Apple vs. The Senate

The company I work for is BIG! But not BIG like Apple. Apple is HUGE like a watermelon and a watermelon looks great on my iPad. When I think of Apple, I think of money. Lots and lots of money. Tim Cook, their CEO…is smert!

I have actually met with Tim Cook twice. But this was before Tim Cook was CEO. This was when he was still making fruit smoothies for his boss. But then his boss died. Now Tim has his own lunch made for him by someone else. I hear he likes sandwiches. But how would I know? He never calls. Never writes. What’s a boy to do? Anyway, he was a nice guy when I met him; mildly spoken and well balanced. Sure, Steve Jobs may have had the vision, but Tim Cook was the operations expert that brought the vision to reality in my humble opinion.

Today Tim goes before the Senate’s Permanent Subcommittee on Investigations to answer questions from Democratic Senator Carl Levin and Republican Maverick John McCain regarding the tens of billions of dollars in offshore accounts and tax shelters that Apple protects.

I love these hearings. I watch them on C-SPAN. I love Senator Levin because he always seems surprised and frustrated that people/companies under investigation are able to get away with what they are doing as a result of him and his colleagues voting for or against potential laws that would stop the abuse. And then there’s Ol’ Huff n Puff McCain who always votes with the right, until something goes wrong, and then sides with the left. Not much of a Maverick in my mind. I think that’s called a flip flopper or flap banger, or a banger n mash.

Let’s save ourselves some time. No need to tune in today. Here’s how I see it going down after the greetings and salutations. There are three men at play. Levin, disheveled, holding up papers with his reading glasses at the end of his nose, and McCain pretending to ask hard questions but really throwing softballs because he owns Apple stock and doesn’t want to see the price come down, and Tim Cook, who I like very much, representing not only Apple, but Capitalism, in a measured yet polite and accommodating voice. But in this version, he is a little more candid with the truth.

Senator Levin: Mr. Cook, thanks for attending. Let’s get right down to it. Apple has tens of billions of dollars in offshore accounts all over the world, correct?

Tim Cook: Yes, that’s correct.

Senator Levin: Further, it sounds as if you’ve taken that model a step further and have created not just offshore accounts, but offshore businesses in which you vest your money in those businesses, yet you don’t have anyone working in those businesses, but you appoint a person in charge of that business and they maintain the business from Cupertino California, Apple’s base of operations.

Tim Cook: Yes, that too is correct.

Senator Levin: And there’s one instance in which you are doing this in Ireland…to the tune of $30 billion. Is that right?

Tim Cook: Yes. Correct. And elsewhere. We’ve actually created our own country off the coast of the Maldives. It’s called Jobslandia and will be voted into the UN next year, we hope. Not much there. Just a wireless router and very large safe.

Senator Levin: Well (frustrated already, he removes his glasses) why are you doing that?

Tim Cook: Senator, we take such measures with our money to avoid paying corporate taxes.

Senator Levin: Yes, I know, but why are you being so elaborate?

Tim Cook: We’re Apple. We’re smart. We’re engineers. We’re always looking to improve the ways we do business.

Senator Levin: Even if that means creating new ways to hide your money?

Tim Cook: Absolutely. We’re actually hoping to have our own currency one day so we won’t have to pay ANY taxes to anyone, ever again.

Senator Levin: Don’t you think it’s bad that you’re avoiding paying taxes, Mr. Cook?

Tim Cook: Bad, Senator?

Senator Levin: Yes, bad. Don’t you feel a moral obligation to pay your taxes?

Tim Cook: (Smirks) Senator, we use child labor in China to make our iPads for seventeen-cents a day. The very symbol of our company, the Apple, represents forbidden things. No. I don’t feel a moral obligation to pay taxes.

Senator Levin: Well you should!

Tim Cook: With respect Senator, nothing we are doing is illegal. In business, big business particularly, when thousands of people become millionaires just by owning our stock, including members of the Senate who are in this room today…there is no right or wrong. Just legal and illegal. With respect to the committee, if the US Government believes large corporations should be morally obligated to pay taxes, then the US Government should pass laws that would make it so.

Senator Levin: But you big business guys make it hard for us to pass laws that would make you pay your taxes.

Tim Cook: We absolutely do, Senator. As a company, if I make $10 Million this year, I would rather pay $4 Million of that to a SuperPact to re-elect a Senator who will vote against any laws that make us pay our taxes, than spend the $3 million in corporate tax. Why? Because the $4 Million is a tax deduction according to the SuperPact laws, which came out of this very Senate. In essence, I MAKE money while trying to avoid taxes. It’s a double win.

Senator Levin: I’m sick of this!!! (About to blow a gasket, Levin gives up and looks over to McCain).

Maverick: Mr. Cook, I am going to jump in here. I think what my friend and colleague Senator Levin is getting at, is…well…we want to pass new laws to make corporations like yours pay your taxes. BUT we don’t have any leverage to pass laws to make you pay your taxes because, well, we’ve all being bought lock stock n’ barrel by corporations like yours. My left arm, for example, the one that doesn’t work well, actually belongs to Exxon Mobile, and because that’s the one I vote with, it has been pre-programmed to vote NO on any law promoting clean air, alternative energy, or drinkable water. Of course, as a nation, we’re broke, because we as Senators have sacrificed our obligation to our constituents in favor of campaign money to get re-elected so that we can be here, with you, talking about business.  See…a little secret of Washington is this…politicians aren’t very smart when it comes to business. We became politicians because all of us want the respect of men like yourself, but none of us can add or subtract and collectively we think ROI stands for Respect Our Incumbents. So, in short, we all have little man-boners for guys like you.

Tim Cook: Is that a question, Senator?

Maverick: Sorry. I got carried away there. My question is this…Mr. Cook, what would you suggest we do?

Tim Cook: Senator, that sounds like conflict of interest if you’re asking me for advice on what you should do to make me pay more taxes. But, this is Washington so I will give it a shot. Ready? I think you should pass laws to make companies like mine pay taxes. End of story. Cut and dry. That is it.

Senator Levin: But we can’t pass laws because of the lobbyists.

