Sunday, June 10, 2012

All Good Things

It was three years ago this very week that The Job of Work, this labor of love and folly, was born.  Three years of late nights, interrupted sleep, second-guessing, rewrites, and doubt.  Three years of sitting in front of a blank screen and, later, obsessing over a sentence.  Three years of exploring matters significant and trivial, some germane to the workplace and others far afield.  Three years of stabbing at lunacy wherever it may reside.  Three years of outlining a personal point of view about how work and life can be, maybe should be.  Three years of pleading for change during this prolonged economic drought we're enduring.  And, along the way, developing a certain perverse personal sense of accomplishment for having provided for three full years nonstop what might have been inspiration to some but was probably largely drivel to you, my loyal, passionate, foolhardy and adored readers.

After all of that, after three years, it's time for a break.

Looking back, we've been through a lot together.  From that first blog about the lack of significant differences between the generations and how 'HR' and 'strategy' rarely go well together, to an innovative and elegant way to create world-class performers, to a discussion of hipness, to the need for a more tender approach at work (complete with an Otis Redding video), to an urging to choose happiness, to a 4-part series on a new way to approach organizational design, to your life's soundtrack, to soul, to spreading joy (with two terrific musical videos), to the value of laughter, to The Schnur Consulting Group's approach to true culture change and performance improvement, to the joy of living loud, to physical attraction and to the soul-crushing effects of the workplace, we've been there and done that.  And so much more.

We've watched as Chilean miners were saved and devastating earthquakes, tsunamis and tornadoes wreaked havoc, loss and despair.  We were helpless as the Gulf of Mexico filled with oil following a drilling disaster.  We buried personal heroes.  We elated as a certain baseball team from San Francisco won the World Series.  We've tried to live loud, as if each day was our first.

You were there, each step of the way.  Randy, the most soulful person on the planet.  Norene, my absolute favorite escapee from the snapping turtles of Pennsylvania.  Jon, is there a high-end retailer you have not helped?  Jorge, for selling more chocolate in Chile than there are people.  Ted, possibly the funniest, most provocative person I know.  And the many unnamed, faceless readers from around the globe who returned week after week.  Who are you?  Oh, how I wish I knew.

Thank you all for spending a few minutes with me each week.  Thank you for your emails.  Thank you for overlooking the foibles of this space and the shortcomings of its author.  Thank you for telling me I was full of it or, from time to time, that I had touched your heart.  Mostly, thank you -- whether you know it or not -- for pushing me, prodding me, driving me to try to be relevant.

This is not a 'good bye'.  Instead, consider this a 'see you soon', for this is only a break.  Please check back from time to time to see if we've picked up where we left off.  Because unlike Click & Clack (a.k.a., Ray and Tom Magliozzi of NPR's Car Talk), I will be back.

In the meantime, stay safe, sing out loud, make someone laugh hard, and tell your friends and family how much they mean to you.  And while you're at it, have fun at work.

See you soon.


Sunday, June 3, 2012

An Unexpected Visitor

Dark.  Horn-driven soul music plays quietly in background.  Fade in.  START ON back of head of Man sitting at computer.  PULL BACK to reveal cluttered desk covered in scattered papers, several baseballs, framed photos of children at various ages, family, friends.  Continue PULL BACK to show walls of what's obviously a study completely filled with snapshots of children, families, colleagues; autographed photos; tributes;  shelves overflowing with books, baseball paraphernalia, bobbleheads, iPod player.  Neatly stacked waist high piles of books fill a corner of the room.  Clearly a place Man spends a great deal of time in.  Man reaches for baseball bat that rests against desk.  Holding it like a cane, he swivels in his chair toward camera.  His shoulders sag as he gives an exasperated look.

MAN
This isn't hard enough as it is?  I've got to have you looking over my shoulder?  By the way, who the hell are you?  And who let you in?

VOICE OFF-CAMERA
 The door was open.  We thought you were expecting us.

CLOSE IN ON MAN'S
FACE AS HE STANDS

MAN
 What in the world gave you that impression?

 VOICE OFF-CAMERA
Your assistant did.  When we called to schedule the interview.

