Stories from Work: part 1

A few weeks ago I wrote a little blog about my family: https://mymac.com/showarticle.php?do=something&id=1747 I just did a simple diary style thing on how I spent my Thanksgiving vacation, not meant to be that funny, but just point out how everyone’s families are a bit “weird” and full of characters. I guess my California perspective is a tad distorted, because many people replied or emailed me that my family WAS that weird, and totally won the weird relative contest that I didn’t know I was participating in. Not the desired effect, but a worthy one anyways.

I kept thinking, if they think my family is weird or inappropriate, they should deal with some of the people I’ve worked with. And the birth of this article occurred on the spot. Why not write a quick summary of some of the characters I’ve worked with, as sort of a “how not to” behave in the workplace?

One of my earlier contracting positions was at Rockwell. I worked on the B-1B Bomber, and later the HC-131 Gunship which is an AC-131 transport, that someone got the bright idea to hang a howitzer and a few gattling-guns out the side of, so that we could say “Our President sends his warmest regards” from a few thousand feet up.

I was 19 year old, had my security clearance, on like my third contract. Actually, getting my security clearance was a story in itself. It went something like this;

Interviewer, “Previous names or aliases you’ve gone by?”. We soon ran out of room on the form. My mom had been married a few times, and I changed my first name, giving 5 possibilities And my birth Dad was from Iran, where I had another birth certificate and Persian name, and he’d changed his last name as well, giving a couple more. I didn’t even go into my hacker handles, but still the eyebrows were raised.

Interviewer, “Do you have parents friends or relatives that live in nations considered hostile to the U.S.?” Do you mean other than my birth father and his family in Iran? (Did I mention this was the very early 80’s.)

Interviewer, “Have you ever done any illegal drugs? If so please list, and when you last used”. Cripes, we ran out of room again. I wasn’t exactly a teenage star or rock idol, but I had a somewhat experimental and unsupervised childhood.

Interviewer, “You’re approved”. Actually, technically that came in the mail after the full background investigation. I heard they figured that anyone that was that honest was not a security threat, and they were able to checkout that I wasn’t in contact with my Dad, why I had so many names, and that I wasn’t an abuser now (nor had ever been an addict).

Lesson #1, honesty is the best policy. It might not always work out, but if it does, you’ll have an amusing story to tell.

So I was working at Rockwell. Where they had people that were Ph.D.’s from MIT in various sciences, and worked there because no normal corporation would have them.

One in particular stands out as a character, even based on all my other life experiences and people I’ve bumped into. Ming. (I thought of him as Ming the merciless from Buck Rogers). He had a Ph.D. and a few other letters. He’d walk around a pole outside of my cubicle having discussions with it. Well, arguments are more appropriate. He’ flail his hands, and go between Chinese and English, and it was like eavesdropping on a telephone call. He’d say something, then say, “What do you mean you don’t like that”, or “How can you think that!”, and these would go on for 5 or 10 minutes, with him pacing around the pole, and gesticulating like an Italian grandmother. (I know, because my Grandma is Italian). This happened about every other day (for 3+ years that I was there). And it was only that one pole that was blessed with self-awareness it seemed, as I never saw him pace or argue with other intimate objects.

Lesson #2, keep your arguments with yourself at home or in the car.

Ming also took naps under his desk. Then they moved him from the desk behind me, to a different area. But he liked his old spot. So he would come back every day at 11:15 am, and stare down the guy that took over his old desk, until he left for lunch, so that Ming could curl up and nap in the foot-well of that desk. And snore.

Lesson #3, if your going to nap at work, use your car and get some breathe-right strips.

Ming also had unusual bathroom habits. Most guys use a urinal by unzipping and pulling out the necessary equipment. Ming did it by dropping his pants and boxers around his ankles and propping his fists on his hips. I guess he felt that everyone should admire his hairy ass. I’d have broached the subject with him, but I was always afraid he’d turn towards me without cutting off the stream, so I let it go. But it was always a shock walking into the bathroom to have a full moon staring you in the face!

Lesson #4, learn bathroom manners.

Which brings me to another bathroom quirk of someone else I worked with. I had a boss that would follow you in the bathroom and keep talking to you. He’d stand next to the urinal facing you, leaning up against the wall, while you’re trying to do you business and he’d just keep talking. Now I didn’t have a shy bladder before that, but that was a tad disconcerting. I’m fine now, but I had post-tramatic-piss-disorder; for a few years after that, I’d stalk a bathroom and make sure it was empty, and no one saw me go in, or I just couldn’t go. I’d be in a public urinal with my eye’s closed, concentrating on relaxing and thinking of a happy place, and the guy next to me would clear his throat or something, and that was enough to clinch off the stream! Or I’d use a stall to urinate in peace (as well as avoid that whole back-splatter issue).

Talking at the urinal bugged me. But what really freaked me out was one day he came in when I was using a stall, and plops down in the stall next to me. He recognized my shoes and strikes up a conversation. This guy was bellowing out his backside and frontside at the same time, and wouldn’t even slow down to do his business. He’s bearing down and literally grunting out words, and asking various questions, and so on, while wiping out a stall. I just speed-wiped and got outta there.