Maverick: Yeah, my left arm has been pre-programmed to support the lobbyists, remember?

Tim Cook: So pass laws that limit the influence of the lobbyists.

Senator Levin & Maverick Together: Then we won’t get re-elected!

Tim Cook: Am I on candid camera? (Looking around).

Senator Levin: Look, I’m more concerned about companies doing the right thing. I’m not a businessman, and I’m a democrat, so I say pish posh when it comes to the P&L, and I just want to know that guys like you are doing the right thing morally. So, if we cannot force you to pay taxes, which I do think is a moral issue, can you guys be a little more moral in general?

Tim Cook: Yeah, you could pass laws that would make my use of child labor in China to make iPads, illegal. Maybe it would force me to bring manufacturing stateside.

Senator Levin: That’s a great idea! But…wait, will the Apple stock price go down?

Tim Cook: Absolutely. The Apple stock price will go down dramatically as our margins will shrink. But it would be the right thing to do…

Senator Levin: Well, let’s not get overly dramatic! I mean…I have stock in Apple and I really don’t see anything wrong with those Chinese kids learning the value of hard work at such a young age.

Tim Cook: Me neither.

(A long pause ensues between all three men. It’s awkward. A stalemate has been reached).

Maverick: Well, that about wraps up the hearing today. Mr. Cook, I’d like to thank you for coming in and allowing us to do this dog and pony show. No change will come of out this hearing, as nothing ever does, but we surely have enjoyed our man-boners wondering what’s it’s like to run an organization that gets stuff done and makes all of the Senators who hold Apple stock, including myself, more money with every iPad sold. As they’ll say in the nightly news tonight…we tried. And because we’re voted into our jobs, that’s all we really need to do…is try. Meeting adjourned.

Folks, did you pay your taxes this year?

I sure did.

And this is how they were spent today.

-OB

Organic Heroes are so Surreal, Literally!

The company I work for is BIG! And Odd. Here’s the National Lampoon’s movie trailer for it….Dur dur dur dur a Midwest-based retailer with a colossal number of hits in the 1990s followed by a clusterfuck of bad leadership in the 2000s struggles to hold its head above water as it chops its own nuts off in an effort to lose weight, forgetting that the nuts are where the testosterone grows and one needs testosterone to build muscle. Hilarity ensues, with a special appearance by Eugene Levy as THE MAD CEO and Seann William Scott as THE ABUSIVE MANAGER!

That shit’s poetry.

Want a haiku? No problem. Here’s a haiku.  A haiku is a Japanese poem. 3 Lines. 17 Syllables.

CEO Guy, eh

Stop cutting the fat, ok?

How we grow today?

HA! That rhymes.  I’m a poet, and I’m not even aware of that fact!

What am I on about today?

Werds!

I am talking about werds when they are used incorrectly and/or out of context. I think people everywhere do it. But I think people at my sinking ship use werds incorrectly too often and too well. Who knows…maybe it’s the reason we’re failing as a company. No…wait…the reason we’re failing is bad accounting, a terrible HR group, and a bunch of new employees (replacing the ones we laid off) who we bought for half price because they have MBAs from online colleges instead of real universities and don’t we all know that shit don’t count! Still, the misuse of werds has reached epic status and I am here to take our vocabulary back, one werd at a time.

It’s like Ma always told me, Oscar if you’re going to do something wrong, then you’ll suck at life. Sweet Dreams.  

The Words At Issue

Literally: Defined as Actually. The antonym is Figuratively. So when the new intern says Oh My God, if I ever meet Justin Bieber, my head…will literally…explode! Call in HR and have HR sit down with her for an hour and present the boring-est of boring-est documents on life insurance policies so that her parents will get a few hundred thousand dollars upon her death when she meets that little twerp. At the end, have HR tell her that she’s a talented young gal and that we would hate for her to meet Justin Bieber because when she does, she will die. And who will clean up her exploded brain matter and replace the clothing of the friends standing nearby? ‘Tis messy. Perhaps she meant figuratively. If not, stand back.

Surreal: Defined as marked by the intense irrationality of a dream. Oh boy, I was at dinner last week with a vendor and the guy next to me said that his rack of short ribs was surreal. Everything’s surreal nowadays. Hey bro, do these boots make me look surreal? Dude, that chick’s eyes are surreal. Oh, man these financials are surreal? FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!! Do you know what I mark as intensely irrational and dreamlike? My ability to be around people who use this word incorrectly and not have my own head literally explode! I bet if I asked Short Ribs how many pubic hairs Adrian Patterson shed against the Green Bay Packers in the third quarter of their first game in the 2009 season, he would know the answer! This is why China is winning. And Chinese short ribs are the best. As good as they are, do you know what they ain’t? They ain’t surreal!

Hero: defined as a person who is admired for courage or noble qualities. (Courage is defined as the ability to do something that frightens one). Look, werds is sacred. When we dilute them, we lose them. Kind of like bourbon. And ever since 9/11, politicians have used the word Hero to describe everyone they fail to protect. 9/11. Boston. Benghazi. Etc…not everyone killed in those crimes was a Hero. Everyone killed was a Victim: defined as a person harmed, injured, or killed as a result of a crime, accident, or other event or action. By no means am I trying to dehumanize the lives of anyone affected by atrocity, but as an example, the MIT Cop who was shot dead in his squad car by the Boston Bombers without firing a shot…he was a tragic victim. Not a hero. And last week when our SVP of Finance called our Senior Financial Analyst, Pete, a hero for finding extra money in our coffers…I cringed. I don’t call that heroic at all. I call that job fulfillment. Heroes are unique. And rare. Very rare. Let’s save that word and not dilute it. Bourbon neither.

Organic: defined as derived from living matter. I saw this on a friend’s resume…. A Proven Master of Organic Growth. Urgh. He is not a farmer, nor botanist, and other than smoking a little herb every now and then, I don’t think he has a green thumb. He is a business development guy. A good one, indeed he is. But there is no such thing as Organic Growth in business. Not really. Unless he means he accomplished something by using his own team and our company’s resources. But this would not be organic growth, would it? It would just be growth. Regular old growth. Meanwhile, if he used outside consultants to do his work for him, then this would be called outsourcing. But if regular ol’ growth to me is Organic Growth in his mind, than what I call outsourcing is what he might call fertilizer, which does have merit because consultants to tend to stick to your boots like manure. So…maybe he’s right. Jeez, I am glad I walked through that cabbage patch here with you. Okay then…Organic Growth is fine. I will accept this, just so long as we can call Accenture manure, because that’s pretty much their business model.

