- May 18, 2001
- 7,882
- 380
- 126
I?ve decided that seppuku is a perfectly appealing option the next time someone at work says they have a ?good learning opportunity? for me.
A while back I inherited a software project that had been initiated right before I took this job. The project was to purchase a particular software package and have it implemented by the vendor. The ex-employee who originally ran with this task created an internal capital project for our own accounting purposes. He correctly added the software license fees to this capital project, which was good. The he realized that if he added the vendor implementation fees, the project would be waaaaay over budget, which would be bad. Gears in his head started turning. He decided that he would omit the implementation fees from the capital project, then sign the vendor contract. The end result is that he committed my employer to the full dollar amount while not revealing the bottom line to our people who, had they known, would have nuked the project from orbit. A massive bear trap had been set, just waiting for some unsuspecting fool to stumble into its spiky maw.
This is where I come into the story.
My employer was recently purchased by a huge global conglomerate. As part of the takeover, I was asked to create a report detailing my current projects and their expected costs. This particular project is one of my major tasks for this year. Having quickly reviewed the other guy?s documentation, I was erroneously pleased to tell my new all-powerful Overlords that my project was on schedule and had already been completely funded. From underneath their hooded black cloaks, their permanent scowls lightened almost imperceptibly, and they grunted their approvals right before I was escorted from their presences.
A week passed. The project was humming along brilliantly ? the implementation was going better than expected. Life was all sunshiny and awesome. Bluebirds sang. My inner soundtrack was all light and upbeat. The wife consented twice in one week. With a song in my heart and no cares on the horizon, I casually opened my inbox. A $40,000 invoice from the vendor sprang on me from its hiding place and took me down by the jugular.
From what little I can remember, the next several hours were comprised of several loud ?conversations? that consisted of frequently shouted F-bombs with the minimum number of other words needed to convey meaning. Investigations were started. Apologies were made. Fingers were pointed. Perhaps not coincidentally, a guillotine was hastily assembled in the main employee break area. From high atop their tower, the Overlords angrily clenched their gnarled old claws and vowed that someone would pay.
Over the next several weeks, I embarked on a long distance trek through paperwork Hell. Complications arose. Vendors wanted money. Old paperwork had to be discovered and corrected. New paperwork had to be filed. Signatures from people unwilling to be associated with this leprous project had to be coerced. Teeth were bared, knives were plunged, and feelings were bruised. The streets ran red with the blood of those who had any knowledge of what had gone on before. Constantly worrying for my personal job security, I became a bottle-a-day Pepto addict. A month and a half later, the deity to whom I regularly pray decided I had suffered enough and allowed the process to finally come to a victorious end.
When it was all said and done, at least three smiling people congratulated me on successfully finishing ?a good learning opportunity.? If in my 38 short years I have learned anything at all about delivering appropriate responses to people, I can guarantee that each of them is still wearing a forcefully inserted heavy blunt object where the sun don?t shine.
A while back I inherited a software project that had been initiated right before I took this job. The project was to purchase a particular software package and have it implemented by the vendor. The ex-employee who originally ran with this task created an internal capital project for our own accounting purposes. He correctly added the software license fees to this capital project, which was good. The he realized that if he added the vendor implementation fees, the project would be waaaaay over budget, which would be bad. Gears in his head started turning. He decided that he would omit the implementation fees from the capital project, then sign the vendor contract. The end result is that he committed my employer to the full dollar amount while not revealing the bottom line to our people who, had they known, would have nuked the project from orbit. A massive bear trap had been set, just waiting for some unsuspecting fool to stumble into its spiky maw.
This is where I come into the story.
My employer was recently purchased by a huge global conglomerate. As part of the takeover, I was asked to create a report detailing my current projects and their expected costs. This particular project is one of my major tasks for this year. Having quickly reviewed the other guy?s documentation, I was erroneously pleased to tell my new all-powerful Overlords that my project was on schedule and had already been completely funded. From underneath their hooded black cloaks, their permanent scowls lightened almost imperceptibly, and they grunted their approvals right before I was escorted from their presences.
A week passed. The project was humming along brilliantly ? the implementation was going better than expected. Life was all sunshiny and awesome. Bluebirds sang. My inner soundtrack was all light and upbeat. The wife consented twice in one week. With a song in my heart and no cares on the horizon, I casually opened my inbox. A $40,000 invoice from the vendor sprang on me from its hiding place and took me down by the jugular.
From what little I can remember, the next several hours were comprised of several loud ?conversations? that consisted of frequently shouted F-bombs with the minimum number of other words needed to convey meaning. Investigations were started. Apologies were made. Fingers were pointed. Perhaps not coincidentally, a guillotine was hastily assembled in the main employee break area. From high atop their tower, the Overlords angrily clenched their gnarled old claws and vowed that someone would pay.
Over the next several weeks, I embarked on a long distance trek through paperwork Hell. Complications arose. Vendors wanted money. Old paperwork had to be discovered and corrected. New paperwork had to be filed. Signatures from people unwilling to be associated with this leprous project had to be coerced. Teeth were bared, knives were plunged, and feelings were bruised. The streets ran red with the blood of those who had any knowledge of what had gone on before. Constantly worrying for my personal job security, I became a bottle-a-day Pepto addict. A month and a half later, the deity to whom I regularly pray decided I had suffered enough and allowed the process to finally come to a victorious end.
When it was all said and done, at least three smiling people congratulated me on successfully finishing ?a good learning opportunity.? If in my 38 short years I have learned anything at all about delivering appropriate responses to people, I can guarantee that each of them is still wearing a forcefully inserted heavy blunt object where the sun don?t shine.
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