Today's Topic: Take Your Kid to Work Day

Author's note: please make sure to have read my previous blog, as it will help you better understand my cubicle mates that reappear in today's blog

Our department recently had its annual Take Your Kid to Work Day. I couldn't imagine any kid really wanting to spend an hour with his mom or dad at work let alone a whole day. Let's face it: unless your dad is a fireman or cop, a 10 year old probably won't be too excited to spend 8 hours in a cubicle smaller than most sheds. I had to help out with decorating the whole floor so that it would be more welcoming to kids. I suggested taking a paintball gun and opening fire a la Tony Montana on the walls and ceiling to give the floor some colour. My boss wasn't too keen on that idea, so under my breath I muttered how she could use some colour for her personality.

On the big day I predicted that no more two kids would show up, but much to my surprise I walked in at my usual time of 9:30 and saw the whole floor littered with munchkins. Kids were running around everywhere with no parental supervision in sight. It was a kidnapper's wet dream. On the way to my cubicle, one kid ran up to me and I politely smiled and asked him what his name was. He replied by kicking me in the shins and then running off to find his next victim. Already I knew this would be a long day. With the little buggers running around the noise level on my floor started to resemble a Pearl Jam concert. Work was virtually impossible to perform. The previous day our boss told us to tell any kid that walked into our cubicle what we do as our job. Since I don't actually do much around here, I knew this would be a challenge. I also didn't know how to explain that I was only hired because I'm a minority. The first group of kids to come into my cubicle asked what my job was. I spent the next 10 minutes trying to explain what I did, but they seemed to grow more confused by the second. One kid kept flicking a rubber band at my forehead while I tried to talk. Frustrated, I offered them my secret stash of fruit snacks in exchange for them to leave and never come back.

I went to see how my cubicle mates were treating the kids that came by their cubicles. Two Time (you'll recall, the two time divorcee with a bastard child of his own) was in fine form displaying the fatherly skills that he apparently never learned. The first thing he would ask every kid that walked into his cubicle was if they were adopted. He made one kid cry, and countless others question whether their mom and dad were really their mom and dad. Perhaps the finest moment of the day came when Alcoholic's daughter walked into Two Time's cubicle. We were both startled to discover that Alcoholic actually produced offspring. Two Time promptly spoiled the moment when he asked Alcoholic's daughter whether she was going to turn out to be the same drunk that her daddy is. I nearly blew out the root beer in my mouth through my nose when I heard the question. Thankfully, Alcoholic's daughter didn't fully understand the question otherwise it might have got uglier.

Before things got even further out of hand I suggested to Two Time that we take a walk around the floor. On our journey we discovered a caucasian woman who had a son that wasn't quite as Caucasian as his mother. Let's just say that the kid was darker than the black socks I was wearing that day. A thousand questions raced through my head but for the sake of valuing my life I decided to just play along and pretend that everything was normal. Two Time later informed me that Caucasian Woman's husband is also the colour of my socks and that cleared up everything. Apparently size does matter.

Sitting in my cubicle to reflect on the day, I came to some conclusions. One is that today served as the adult version of show and tell with Caucasian Woman taking the prize for brining the kid with the most shock value. Second, Two Time told me that he would like to apologize to all the parents at the dinner table who were asked by their sons or daughters whether they were adopted. God knows I wouldn't have an answer. I'd probably just say yes, and then ask my wife to pass the pepper.

Today's Topic: Cubicle Relations

Having been through my fair share of group work throughout my 3 years at business school, I thought I would fit in naturally when it came time to meet the people whose cubicles are beside mine. I sit in the middle of a 2 rows by 3 column set up, which means that there are five people that surround me, and are easily within a stone's throw. Last year, my cubicle relations were so good that we went out for drinks every Monday night. Monday night is not the most appropriate time for drinks, but apparently their logic was that we needed some "spice" early in the week, to get us through to the weekend. Secretly, I had a feeling that most of these guys were just trying to get away from their wives as much as possible. Or in the case of one man, his "boyfriend." Yes, you read that last sentence right. Relations with this year's gang is not as good, despite my efforts to be friendly and entertaining.

To my immediate right is a man of British descent, who also happens to be a very vocal tree hugger. There is no bigger advocate of the "paperless office" than Tree Hugger. Tree Hugger also happens to ride his bike to work every day. When told of this, I was initially impressed until I realized that his house can be seen from a third story window. It is not unusual for him to come to work late, with blood on his shins looking as if he has just got run over by an Escalade (with spinners, of course). Tree Hugger constantly tries to preach me on his tree hugger ways, but I often listen to music with my right earphone, so most of the time I cannot hear him. Nodding my head to the beat of the music, however, gives him the impression that I agree with his views. He also doesn't like the fact that I use paper bags every day for my lunch, so I like to crumple my paper bag really loudly and then throw it out in his garbage can.

To my left sits a chain smoking pregnant woman. Seeings how she has a turkey in the oven, it is common logic that one should probably not be inhaling tar and other deadly chemicals into the stomach that houses their future kin. This apparently does not deter her, and every half hour, as if on cue, she heads down for a smoke break. Relations with Chain Smoking Pregnant Woman did not get off on the right foot. Upon seeing her smoking one of her lung darts during one of her breaks I told her that she impressed me. Feeling flattered she smiled and asked why. I promptly said "because you are one of the few parents who will get to outlive their kid." Words have been few and far between us since that incident.