Incremental: defined as occurring in especially small increments over time. If people at my company knew this meaning, they would not use it. No one here, especially the execs, likes the idea of doing anything small. And so, when this term is used to pitch a new business, it is used with a Lutheran Passive Aggressive Definition of uh, we’ll get there somehow. Here’s an example of its false definition being used to get funding for a project.

New Business Guy: We believe that carrying an assortment of products for aging babyboomers will be a $1 Billion business in 5 years!

Executive: How will you get there?

New Business Guy: Earnings will be incremental, and I just said incremental, which should let you know that uh, we will get there. I am not going to tell you in year 1 we will be negative $500,000 because you will say no and I’m not sure our numbers are even accurate. So, I am sticking with incrementally.  Ok? We’ll get there. I promise.

Executive: Sounds great. By the time this launches I won’t be here, anyway. I’ll either be a low level executive at Amazon or a top dog at Symantec. I hear when you’re a top dog at Symantec you get to tweet all day and not really work. Pretty awesome. Regardless, do you mind if I put my approval of this project on my resume as a key win?

New Business Guy: Sure. You could even call it an Organic Win because we might actually try this on our own without the use of fertilizer.

Executive: I have no idea what you’re talking about but I LOVE IT! Consider this project approved. I’m hungry. Let’s get a taco.

Last but not least, there is a phrase that bothers me that I really do need to address. It just gets deep in my craw every time I hear it.

I don’t disagree; defined as I agree.

Now, I don’t know if it’s the water in these here passive aggressive Lutheran Hills, but I think people here would prefer a kick to the face rather than a verbal lashing. The term I don’t disagree, but… is a wimp’s way of saying I disagree but I really am too much of a pussy to argue with you because I have a weak soul. So, can I just say I don’t disagree before my disagreement so that you won’t want to get into a heated argument?

Here’s how I would advise you to handle the next non-disagreement.

You: I really want to move our logistics center to Mississippi. We’ll save a ton of money in tax dollars.

Colleague: I don’t disagree, but-

You: Good! Glad to hear it.

Colleague: No, let me finish. I don’t disagree, but we will spend a lot of money teaching the people in Mississippi how to read our shipping labels. Mississippi has the lowest literacy rates in US. So, I am against it.

You: Wait, I thought you just said I don’t disagree.

Colleague:  No, I said I don’t disagree, but…

You: So then you don’t agree.

Colleague: Right. I don’t agree.

You: Then you disagree.

Colleague: Right. I disagree.

You: Great. Well, now you’re liar. Is there anything else I should know about you? Do you cry when it thunders?

Folks. Werds is sacred. Let’s not dilute them like bourbon on ice. Do your organic best to literally save our language from what is seemingly a surreal abuse of these words. You may disagree with me on the fate of our werds, but if you do disagree, then please don’t tell me you don’t disagree, otherwise you’d be lying.

-OB

Dear Oscar Responses #2

The company I work for is BIG! So was the number of letters Yours Truly received this weekend. Some were work related. Some not so much. All were great fun to read and thanks for sending them my way. I hope my advice (solicited but by no means professional) is helpful. And if not helpful…at least entertaining.

Dear Oscar,

My wife and I just moved into our new house. It has a beautiful front porch (a big selling point), and for the last two Sundays, we’ve enjoyed our breakfast outside on the porch, overlooking  our new neighborhood. However, each breakfast has been interrupted by a man walking his dog. See, both times, the dog has gone #2 in our yard. Of course this would not be a big deal if the man picked up his dog’s poop. But the man did not pick up the poop either time. The first time, we stared in horror and said nothing and laughed after the man and dog walked away. The second time however, I did say “Sir, would you mind picking up your dog’s poop? It’s in our yard.” His response was “It’s natural for a dog to poop. And I don’t have any bags.” No apology. No nothing.  Help. Oscar, any advice? –Bungalow Bob.

Bungalow Bob, if there are two types of people I hate in this world, its people who don’t pick up their dog’s poop, and the Taliban. (And yes I do rank them in that order.) Ok…first, don’t blame the dog. We can never blame the animal for the owner’s behavior because dogs are inherently good animals. This of course is not true with cats because cats think of murder all day, but it is true for dogs. Second, here’s my recommendation with three variations. 1) Keep a box of Ziploc bags on your porch. If the scene plays itself out again and the man claims to not have a plastic bag, offer the man a Ziploc bag with which he may pick up and dispose of his dog’s chocolate offering. If he gives you attitude, then revert to 2) jump down from your porch armed with a Ziploc bag, pick up the poop with the plastic bag and throw it at the jerk. He’ll get the message and next time he’ll bring his own bag. Of course, there is option 3) which is this…after the man blows off your request, jump down from your porch without a Ziploc bag, pick up the dog shit with your bare hands run up to the son of a bitch and smother the dog’s shit in his fat face and say something like listen up you jive ass motherfucker, if I even see you on my street ever again Imma gonna break your kneecaps and take your dog, dig? Now, I cannot say I have ever done this. I mean, doing this would send the neighborhood the message that a total psycho lives in the house with the porch and it might be hard to make friends with your neighbors. But I do have a sneaking suspicion it would work. Again, not that I have ever done this. Get down Max, you’re not allowed on the couch, when will you learn the rules of my house?

