This Bullseye Culture will put a bullet in your head….

An old coworker posted this afternoon on a social media site that she was late to yoga because a work meeting, featuring such stars as: Faith Hill, Shakira, Fergie, Renee Zellwegger and the Black Eyed Peas, ran a little late. Unfortunate.

I hadn’t thought of the Shiny, Happy, Place in months, really. I remembered the pretenses, sure- (5th avenue fashion on our meager starter salaries and stilettos that bruised us from City Center to Plaza North- a mere mile, though it seemed more.) I remembered the statuses- with our ‘too important’ coffees and sucking up to overweight, hypocritical bosses completely incapable of true respect of those under themselves, or- their own work. I remember sitting in on monthly meetings where we decided who’s worker’s compensation appeal would be granted or denied and wondering why we were always so concerned about money as my boss expensed everything from a designer laptop bag to personal lunches. Mostly, I thought of the few that were left behind.

Last year- when the annual sales meeting came up, it was very hush, hush and only a certain pay-grade and above was invited, (minus any admin or coordinator staff.) Those acceptable were invited with green and golden tickets, and while the administrative staff dispensed them, they pretended not to care that they would answer phones all afternoon while middle-aged blowhards swayed to music they had probably never heard of. Those of us who catered to a higher-up clientele were offered bags of the ‘goodies’ handed out- (usually over-branded and overpriced,) and everyone walked back carrying small versions of our shopping baskets, or stuffed animals. Sometimes there were designer-inspired reusable bags, and ornaments to which someone always placed theirs on my desk. People knew, even though we pretended we didn’t care- and they discarded their abundance of guilt upon the lowly. I re-gifted- though when I would carry it out the double glass doors and down the escalator- I always felt as though I was a part of something more. I believed in our mission.

What mission was that exactly? We gave a percentage of our profits to local schools and had well-run campaigns all over the internet, the television and our slogans were always too catchy to not mock, but secretly hum. You wanted to hate us- because you’d walk into our perfectly and scientifically designed store to pick up two items and you left with hand towels, sour patch kids and two dozen packs of Store Brand Water- because it was on sale and the price ended with a .98.

Sure, millions were donated a year and Goodwill stayed afloat mostly with their cast-off designer shoes and mismatched home decor but, just like every comglomerate who’s outside values never matched their internal wall practices- the ones closest were the ones maimed.

I walked out after the large layoffs after Christmas and I grabbed tea down at the swanky cafe and remember watching people who with surreality walked out holding cardboard boxes of doom to match dazed, confused faces. We overspent on the top and had to cut off the bottom.  I took the entire 13 flights of stairs up in fear I’d have to try to say something comforting in the elevator or mask my surprise or pretend I didn’t care as much as I wanted to express. Our profits were down, we were condensing our product, people were complaining about quality. We tried to be the Rodeo Drive of suburban family convenience. We blamed the aftershocks of 9/11, then the economy and never once, did we blame our blatant disregard for company funds or basic accounting principle. The next day, our director announced we would be ‘scrapping’ our annual department meeting, (who’s budget last year was in the 30+ thousands,)  since one of our Senior Managers had been found packing almost 29 years into a series of six boxes to be home delivered. Some people cried at his loss, most of us shifted uncomfortably in our seats and were too afraid to call attention to ourselves by asking the obvious questions. Why were we still spending the money on gifts, or catering or disgustingly-hip parties for those a paygrade above? A second, quieter round happened a month later and I said goodbye to a few IT friends- and kept ordering expensive lunches or external partner appreciation gifts under the direction of the reporting Senior Manager- people never said anything as I planned the activities I was never invited to, or outings at Mission Kitchen for Team Building and after work drinks at the Irish Pub just across the avenue. It all became too much as I heard that our raises were put on hold and there was a hiring freeze. I was going through pre-cancer, then cancer treatment and I could barely afford my bills with the shitty company insurance.

Well- we know how the rest of the story ended- I was asked questions of our department’s spending then eventually disposed of and in the meantime- with the day to day operations at a faux ‘depression’ state- they still spend ridiculously  and without merit. Because eight singers just aren’t enough for these moguls, (45k and beyond,) there needs to be a B-list actress, too.

While Faith Hill and the Black Eyed Peas were singing, while Squinty McZellweger was squintily speaking I wondered if someone else carried out the bonus swag someone had bestowed from the party she was never invited to. Did everyone ‘rock out’ while those ‘lower’ stayed back and waited to be hand-chosen for another multi-million dollar special sales meeting? I was told we were in a new culture, one of thrift and save- but I suppose the Shiny and Happy in all it’s red, bloody, glory didn’t understand that on the backs of those earlier- the attendees danced hungrily.

I don’t miss the double doors or double entendres of corporate filth. I miss the people- those that I was never able to say goodbye to.

This is my sweet chance to live a life of passion where when someone walks through our doors, we are immediately using our hearts instead of our MBAs to counsel.  I no longer watch people pretending to be satisfied with an ideal that caters to the mediocrity of the top half and the never understood determined passion of those below. I’m empowering and writing the workshops and curriculum of the classes my former bosses may someday take while finding themselves alone and disgraced over company meals, politics and pretenses. We work to clean up the mess of hurt egos, anger and sadness over the lies that employers told. We drain the dirty, red, sea. And eventually we place our people back swimming with the sharks.

The beauty is: Importance doesn’t lie in badges, sales numbers or new product lines. It is how we treat those who walk in our doors everyday- the overtired, deflated masses that long for the gleaming opportunity the Shiny, Happy, only pretends to bestow.

I hope it was an excellent meeting. I’ll expect your next round in my office- but just like my former job- I’m killer at cleaning up your mistakes and irresponsible messes.