HR accused me of stealing from the company today. 

I think Triplet, the VP of HR, now believes she is Kyra Sedgwick, star of "The Closer".

Triplet sent me a message this morning informing me that very serious accusations have been brought against me and that we would need to meet and discuss at 5:00 p.m. today.

This is how she thinks she'll make me sweat.

I responded by saying: I can't make it at that time. But I'm free at 4:00.

I'm sure this infuriated her. She did not want to lose her strength of position by letting me set the time, so she informed me that I would have to accommodate her request.

I told her that she would have to take it up with Smithee, my boss, who has scheduled a budget meeting with me at that time.

She then sent a message to Smithee explaining to him the situation and how critical it was to meet with me at 5:00 today.   

Smithee responded.

Kyra met with me at 4:00 today.

We sat in the small HR conference room which coincidentally resembles an interrogation room. She sat across from me with an unopened Diet Dr. Pepper on the table in front of her. She stared at me without saying a word.

This is how she thinks she'll make me nervous.

"What am I doing here?" I finally ask.

After a dramatic Kyra pause, Triplet says: "Does this can of Diet Dr. Pepper look familiar?"

I examine it closely. "This particular can does not look familiar. However, I have consumed similar cans of Diet Dr. Pepper."

"Yes, I know," she said. "In fact, you've been seen leaving the building after work with an unopened can of Diet Dr. Pepper on multiple occasions."

I stared at her for a moment in disbelief. It's usually no surprise when I get called to HR. For example, I fully expected Triplet to call me in because I told someone Aho made fun of Mai Ding. I knew HR would call when it appeared Smithee had been murdered. I knew I would be sent to HR when I burned to death in the pretend fire during the fire drill. I expected trouble when I sold candy bars and cookies to compete with kids whose parent's work here.

This one was a surprise.

"Are you saying that if I walk out of the building with a can of Diet Dr. Pepper that got from a company fridge--I'm stealing from the company?"

"Let me clarify," she said. "You are stealing from the company if you walk out of the building with an unopened can of Diet Dr. Pepper that you got from a company fridge."

I just stared at her.

She explained further: "It's no different than the use of company office equipment. You can use a company pen on company property, but when you put it in your pocket and walk out of the building, technically, you've stolen from the company. Consumables are slightly different in that once you've initiated consumption, the product is fully depreciated and it becomes your property no matter where you are. Which is why it's not considered stealing if you leave the building with an opened can of Diet Dr. Pepper. I mean, who's going to drink it after you've opened it, right?"

There was a moment during her explanation that I thought I wouldn't have a response. But magically, as soon as she finished, I blurted out:

"What if I licked it?"

"What?" she asked with that familiar repulsive look on her face that indicates, I don't know where you're going with this but I know you're going to somehow make it make sense and win again.

"What if I licked it before I left the building?" I asked. "Who would want to drink it if I licked the top, right?"

She sighed. "Why would you lick the top?"

"It's personal," I said. "Can I go now?"

In her Kyra best effort, Triplet tried working multiple angles to discredit my lick the top of the can defense, but she fell short every time.

I was curious to know who turned me in, but she wouldn't expose the witness. Someone's out to get me. I'm feeling paranoid again...

According to www.ubersite.com, a "Cock Block" is: 

The means at which one individual prevents the sexual conquest of another individual by word, action or motive and acts accordingly to prevent sexual intercourse between the fucker and the fuckee.

Maricruz works for a French-Canadian named Faudeux who happens to be both a dickhead and a major cock blocker. 

He has most likely tried and failed to dip his own pen into her company ink, and therefore now feels it his duty to also make every other man fail who attempts the same.

So as I was talking to Maricruz in her cube, Faudeux kept interrupting as if he needed to discuss business with her. I patiently waited until he ran out of fabricated business issues, then he went back to his office until he was able to fabricate more. He did this several times.

Faudeux is only a manager. However, he believes I'm a director because I have a couch in my office. Only directors get couches. I only have a couch because Emily the Facilities manager also believes I'm a director. She believes this because she counted my ceiling tiles in the last office I had, and since only directors have that many ceiling tiles, she assumed I must be a director. Ironically, I was moved out of my office because I had more ceiling tiles than I deserved because I am not a director.

Fortunately, the couch still moved with me.

I say "fortunately", because that is the exact location I was planning to fuck Maricruz. Unfortunately, I've been cock blocked by dickhead. 

The next time I stopped by to talk to Maricruz, I knew I had been fucked over immediately.

"Who's Blair?" she asked.

"Blair? Blair who?"

"I heard there was something going on between you two," she said.

That little French-Canadian cock-blocking fucker.

Well, a momentary delay. Nothing that can't be remedied.

I just need a plan. A cock blocker block plan. 