Dear Oscar,

I left The Box a few months ago to go work for a competitor out West. And I hate to admit I really miss The Box.  People here are kind of like zombies, and as messed up as The Box is.  I don’t know how to close The Box chapter of my life so I keep wondering if I made the “right” choice in coming out here.  I think deep down inside I wish I had stayed at The Box, but they treated me like crap, so why do I feel that way? It’s seriously like I was in an abusive relationship and I still love the husband who hit me. – Surf’s Up

Surf’s Up, I think there are two issues at play here. First, The Box! is a toxic sinking ship and people are jumping on life rafts…just as you have done. But a life raft is so rarely a good and comfortable change because life rafts are merely designed to keep you afloat (pay, benefits, etc…). That’s why we call them life rafts.  I know many people who have left The Box!, grabbed onto a life raft for a year or so, then realized the life raft was only that, and now they are looking for a real change for a better fit. So, to mix metaphors, the grass isn’t always greener on the other side and I think you just realized that.  The second issue is that The Box! institutionalized you. For all its faults, it was your home. Do you remember The Shawshank Redemption and the old man named Brooks? He was so scared to leave the prison because it was all he had known and he was comfortable there. That’s you. You’re Brooks. This is not bad. At one point, we have all been Brooks. It is not a supernatural feeling. It’s a feeling of wanting to be comfortable and familiar.  However my overall recommendation for you is to get out of this industry. Get a fresh start. This doesn’t mean you have to go back to school and become a doctor, but Jesus, get out of Retail, eTail, and Pin the Tail on the Donkey. At least get out of it from the buying side. You’ve got TWO HUGE brands on your resume now. You likely have more doors open to you than you give yourself credit for!

Dear Oscar,

I work for one of the bigger consulting firms in the marketplace. I got my MBA and came here because I want to help companies grow. I like helping people figure out problems and I love big business. But now I am in a project (my 2^nd) and I am waking up to the fact that my boss is prolonging the project to make us more money, not to help our client necessarily. I am not at ease with this. I heard two employees of the client company saying that our firm’s high costs and slow work might sink the client financially, but they are so deep in the work that they cannot quit and hire a different firm and so its all or nothing with our firm. On top of that, I keep telling my boss that I have the “answers” for the client, but he keeps suppressing me from sharing to rack up more money for our firm and prolong the project. Any advice? –Young Buck

Young Buck, so…you now know how the large firms work, eh? Good. Spead the word. I was once in a meeting with one of the very toppest of top dogs at Accenture and he was telling us that we should really invest millions of dollars to market our American based brand in Formula 1 racing in Europe despite the fact that we didn’t have a footprint there. He said that 12 Billion people in the world watch Formula 1 racing, and that Michael Schumacher was the most recognized athlete on Earth. He put this in a Powerpoint Presentation for which he likely billed us $100,000 and presented it with so much confidence that everyone nodded. Then someone spoke up and said Why would we sponsor our American brand in Europe? How can 12 Billion people watch Formula 1 when there are only 7 Billion people on Earth? And I have no clue who Michael Schmukfinger is. We of course later learned that Accenture was in cahoots with Formula 1. As for the man who spoke up? He had been a former Deloitte man gone straight and narrow. Here’s the short of it…if you feel like you have to shower-off the douchieness from your skin after a day’s work…then you’re probably doing something douchey. Get out before you get jaded. Or stay there and get rich. But if you stay there, you may want to buy some stronger soap.

Until Next Time

~OB

OB Merch & Letters #2

The company I work for is BIG! So is the lambasting I received from a well-known entrepreneur last weekend at The Marvel Bar in Downtown Minneapolis. First and foremost the definition of the word lambast is as follows.

Lambast: To beat with a cane. To reprimand or berate harshly.

I’ve so many thoughts here. First, just so we’re all clear, he reprimanded me harshly. He did not beat me with a cane. Second, did the term get its root in shepherding lambs? Third, I bet one could lambaste a turkey if so inclined? As in, I can baste a turkey but I can also lambaste it too, and if I do that, stand back as its giblets are going to spatter all over the backsplash but in the end it might be best because it will make the turkey taste better because turkey sucks and tastes like paste and I refuse to believe the Indians would’ve ever eaten this shit.

As for The Marvel Bar in Minneapolis…it’s different. It’s a sheik underground speakeasy without any sign. You have to know about it to find it, which is kind of a neat idea but also pretty pretentious, but the women are gorgeous and the $15 Maker’s Mark Manhattans must be made of some bourbon concentrate because I drink Maker’s Mark like milk and those drinky-poos F’d Moi Oop.

Anyhoo, I was meeting with this guy whose name I need to protect, so I will give him the alias, Ed. And Ed is a fan of this blog, and has read Living The Dream. Arguably, he is one of the BIGGEST fans of this blog, having read every single post and having bought several copies of the book for his friends and colleagues.

Ed’s an analytical guy and broke up my fan base into two categories. Die Hards and Casual. Now, I think I have some pretty strong followers, but I can assure you the term Die Hards is his term and not mine. I would go with Eh, Yeahs, but I digress.

First he started with my casual fan base. These are the people who read the blog, and maybe have purchased the book Living The Dream. They laugh aloud, share with friends, and neato.

Then he went on to describe his term Die Hards.  These are the people who anxiously await the next blog post (all three of you), hijack meetings with lengthy talks of Oscar Barnes (again, I don’t think this happens), and have butterflied hardcopies of Living The Dream from reading it more than once (really? who?).

We talked slowly over two rounds of our Makers Mark Old Fashioned cocktails. When the third round arrived, Ed suddenly became boisterous.

Ed: What are you doing for you Die Hards, Oscar?

Oscar: What do you mean?

Ed: What do you offer them? Aside from the book? These people are your evangelists! They are the people you need to cater to. What are you doing for them?

Oscar: Well, I’m working on the sequel to Living The Dream.

Ed: Fine. Fine. But that’s hardly enough. What else?

Oscar: Uh…I…uh…I have a Twitter following. But its only 500 people. I suck don’t I?

Ed: Oscar, do you aim to be mediocre? Is that your goal? Mediocrity? If you aim to be mediocre, tell me now and I will walk away from this bar and you, and go have drinks with a table full of cuties.

Oscar: No, I don’t aim to be mediocre. It just worked out that way.

Ed: Look, Oscar, I’m a winner. That’s why I drive a Maserati and work for myself. And you’re mediocre and that’s why you drive a Chrysler Reliant and work for a company with its head in its ass.

Oscar: So, then, why are you still drinking with me and not at a table full of cuties?

