That's because I'm working.

A workplace is an interesting environment. You spend 12 to 18 years in the grim artificiality of institutionalized life based mainly on what year you were born in. Finally you arrive in the "real world" which lumps you with whoever is willing to pay you enough to keep you doing what they tell you to. Unless you work for Google, where they automatically assign you an oompah-Loompa (or so I hear).

And during the course of your time in somewhere they have to pay you to stay in you make new acquaintances and friends. Or that is how it's supposed to be.

I honestly am a terrible person to have at work. I know some of you would simply omit the last five words to the previous sentence to generalize.

Most days I toil away at my workstation (I call it that instead of a desk to make me sound like I work at NASA). I strive against the forces that hinder our ability to do business, which is code for "I tell them to reboot first and ask questions later".

I have learned to love my job like a trophy bride learns to love her decrepit spouse. I close my eyes a lot and imagine I am working for a more important company. And yes I fake enthusiasm, everyone does.

And to keep that cognitive-dissonance going I am not what people would call warm. Or nice. Or happy. I whisk around as a busy drone bee tending to tasks as efficiently as I can.

During the course of all this people kindly wish to include me as a friend in the facebook of life. They attempt to strike up a conversation, occasionally mentioning that they don't see me around that much.

This is where my years of training with machines kicks in and I reply:
"That's because I'm working."

Right. Not a popular response, no matter how accurate it may be. The implication that they are keeping me from such important work as organizing my papers is no slight slight.

This happens on the phone too. They say things like:
"How are your wife and kids?"
"Sustained. Did you click on 'Start' yet?"

Instead of the class clown I'm the office grouch. I could easily make the time to be more attentive to others, but then who would do my job?

And there I go again... (I meant who would be the office grouch)

Second place personality

I have a second place personality. You know how people can have a winning or a losing personality, well mine is the kind that strives to impress others only to trip and fall at the finish line.

It's tragically hilarious. I will capture others attention with witty dialog or banter. I can do it for at least 3 sentences. Then without warning my lower opinion of them falls out of my mouth and all over their respect of me. It's like playing a game of craps with my mouth. Sooner or later I'll invite a hard five at my face.

As a child I learned to suppress my wit because I was smart enough to know the cause of my own suffering. Now that it's incorrect to dole out wedgies at work I seem to be making up for lost time.

Yesterday I was in the elevator returning to work from lunch. I wanted to get back from my workout with at least 5 minutes to eat before time ran out. On one of the floors some people got on just after someone exited.

Usually I enjoy the moment of intellectual superiority where I point out they have made a mistake (another misuse of wit). I lord my capacity to determine the direction of the elevator from the indicators on the wall over those who don't know which way is up.

But being in a rush I was less patient and jovial. So as the people attempted to get on I moaned "This one is going up." They clued in only after entering the box that hangs from a hidden cable. Then one person said "I don't want to go up..." and tried to leave, stopping the painfully slow door and causing it to open again. At the same moment her friends pulled her back and said "No..."

This 10 second delay on my break broke me and I said with a smile:
"Don't punish me for your indecision."

They all looked at me and the part of my brain that heeds the teachings of St. Fu was absent. I continued with the same 'winning' smile:
"Why am I being punished? What did I do wrong?"

The succinct reply from the wishy-washy directionally challenged one was the sublime repartee:
"Because you are."

Nice. 25 years and that response still confounds me. It is a logic black hole, it only gets stronger the more explanations you throw at it.

I was tempted to press all the buttons when I exited the elevator and consequently punish all of them, but I only motioned as if I would. My intention was to show I could be a jerk like them, but I'm too weak to be. They probably have forgotten about the rude babbling guy with a palsied twitch that nearly bumped him into the elevator panel.

And that is an example of why second place is the first loser.

Occupo pardus!

There used to be a concept called "quality time" with your kids. It was popular in the early 90's. I remember this because my Dad often invited me for it in my early teens.

I remember it well because for Dad it seemed "quality time" meant barking my knuckles doing some menial work that was too depressing for him to do alone. Like dig a hole in the backyard looking for the sewer exit from the house. This was to discover his estimate to be wrong by 30 feet only after I had dug a 10 foot hole in the yard.