CUT TO MAN'S HANDS
TIGHTENING GRIP ON
BASEBALL BAT
MAN
Assistant?  What assistant?

VOICE OFF-CAMERA
Trudy.  Your assistant, Trudy.  Nice, friendly.  Laughs a lot.  Gives good phone.

CUT TO BAT BEING
LIFTED SLOWLY
FROM FLOOR

MAN
You're joking, right?  Not only do I not know a Trudy, I've never known a Trudy.  And I don't have an assistant.  Aside from Siri, that is.
 
VOICE OFF-CAMERA
Cute.  That's cute.  But isn't this 243 Millhorn Way?

CUT TO BAT PULLED
INTO POSITION TO
SWING.  CAMERA, BOOM
AND CREW NOW
VISIBLE IN REFLECTION
IN GLASS OF SEVERAL
FRAMED PHOTOS BEHIND
MAN OVER DESK.

MAN
Not...even...close.

VOICE OFF-CAMERA
You're kidding, right?

CUT TO CLOSE UP
OF MAN'S EYES

MAN
Do I have the look of someone who is kidding?

VOICE OFF-CAMERA
[After pause]  No, actually you don't.  Not at all.  I can usually tell when someone is kidding.  And you don't have that look.  [Another pause]  Unless this is an example of really dry humor.  Which I appreciate, by the way.  The drier the better, I always say.  [Asking the crew]  Don't I always say that?

PULL BACK TO
SHOW MAN'S
FACE

MAN
I'm thrilled for you.  I really am.  Now, think it might be time for you and your friends here to find 243 Millhorn?  Someone's probably expecting you.  But before you go, would you care for a nosh?

PULL BACK TO SHOW
MAN'S FULL FACE AND
RELAXED STANCE

VOICE OFF-CAMERA
That'd be great.  It's been a long day already.  [Pause]  Wait.  [Pause]  You're being funny.  That's dry humor, right?  You're not really inviting us to stay and have something to eat, are you?

MAN
You're on to me.  I can tell.

VOICE OFF-CAMERA
 I've been told that I have a good sense about people.  Does it show?

CUT TO MAN'S HANDS
TIGHTENING THEIR
GRIP ON THE BAT
 
MAN
Thoroughly.  You're amazing.  How do you do it?  [Holds hand palm-out to camera in 'stop' position.]  Don't answer.  It will be a mystery I'll simply have to find a way to live with.  While I do, now would be an ideal time to leave.  Before I find a good use for this bat.

VOICE OFF-CAMERA
You're probably right.  [To the crew]  Pack it up.  We're outta here.

SOUNDS OF CASES
BEING OPENED

CUT TO MAN'S FACE WITH
BAT IN POSITION TO SWING
FOR THE FENCES

MAN
I'm probably right?


VOICE OFF-CAMERA
We'll just show ourselves out.

CUT TO MAN'S EYES
MAN
You do that.

VOICE OFF-CAMERA
By the way, one question:  How do we get to Millhorn from here?

CUT TO BAT BEING
PULLED BACK INTO
SWINGING POSITION
 
MAN
Once you're safely in your car, should that happen, call Trudy.  I'm sure she can help.

VOICE OFF-CAMERA
 Good idea.  We've bothered you enough for one day.

CUT TO MAN'S HANDS
GRIPPING AND RELEASING
BAT AS IF IN BATTER'S
BOX
 
MAN
You think?

VOICE OFF-CAMERA
You're being funny again.  I like it.

PULL BACK TO REVEAL
MAN, WAIST UP, READY
TO SWING AT NEXT PITCH
 
MAN
I'm thrilled for you.  Really, I am.  Now go.  Please.  Before I'm forced to get my bat dirty.

VOICE OFF-CAMERA
Okay, okay.  We're gone.

CUT TO CAMERA TURNING
AWAY FROM MAN AND 
DOWN AS IT'S TAKEN FROM
SHOULDER AND TURNED OFF.
SCREEN GOES DARK
VOICE OFF-CAMERA
 Hope we didn't disturb you.  Have a goo-

REST OF SENTENCE CUT
OFF AS RECORDING DEVICE
IS POWERED DOWN