Ed: Because I see potential in you. Say, have you ever thought about merch?

Oscar: Merch? What’s merch?

Ed: Merchandise. Products. Goods. Mugs with your ugly mug on it?

Oscar: Well, yeah! Duh. I’d love that. But I wouldn’t know the first step about creating Oscar Barnes merchandise.

Ed: Go to Cafepress.com and set up your own shop. You can sell mugs and t-shirts with your own photo and catchphrases on them. They print on demand. You don’t pay a thing. You just get a commission on everything sold.

Oscar: Really? That sounds awesome. How did you know about that?

Ed: I own 8.5% of Cafepress. Winner, remember?

Oscar: And humble. But listen, I just don’t think most of my readers will spend $10 on an OB mug.

Ed: I know. This isn’t for most of your readers. This is for the die hards. This isn’t for the cheapskates who have read every single one of your posts yet won’t be courteous enough to spend $3 on the Kindle version of Living the Dream because their parents never taught them the manners of reciprocity. You must hate those fuckers, don’t you?

Oscar: I hate everyone in this world equally, Ed. I’m a cynic.

Ed: Well, I say care the most about those who love you the most. Play to your strengths. Play to your die hards.

Oscar: Okay. I’ll give it a shot.

Ed: Excellent. Let me know how it goes. Now, let’s go talk to that table full of cuties.

So, last Saturday night at 1.30AM, the cab dropped me off and I oozed onto the couch, pulled up Cafepress and by 6.00AM I had my Oscar Barnes shop ready to go. I made eggs, bacon, puked my brains out after eating both, and slept all day. My point friends, is that I now sell merch. Admittedly these items will change over time, but the selection is available. Enjoy at www.cafepress.com/oscarbarnes

Dear Oscar Letters #2

Coincidentally, when I awoke from my slumber twelve hours later, I noticed that I had received a couple of Dear Oscar letters and was reminded that it has been a month since pretending to be someone qualified to give advice and just how  much I enjoyed it.

As such, I am now accepting another batch of Dear Oscar letters. If you feel like you have a problem pertaining to work (or anything really) that you would like an entirely unqualified and unskilled cubicle jockey to help you with at no cost whatsoever…then write me directly at oscarbarnes1976@gmail.com . Same rules apply as last time…everyone will remain anonymous via a carefully selected alias. All emails will remain confidential.

Please submit by midnight Sunday, May 12, as I would like to post responses on Monday, or Tuesday at the latest.

Until then my Eh, Yeahs

~OB

TSA

The company I work for is BIG! So is the price of this one-of-a-kind prototype motherboard for our new piece of technology we are trying to develop. I can’t tell you what it is, exactly. But I can tell you that I am so proud of our company for trying to build some technology of our own. Will it work? Probably not. Not really. Remember, we’re a retailer. We’re good at selling other companies’ technology, but not so good at making our own. BUT…we’re trying. And that puts a smile on our faces. It’s kind of like in high school when you let the disabled kid play right field in the 9^th inning of the last game of the season and then say Great Job Frankie whenever he bends his knees. In the world of building technology…we’re Frankie.

It didn’t stop us from spending $200,000 on this prototype, mind you. The cost alone made our SVP nervous about sending it to Silicon Valley via FedEx or UPS.

So, they decided to send it via Oscar Barnes Express. I don’t even work in the technology department but the SVP and I are drinking buddies, and he knew I was heading to Silicon Valley last week for other business, so he asked if I would take this TOP SECRET motherboard to the corporate offices of…well, I can’t tell you the name of the company exactly, but let’s just say it rhymes with Mapple.

Oscar: Sure. I’ll plop in my check-in luggage and we’ll be all set.

SVP: No! Don’t do that. Your luggage might get lost. You better put it in your carry on.

Oscar: Fine.

The next morning I was standing in the TSA line in the Minneapolis airport, trying to figure out their methodology. Have you ever noticed that the guy who checks your ID does three things to your boarding pass? The first, he uses a pen to circle some odd bit of information…not your gate number or your last name, but the last letter of the name of the airline or something insignificant. The second, he scribbles something on it that is entirely not legible, but more like a squiggly mark to ensure his pen works. The third, he marks it with an orange highlighter. Always, an orange highlighter!

Two things come to mind when I think about this. 1) I think whoever is filling that role at that time has his own magic, and he announces it to the team at the start of his shift. Alright everyone, listen up, remember that my verification system is a triangle over the gate number, a squiggly line comprised of three oblongs going from left to right, and an orange highlighter mark in the shape of dog poo with steam rising from it. If you’re presented with any boarding pass with any other markings than these, it’s a sign of an Al Qaeda! And remember the 5 sequences when stopping Al Qaeda…Tazer, Tie-Up, Media, Fox News, Heroes! That’s why we’re all here…to be on The O’Reilly Factor and interviewed as heroes. Every day’s a new opportunity. So let’s get at-em!

The second thing that comes to mind is that I too have an orange highlighter, and I bet all of you do as well! I bet $100 that when you’re at home and you’re on the phone and you’re taking a message or writing down instructions, once you realize that your pen doesn’t work, there is ALWAYS an orange highlighter staring you in the face saying USE ME! USE ME! and you wonder where this little guy came from because you’ve never bought an orange highlighter in your life, and so you realize you must have taken it from work, and then a small voice inside your head says shit, what else have I taken from work and will they find out?

I’m right, aren’t I?

So, after I received my triangle, three oblongs, and steaming pile of orange dog poo on my boarding pass, I began my choreographed de-robing that I have perfected over years of traveling for The Box!. I looked at my watch and timed my routine and…GO!

Grab two gray bins with one hand and separate them on conveyer belt.

Slam my carry-on on the belt next to the gray bins.

Remove laptop from carry on and put in gray bin #1.  

Kick off shoes (no laces), watch, belt, bracelet, necklace and drop in bin #2.

Remove wallet, keys, loose change, cell phone, and also drop in bin #2.

Have boarding pass ready in hand.

Look at my watch laying face up in bin #2.

17 SECONDS! BOOM!

Russian ballet dancers don’t have my choreography! I should perform this at The Met!