In the row ahead of me on my left is a 48 year old twice divorced womanizer. Two Time, as I fondly call him, has never met a woman he didn’t try to get in bed with. It is no surprise that infidelity is the main cause for his two divorces. Two Time is the only cubicle mate that I get along with, and he has taught me many lessons during my short tenure. For example, I have learned how to whistle cat calls every time the mailroom lady scours our floor. Next week he said he will teach me how to handle the slaps that immediately follow the cat calls. Two Time's greatest accomplishment in life is being the father of an out of wedlock son, in other words, a bastard child. And while he admits that the child support payments undoubtedly hurts his balance sheet, it beats having to be a real father. It's probably safe to say that Father's Day at Two Time's house this year probably went without much notice.

To my immediate front is the group's secretary. Secretary, is a half-witted manic depressant who spends a good portion of the day reading romance paperbacks. Secretary doesn't seem to be fond of me, as she thinks I have a business school arrogance. She also has failed to learn my name. This week she's been calling me Albert. In the wall that separates our cubicle there is a small hole that allows us to see into each other's cubicle. Secretary has a habit of staring into this hole and whenever I turn my head I get startled at the sight of her one eye staring directly at me. One day Secretary brought in a dozen doughnuts for the group. When I went to get one she slapped my hand away. She said they were only for regular employees who chipped in for the pool. To get back at Secretary I hid her Prozac. One day I plan on replacing her Prozac with speed, just to get some entertainment value during the day.

Lastly, to the left of Secretary is a self-confessed alcoholic. What impresses me most about Alcoholic is that despite his self-awareness of his drinking problem he refuses to do anything about it. Asked why he doesn't seek AA, Alcoholic simply says "I just don't trust them bastards." My admiration for alcoholic is extremely high, as he is the only person who has the ability to make presentations in meetings while he's drinking coffee that is laced with at least 3 shots of liquor. When he stutters his words people think he's just nervous because of the crowd. It is truly an honour to prep PowerPoint material for this man.

All in all, relations with this year's gang could probably be better, but it could be worse. Safe to say I don't go drinking after work with this group of cubicle mates, but Alcoholic is always up for a drink. Or seven.

For the duration of the summer, you will be treated to a series of topics that revolve around circumstances that you may encounter in the corporate workplace.

Today's topic: The Boss's Daughter

The Boss's Daughter, who shall remain nameless other than to have the moniker of Boss's Daughter, is a peculiar species in the corporate workplace. Other than being a regular employee such as yourself, they also serve the unique function of being the daughter of the person that has the capabilities of making life miserable to you. As the following lesson with teach you, this is one stone that you should not turn over.

I met Boss's Daughter on a strictly happenchance occurrence while on the way to the bathroom. We were both turning the same blind corner, and proceeded to have a collision that could have knocked both of us into a state of unconsciousness. Why people decide to take the absolute most shortest path to turning a corner is beyond me, but personally I do it to hone my Formula One aspirations of going into a turn low and coming out high. I would assume most people do it to get to their cubicle faster. Having almost groped one of her mammary's in the collision process, I figured this was the perfect time to strike up a conversation, despite the fact that I had a Number 2 emergency on hold in my pants. Though she had the look of a government summer student- jeans, tank-top (or in my particular case, a wife beater), she was actually two years my senior having recently graduated from some obscure university in North York. After telling her which unit I was working in for the summer, she mentioned that she has a mother in the same unit. Being that there are only 2 other people in my unit, it took me only 10 minutes of eliminating to figure out that her mother was my actually my boss. Before we went our separate ways we agreed to have lunch the next day. At this point, hopes of future inter-office foreplay between the two of us raced through my mind. The dream of any office worker- sex at work, on a photocopier, with colour mode turned on, was suddenly within my grasp. I immediately went around the floor to see which photocopiers had the best colour quality, not to mention shock absorption.

Next day, lunch with Boss's Daughter could not have gone any worse. For starters I thought I would surprise her by buying her jello from the office cafeteria. I gambled that she would like red, but it turns out she hates red and favours yellow. With that less than impressive beginning, I decided that a lively conversation was the only way to impress her. Being my insecure self, I immediately tried to impress her by dropping the Schulich bomb on her. The Schulich bomb, while not as impressive as a Harvard or Stanford bomb, is said to be able to get blondes and brunettes on their backs at the moment of mentioning. Being a political science major, she was hardly impressed enough to look up from the red jello she was picking at. She was even less impressed when I told her I could, from memory, list the opening and closing prices of all 30 stocks on the Dow Jones Industrial Average. With no more ammunition left in my tank, I thought I would impress her by telling her how inefficient I had become at work, and how I work harder to avoid work than to actually do work. She proceeded to give me a lecture on the importance of taxpayer dollars. Fearing that she would tell her mother about my recent confession, I tried to bribe her by offering to buy her another jello, this time in yellow. Unfortunately, they were out of yellow for the day. Suddenly all hopes of inter-office fondling went out the window. All photocopiers have now been reset to their normal black and white mode, and I apologize for any damage I may have caused during the shock absorption tests.