his own zoo enclosure.
The space would be vast, and filled with many leather chairs and
perhaps one of those globes that opens up into a small single malt
whiskey-filled bar. I imagined he would sit regally in his swivel
chair behind a desk made of rich mahogany, with his pride of VPs
surrounding him looking up in admiration. As they gave status
updates of their respective business divisions, he would ask pointed
questions and challenge their reasoning. He would do all of those
things whilst licking himself intently for the meeting's entirety.
He can do that because he would be a true titan of industry, ruler of
the masses, and a master of self-reliance. From under his majestic
mustache he would announce confidently with a roar, “It's good to
be the king!” Yes, it is (but it is ever more rewarding when the
royal tongue can reach the crown jewels).