Walked through the metal detector and smiled at the man with the beard. He must have been the supervisor…or maybe he’s just a guy who didn’t put enough away for retirement and didn’t want to work as a Walmart greeter. Who knows? Don’t care. Get me out of here.

Wait. What’s this? Where’s my bag? It should be right here next to my bins of clothing.  I put my clothes on and held my bare naked laptop as I watched the screeners stare at the x-ray of my bag. Mind you, the screeners didn’t look like they were old enough to buy a beer and I wondered if one of them was biding his time as a TSA screener before he was eligible to become a cop. He had that look in his eye. Eager to get on Fox News as a hero. Or CNN. But nobody watches CNN anymore. So, Fox News.

Soon enough I was talking to the largest man at TSA. He was about my age. This was good. He had a friendly face. A fat face. I wanted to pinch it. He also had a donut stain on his tie. I didn’t like that. But I was confident given our ages and similar sizes…we’d hit it off.

TSA: Sir, can you please unpack your bag?

Oscar: Sure. (I did. I pulled out the metal case that housed the $200,000 motherboard. It was only then that I realized the dull matte metal case looked an awful lot like the remnants of the cooking pot bomb from the Boston bombings. Oh boy).

TSA: What’s in the case?

Oscar: I’ll show you. (I opened it up. Yikes. I hadn’t looked at it before but wish I had. See…the motherboard looked like a bomb. It had wires and long tubular bits that ran the length of the board. IT…LOOKED…LIKE…A…BOMB. Period.)

TSA: What is that?

Oscar: Uh…it’s a motherboard.

TSA: For what?

Oscar: I…don’t know. (This is true. I really didn’t).

TSA: What do you mean you don’t know?

Oscar: My friend asked me to carry it on the plane. (Of all things not to say….)

TSA: Sir, when you got in line today, you were asked if you packed you bags yourself, and you were also asked if you were carrying anything for anyone else. Do you remember being asked that?

Oscar: Yeah, the guy who squiggly marked my boarding pass asked me that.

TSA: And what did you say?

Oscar: Well, I packed my bag myself.

TSA: But, someone asked you to pack this thing and carry it on the plane.

Oscar: Yeah, but it was my friend. I mean, my friend is an SVP at the company I work for and this is work-related.

TSA: But you said you don’t know what this is. So, how can you know it’s work related?

Oscar: Well, I know it cost $200,000 but they wouldn’t tell me what it is. I know it’s not a bomb or anything like that.

TSA: What did you say?

Oscar: That is cost $200,000.

TSA: No, the other thing.

Oscar: That it’s not a bomb?

TSA: Not a what?

Oscar: Bomb.

TSA: You said bomb.

Oscar: I said it’s NOT a bomb.

TSA: Doesn’t matter. You said bomb. Just saying the word bomb in the TSA area is punishable by two years in prison and a $25,000 fine. Officer Denkins! Can you come over here please?

Oscar: Jesus Christ. (So, it looked like my chemistry with the big man was non-existent, and now he was bringing over an airport cop. I hate airport cops. Airport cops become airport cops when the police academy doesn’t deem them qualified to be kindergarten cops).

TSA: No blasphemy, please, sir. Denkins!

Denkins: Yeah? (Officer Denkins showed up from behind me. He looked like a young guy with a mustache who just wanted to shoot an Al Qaeda and get on Fox News. All there is to it).

TSA: What does this look like to you?

Denkins: Bomb.

Oscar: What? How do you know? (I asked Denkins).

Denkins: They teach us what bombs look like in bomb class.

Oscar: Guys, this is NOT a bomb!

Denkins: What did you say, sir?  Did you know that if you say the word bomb-

Oscar: Oh, Jesus Christ.

Denkins: No blasphemy either, sir.

Oscar: Really? I can be arrested for blasphemy in the TSA line?

Denkins: Of course not. You have freedom of speech. We are in America, you know.

Oscar: But I can’t say bomb?

Denkins: Right. Bomb is a no-no word.

Oscar: So why can’t I use the Lord’s name in vain?

Denkins: Because I’m a Christian, and I’ve got a gun, and you said bomb.

Oscar: Look, let me call my boss. (I reached in my pocket and pulled out my cell phone and as I did, Officer Denkins ripped it from my hand). What are you doing?

Denkins: Sir, I don’t want you to use your phone! Phones can be used to set off bombs.

Oscar: Jesus.

TSA & Denkins: NO BLASPHEMY!

Oscar: Fellas, am I under arrest?

TSA: We’re just trying to figure out who you are and what this is, sir.

Oscar: My name is Oscar-

Supervisor: Barnes! His name is Oscar Barnes.

Suddenly the older man with the beard who checked my boarding pass at the metal detector spoke up and walked up to us. His eyes looked vaguely familiar to me but I didn’t recognize him.

Supervisor: Oscar, it’s me, Dave Linder. I had a few meetings with you at The Box! I was on the engineering team. I was laid off from there earlier this year.

Oscar: No shit? Hi Dave, I didn’t recognize you with the beard. You’re here now?

Supervisor: Yeah, part time. Part time National Security! (He smiled) What’s going on here?

I tried to talk but TSA Donut Boy and Officer Dickface spoke over me. I had said Bomb. I was carrying this on the plane for a friend. I had reached for my cell phone. It all sounded bad.

Supervisor: I can tell you what that is (he said to Donut Boy and Dickface). It’s a motherboard for the new xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx. He explained it perfectly. But I cannot repeat it here. I could get fired. It’s top secret, remember.

Oscar: That makes sense. I am supposed to drop it off at Apple headquarters when I land in San Fran this afternoon. How did you know that? Did you work on this or something while you were still at The Box!?

Supervisor: No. It was in the news this morning. It leaked out. (He pulled out his own smart phone and went to Wired.com and there was the story. Apple partners with The Box! to xxxxxxxxxxxxxx). Looks like the PR department is still in need of a leak-proof lid.

Oscar: Looks that way.

Supervisor: Fellas (he looked at Donut and Dickface), this guy’s okay. Let him move on.

Denkins: But he said bomb.

Supervisor: Give him his phone back, Denkins!