Lesson #5, did I mention; learn bathroom manners.

So I thought I was long past scatological horror stories. Then a few years ago I was working at a place where the building I was working at had a bathroom placed between three newsrooms (one of those had been converted into the Internet department). Why you’d place a bathroom in the middle of a high-traffic Intersection of three large open bays is completely beyond me.

I think the “architect” had a sense of humor, or was still discovering the mysteries of indoor plumbing. Not only was it a single stall bathroom the size of a water closet at home, placed in a high traffic area, but they also decided not to vent it to the outside. The bottom of the door was a grate that obstructed light but not sounds or smells. And the fan that was in there wasn’t attached to the outside; it just blew air into the bathroom from the attic space, which pressurized it, and shared with all the surrounding Newsrooms whatever was going on inside the bathroom.

Technically that was the men’s bathroom, and there was a woman’s bathroom in the back (near advertising). But due to schedule crunches and walking distances, both bathrooms were unisex. There was this one, um, Rubinesque lady with digestive issues that used to use this guys bathroom, every day around 1:00 p.m., immediately after lunch. She’d grab a newspaper, put it under an arm, and start heading towards the bathroom, and the looks of terror would immediate pass between the editors.

I kid thee not, they’d all pull candles out of the desks, and start lighting them up prophylactically, while she was still walking! If you turned off the lights the place would look like a nighttime rock concert during a ballad! Others had those little oscillating fans, which they’d turn on, as sort of chemical warfare defense (and offense against their neighbors and their candles). Others would start openly spraying the room deoderizers; but febreeze didn’t stand a chance! I was worried that the chemicals were going to mix with the methane and the candles and we were going to blow the roof off the place. You could hear grunts and splashes over the pecking of keys, and people would literally pull their shirts up and try to breath through the cloth, so you came in and the place looked like bunch of Arabian bandits about to raid a caravan. People would literally walk out, or schedule meetings to be outside the building around her bathroom habits.

Did I mention that advertising was in the back? The hallway/walkway ran right through the middle of these newsrooms and by the pit of hell! Customers had to go past this to get to the ad department to talk about placing an ad, or to argue about their bill. On a couple of occasions I saw wives stop punch their spouses in the shoulders and him give them the “It wasn’t me look” as they passed by. And I swear to God I saw one lady literally gag in passing; she was in nurse’s scrubs and worked for the local Hospital.

I hated that place. I nearly gave myself sepsis holding it in. I’d run out to neighboring establishments, or drive home to use the bathroom (we were only about 5 minutes away). I’d use the Women’s restroom, which was at least in the back and not quite so communal. One bitchy lady that worked there gave me a dirty look after I’d come out of using the women’s bathroom, and I just said, “Do you really want [Her] to only be able to use this bathroom?” Terror crossed her eyes, she shook her head, softened her expression, and decided that the men and people in the front half of the building were getting the far shorter end of that stick and she’d never question the unsexing of the Women’s bathroom.

Lesson #6, did I mention; bathroom manners.

Back to Ming and Rockwell. A bunch of us, including Ming, were loaned out to another company down in San Diego for 6 months, where we were working in their facility. (They were doing a different part of the project, and needed our assistance). Technically, I was sub-sub-sub-sub-contracting. But we were both on-site, at a meeting with the client, and it was a particularly slow and boring meeting, of which there were many. Ming was bored, and so he took off his shoes at the boardroom table. I know this because soon after, he pulled off his socks. And was playing with his socks on the table to the shock and awe of all those around. To this day, I have never seen a meeting that veered that quickly or abruptly. Just people stopped talking, you heard thumps as people’s jaws physically hit the table, and Ming was making motor-noises as he had one of his socks chasing and racing the other one around the table like a 9 year olds race-cars. Ahem, meeting adjourned, we’ll pick this up some other time, and people scooted out.

We all got a memo that Ming was returning to Rockwell, and that he was never, ever, under any circumstances, allowed to interface with customers again.

Lesson #7, never undress in corporate meetings, unless that’s what you’re there for.

They also had some secure labs there. Secure labs are an interesting idea, because they are really hard to audit. The people that like to work in this kind of environment the most are not always the type of people you might want. I remember a friend telling me what the strange chopping and sniffing noises were coming from the tape vault. (Cocaine). I had wondered why the tape people always had so much energy and spoke in a continuous run-on-sentence, “HiHowCanIHelpYou-WaddyaNeed-JustGiveMeTheTapeNumber-HereYouGo-NowHaveANiceDay”. Slam goes the door. Chick-chick-chick… sniiiiiifffff.

I also understood that someone converted one of the paper shredders to work with ice for their margaritas, but I never saw that first hand. Hey, at least they had helpful attitudes.

Lesson #8, leave the partying for after-hours.

Well, after writing this much and only getting 5 years into my 25 year career, I think this is going to have to be chapterized. I hope you’re getting as much out of reading it as I am in writing it. Seriously, these are all true stories; I couldn’t make these up, they’re too unbelievable.