Since the 30th floor has more offices with 15X15 ceiling tiles (and above) than any other floor, it was decided that more executives should be occupying those offices and the middle managers like myself should be moved out. 

Executives at this company count ceiling tiles to determine who's got the bigger and better office.  I had a 16X17 ceiling tile office.  It was always interesting to watch someone with a higher title than me count the tiles as they spoke to me in my office.

Most of them ended the conversation pissed off once they'd gotten the final tally.

On Friday my team and I moved from the 30th floor to the 25th floor. 

The good news is that Mulhausen and Fernandez will both remain on the newly crowned executive floor. And since offices on that floor will only be occupied by Directors and above, Smithee will stay there with them. Dinton has also now been moved to the floor and will occupy my old office.

So two of the largest offices in the building will be occupied by an executive who doesn't exist and another executive who hasn't been seen for months.
 

Since the floor we're moving to does not have a large enough space for my entire team of 23, half my team will be located all the way on the other side of the building.

At lunchtime, I went over to Target and bought a scooter. Going from one end of the floor to the other takes a long time. But not with a scooter.

We share the floor with Marketing. I don't think they like my scooter.

The good thing about sharing the floor with a non-I.T. department is that the female talent ratio shoots way up. And Marketing tends to be the best department for hot women because it doesn't take much to get a marketing degree.

I'm not saying hot women aren't smart; I'm saying hot women are lazy. 

A tight ass and a bodacious set of ta-tas gets you everything in life. Why work for anything if you can get the same thing by just smiling and showing some cleavage? 

As I was whizzing by International Marketing, I noticed a dark haired Latina woman wearing dark red lipstick over plump, pouty lips, a white blouse and a blue skirt with slit up the back nearly all the way to her crack.

I found out her name is Maricruz.

I haven't spoken to her yet, but she will become a member of my user pool. I know this because she looked at me. Not just any look. It's the look I'm very familiar with; it's the look I love to get.

I was riding by on my scooter and skidded to a stop when I saw her. I smiled and there it was:

Fuck me.

I have not been MIA for the last couple of weeks for any of the following reasons:

• Conklin's Dead Slutty Wife's Evil Sister Fiona the Cunt finally got the best of me and I now lie cold and dead in a shallow grave out in the woods.
• Blair found out I not only cheated on her with my wife, but also with about 15 other women at work
• Mulhausen finally snapped and went postal on my ass because I spend most of my time with him either usurping his authority or mocking it
• Fashingbauer blames me because he can't quit his job and decided that murder would get him out for sure (although not a bad idea because I'm sure it would get him out of this job, but I'd rather he murder someone other than me).
• I finally couldn't take this corporate bullshit anymore and decided to jump off the top of the building.
• The anonymous death threat finally came to fruition.  
• I died in a fake fire during a fire drill.

I will tell you the real reason I've been missing just as soon as I think of one.

 

In Technology, a whiteboard is like a dick: size matters. 

The larger the whiteboard, the more important you seem and the more attractive you are to women in Technology. If it's big, they always want to touch your whiteboard. But they're intimidated by it because they know if they put something on it, there will be a lot of exposure. So it better be good.

If your whiteboard is small, you're obviously responsible for very little in the organization and therefore undesirable. 

The more diagrams and bullet points you have drawn on the whiteboard, the more overworked everyone thinks you are. So you need a lot of space. Large content translates to high performance. Size and performance always matter.

I have a very large white board. 

While most people use their whiteboards for drawing boxes that point to each other, I like drawing different renditions of my staff.

For example, when Maharajapuram broke his leg hiking, I drew him breaking his leg off with blood spewing in all directions. A little much, but I figure I should have the artistic license to elaborate a little in order to maximize the entertainment value for my audience. 

I also like to list out potential users for the user pool as if they're people I need to contact for a project or something. I can reference my whiteboard often to keep my eye on the ball, so to speak.

One thing I don't like is when people write "Don't erase" on whiteboards in conference rooms. If you have to keep something for a day so that you have time to copy it down, I'll let it go. But if I see that note on a whiteboard for more than a day, I erase it--whether I need the whiteboard for a meeting or not. I, of course, leave the "Don't erase". 

Other things you should NOT do with a whiteboard:

• Use a Sharpie, especially on your boss's whiteboard (unless he's not in the room at the time).
• Use it to write out code; code is an eyesore, I hate looking at it.
• Write things like "Blendi stopped by!! XXOO". Because before you get back, Blair stops by too and leaves the message: "You're dead."
  
• Draw pictures of naked women (unless it's on your boss's whiteboard and he's not in the room--and you're using a Sharpie).
• Use as a wakeboard; warps it and washes off the latest diagrams.

I'm sure there are other annoying uses of whiteboards as well as good uses. Feel free to contribute...