Denkins gave my phone back to me. I thanked Supervisor and former Box! employee Dave Linder for his help and he wished me a safe flight. I ran to my gate with my $200,000 bomb-looking motherboard and delivered it safely to Mapple HQ later that day.

I watched the O’Reilly Factor that night on Fox News in my hotel room. I know Officer Denkins was doing the same…fantasizing about me while he polished his gun, no doubt.

-OB

Discretion vs Excretion

The company I work for is BIG! And oh Sweet Jesus, so is my decision to go on my very first diet. I have finally realized that yelling at my muffintop in the mirror every morning with GO AWAY…GO AWAY!!! just isn’t having the desired effect I had intended.

Ha! Standing in front of my bathroom mirror having just emerged from the shower with a towel around my waist shouting GO AWAY! at my belly is a goofy image and certainly one I wouldn’t want my colleagues to know about. But that’s life isn’t it? Sometimes we know too much about the personal lives of our colleagues.

Sure, there’s the stuff that our colleagues share; a death in the family, travel/adventure vacations, and maybe even an appearance on a game show. But there’s also the stuff that gets leaked, the stuff our colleagues don’t want us to know. And here, at The Box!, nothing in sacred.

We have an employee handbook that preaches Discretion. But I think a lot of my colleagues confuse the word Discretion with Excretion. It wouldn’t happen anywhere else on Earth other than in these here passive aggressive Lutheran Hills in which Discretion is interpreted as Excretion with a whisper.

I thought about this yesterday morning after my latest unsuccessful stare-down with Muffintop Barnes. An hour after this episode, I was at work, in a marketing meeting with four other people, only one of whom I know well, but all of whom I knew something about. Something secret. Something excreted.

Essentially, we were trying to figure out a solution to a problem, but everyone had a differing opinion and was intent on protecting their own job/responsibilities, so no one was going to give in. Teamwork is dead at this place, and I resigned myself to thoughts of just what I knew about these four other folks that they probably didn’t want me to know.

Let’s go around the room, shall we?

Alfy Jenkins- sitting to my right, I have known Alfy for years. He’s a player. He gets around, too.  Anyway, I thought that he might want to settle down a bit. I thought this because he told me so. And thus, I introduced Alfy to a lady friend of mine not long ago. It was a blind date between two hot people who have a lot in common. They both like adventure and sunshine and extreme sports. They like to read non-fiction books, yet they both loved my book Living The Dream ($3 on Kindle, people…buy the thing. You won’t regret it!), and they both drive Audis, which I think is a little douchey but they’ve got big hearts. Anyhoo…I followed up with both parties after their double date. They both totally dug on each other and wanted to see each other again. And then…nothing. Alfy never called, never showed, and that was it. So, I deduced that Alfy must have The Clap! Or The Herp! Or some other penis plague. Why else wouldn’t he call her? Exactly right! Think about it…if he Clapped-up my lady friend, then I would find out about it fo shizzo, and then Alfy The Clapman would be out in the open and none of the girls from The Box! would even entertain lunch with him because they’d get Clap in their salad and who knows what that could lead to. At the very least, bad breath! So, Alfy has the Clap. Not a confirmed fact per se, but…who needs confirmation. I mean who would want it, really? Yuk!

Jennifer Ludwig- Sitting to Alfy’s right, Jennifer is a senior manager of marketing and a convicted felon. Ten years ago she was drunk driving and crashed into another car and killed the man driving it. She spent a year in prison. This is true! She has a criminal record and you can see it online. Now, I don’t know her…but I know that I have mixed feelings. First, I think it’s great that she has been able to get her life back on track. From what I can tell she is a hard worker and good at her job and has likely repented for her crime. Second, if we ever go to lunch…I’m driving.

Justin Oppenheimer-He’s got IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome). This means that stress makes him poop. Or at least fart if his stomach’s empty, I presume, but I don’t know because I’m not a doctor. Anyway, I guess a couple years ago when he was in the middle of a project he was leading for one of our senior executives, he was really stressed out. At the same time, his/his wife’s 5^th wedding anniversary came to be. They decided to spend the night downtown, had a great meal at Manny’s steakhouse and then retreated to their hotel whose decorations were all white. Very LA, mind you…everything in the hotel lobby and rooms…white! White as heaven! I know this because I know the doorman. He’s a good friend. Anyhoo, Justin and his wife decided to get their five-year-freak-on in the white sheets on their bed, and be it the stress of the project he was working on or the Caprese salad he’d had two hours before, or a combination of both…he pooped. During sex. Like…pooped everywhere. Sheets. Wife. Carpet. Poop. I know this becauseI know the doorman. Like I said, he’s a good friend.

*His wife must be the best woman ever. They’re still married. I guess true love means never having to say you’re sorry…not even for pooping all over the one you love most.

Rebecca Jones- sitting to the right of Justin and independently wealthy. She didn’t inherit the money, nor did she marry into it. She earned it and good for her. She’s about my age and started her career at Google. Yep. Google. She has Google shares. Lots of them. How many? I don’t know. But someone told me that she’s worth about $5 mu-mu-mu-mu-million! Apparently she moved from Googleland, California, to Box!land, Minnesota for a boy…her high school sweetheart, and that she works at this loonybin because it’s something to do. Now, I do believe this story because it’s so bass-ackward that it must be true. Oh boy, though…what would YOU do with $5 Million? Have you ever thought of that? I know what I’d do! I’d finish my second novel. Yes, I am working on it right now, and it is a sequel the Living the Dream ($8 hard copy via Amazon…just saying), so you should buy Living the Dream so that I can reach my own $5 mu mu mu million goal and finish the second book.

The meeting dragged on without any real resolution. Like I said, teamwork is dead here. But what I really wanted to do was walk up to the whiteboard and show these four people how we could all work together to get what we want at The Box! if we use our Excretionary Funds, so to speak.

See, the purpose of this meeting was to use our brain power to come up with a pitch to our SVP of HR to get a funding for a team of MBAs to help us with our online marketing strategy. So we need to win her over. And here’s my plan!

We get Alfy the Clapman to sit down with her and chat her up a bit. He invites her to lunch. They walk out to the parking lot, holding hands ideally, and there’s Jennifer Ludwig waiting in her car. When she has a clear line of sight to Alfy and the SVP of HR, she guns the motor and tries to run them down (shouldn’t be hard because she’s done this before), and wammo, Alfy pulls the SVP of HR to safety. Laying on the asphalt, holding her gently, Alfy tells the SVP of HR that she is the most important executive in the company (which is something she believes anyway but nobody ever tells her this but her…in her own mirror…in her own bathroom…every morning…YOU’RE THE BEST!!! YOU’RE THE BEST!!!). That’s when Rebecca from Google appears and says how she left Google to help turn The Box! around and that she could retire at any time, but that she has chosen to stick it out at The Box!, however the company’s ability to turning itself around is contingent on getting a team of MBA’s in here ASAP. The SVP smiles and agrees. THE END.

You’re probably wondering about Poopy Pants Justin Oppenheimer and where he comes into this story. I’m not sure. I’m not that creative. But I think in the movie version he’s in the background wearing white pants and a white shirt, bending down behind a Chevy Tahoe but not totally hidden, shitting himself with wreckless abandon, simultaneously cheering for our victory from afar.

And me? Where am I in all of this? Walking around the corner, of course, nonchalantly eating a carrot from one hand and driking from a bottle of Fiji water in the other, entirely out of context of this story, but ten pounds lighter!

~OB

Smile Every Once in a While

The company I work for is BIG! But there is a competitor of ours that is even BIGGER! Their corporate mothership is located about ten miles away from our corporate mothership, and I was there last Thursday. Now, I can’t say what I was doing there exactly. I mean…I couldn’t possibly say I was giving away our company’s secrets for a wad full of cashish wrapped in a brown paper envelope, because if that were true, I think I could end up in some other megaplex in which a cocktail consists of pruno, and my cubicle would have bars. Yuk.

It doesn’t matter why I was there. What matters is that I am not going back. Here’s why, and it’s a very simple reason…nobody I saw had a smile on their face.

Everyone there looked angry. Mad. Pissed off. Like photos of the 1800s when nobody had teeth.

I first noticed it during the lunchtime rush. I was standing at the bottom of an escalator and this woman, who was hotter than a five-alarm fire, came down to my level. I gave her a nice smile, and she gave me a scowl. Now, I know that Yours Truly is no great piece of ass, but come on lady, show me the pearlies!

At first I thought it was just her. But as I scanned the scene, I noticed that she wasn’t the only person at that mothership who was A) dressed to kill and B) looked angrier than a Wildcatter (oil driller) being outargued by a Hipster (smart but smelly).

It was incredible. It was like standing in the middle of a Vogue photoshoot after everyone was told there was a mixup in the food truck request and that the Tofu Truck went to the barrio, and that the models would all have to eat chorizo and beans from the Taco Truck…and no puking allowed.

Everyone looked so goddamned mad. It was like a competition between them as they scattered like rats in every which direction for the sushi restaurant, steakhouse, etc…trying hard to look angrier than everyone else.

I’m scowling because I am so important.

I’m scowling because I am so much better than this place.

I’m scowling because my job sucks.

I’m scowling because everyone else is scowling and even though my face hurts like a muddafuckka from all this scowling I’m afraid that if I don’t scowl my boss will say “why do you look so happy, don’t you have enough to do?” and I just don’t want to have that conversation because he’s a dick, and so I’m just going to continue to scowl scowl scowl to fit in, but does anyone have Extra Strength Tylenol because seriously my face really hurts.

Now then, I am not criticizing the people working for our competitor. Their numbers are kicking our ass, and at the very least, it’s better to feel a scowl on your face than not feel anything at all. So, at least they feel something. We don’t feel ANYTHING at The Box! anymore. We’re passed pissed off. That was sooo 2008. We’re resigned to these feelings…

Oh, Jesus, I still I have a job?

No, I don’t shop our stores. Pff.

I’m not coming in today. Or tomorrow.

Zzzzzzzz…whatever.

What I will say, is this…as a satirist, I try (and on a rare occasion, succeed) to bring humor to situations or behaviors that need to change. And people in the corporate world (not just at our competitor), should keep some things in perspective, in my humble opinion. That is…if they want to. I’m not a preacher. But…

On liveleak.com right now there is footage of the Syrian Civil War in which you can watch dead families (entire families) being pulled from collapsed buildings, and a rebel fighter getting liquefied (yes, turned to mist) by Syrian Army Tanks. Imagine that…being here one second and then having your guts fertilizing grass the next.

There is a man in Boston who lost both legs below the knees. At best, he’ll be given prosthetics to maybe walk again. Maybe. Does he have insurance? Does he have a job? How will he eat? Imagine not being able to walk to your favorite coffee shop ever again. Imagine not being able to walk again at all.

Bangladeshi factory workers and Chinese children make our clothes and consumer electronics in dangerous conditions. Each day some of them die so that we can keep our costs down and our margins high so we on this end of the supply chain can afford bonuses and vacations, and blah blah blah.

But you all know this stuff is going on. I don’t need to tell you. You’re all smart.

I’m just saying that whether or not you’re getting paid $50,000 or $150,000 in your air conditioned building with 50 fire escapes while you wear you fashionisto clothing…our lives are pretty fucking sweet in the big picture.

So what if your boss is mad? He’s not going to liquefy you. And so what if you’re 10 minutes late for sushi with your friends. You’re able to afford sushi, not to mention…you have friends!

There are 7 billion people in this world.

312 million are in the USA.

That means that 4.4% of the world’s population lives in the USA.

There are 100 million jobs in the USA.

But let’s guestimate that only 20% of these jobs are Corporate Jobs. (I am defining a Corporate Job in which you have a salary, health care, bonus, a cubicle, and are making over $50K per year).

If this guestimation is true…that means that there are 20 million good-paying corporate jobs in the USA.

Congratulations people, you are in a group that comprises 00.0028% of the world’s population.

Sure sometimes your job sucks. But it beats so many alternatives. As such, remind yourself how lucky you are and don’t forget to smile once in a while.

We’ve all got it pretty good.

~OB