As a father myself I try to have what would be termed "Positive Memorable Situations" at least once a month with my two young daughters. I think it's important that they develop a strong connection with their father. It's also so my wife doesn't warp them too much.

The main trouble is you can't usually plan or predict these teachable, impressionable moments. You just have to roll with the moment. Perhaps if some Dad successfully plans time with his kids he can let me know the secret. I'm sure it has to do with using the calendar and writing.

So today, my wife and I and my younger daughter arrived home together. The older child was at an activity for the day, a perfect opportunity for 'bonding'.

My wife did something odd as she was removing her wallet and keys from her person. She began to do what could be best described as a personal cancer check of the lower organs, but while fully clothed. She must have caught my "what the mercy are you doing" look as she said:

"There is a hole in these pants. Right here." Gesturing to the location she sought to verify the said wardrobe defect from both sides.

In an instant of cosmic alignment my younger daughter and I both mimicked my wife, only with looks of consternation to match some trying to taste test which motor oil is synthetic.

And that was the magic moment where we connected as father and daughter. We simultaneously pulled our underwear up to our belly buttons and poking fingers at our own midsections. It was classless but fun.

I'm sure that I managed to accomplish the triple task of connecting with my daughter, loosing a little of her remaining respect for me as an authority figure, and ensuring my wife will treat me with the same intellectual fortitude that I displayed in that moment. I'll remember it as the time in the porch that my younger daughter and I gave ourselves front wedgies.

Maybe I can coin a new term for Parent/Child bonding: Occupo pardus!

At least I'd have died laughing.

Driving with children in the car requires more attention than usually given. Obviously the 1/4 sized human tied to the back seat makes most people be more careful when piloting a 1/4 ton of metal in the tantric confusion we call traffic.

You have to tie them in by law, but of course the physics of a 60 pound object ricocheting inside the vehicle after a sudden stop is another good reason. It's kind of funny that not everyone does that with dogs. Should someone have a fender bender, that unlucky individual now has 100 pounds of barking meat careening about the cabin.

This past week we went out for laser tag for my birthday. I'm in my thirties and when asked what I wanted to do for my birthday I said "shoot you all". Laser tag was the only legal choice.

Returning from that I made a short side trip to pick up the NEW microwave for our house. I'm ashamed to say how exciting that was. In addition it goes nice with my new pepper grinder, barbecue brush and tongs and mushroom brush.

The children were pinned to their seats by the requisite straps and were cordially discussing the recent game of pointing fake guns at their family and shooting.

I suggested that they were easy targets because they were so easy to pick out, were slow and noisy. I also mused that the fact they shot their teammates so often was that their mother and I might look similar in the flurry of pretend space battle.

They disagreed though. The younger child argued that we were quite different because, in her own words:

"No Dad, I can tell you apart. Mom is heavier."

Silence from the front seat. I discovered that should I lose the capability to breathe while driving I CAN keep the car on the road. My wife was speechless either due to her suppressed giggling or tears.

My older daughter feeling the binding needs to be specific and correct her sister piped up. Her exact words were:

"No, Mom is WIDER than Dad."

She added the emphasis to ensure that her sister was not confused, and put it in a condescending tone and pace that had the word last two seconds.

At this point I am now driving 20 km/h below the speed limit in an attempt to not drive off the road. The contained laughter poured out as water from my eyes. My wife was now looking like she'd lost something on the floor.

Thankfully we arrived at our destination safely. Once we could breathe I think we mentioned that they should be more polite when addressing people's size and mass.

Our next car will be a limo. That way I can put the privacy screen up when that happens again.

Jobs with benefits

Tomorrow is my birthday. The joy of it is that counting sleep, work and transit time and I'm looking at spending a wonderful 31% of my 'anniversary of breathing air' doing what I want to.

I used to be more positive about work. At least the first week after being hired. My job isn't bad, but somehow the positive-go-getter attitude fades like a skid mark after so many washes.

2 and a half decades ago, when I first joined the military reserves I was so gung-ho. A somewhat jaded superior pointed that out to me saying that 'someday you'll be just like us'.

'How depressing' I thought. 'You're downright ugly'. He also was not a happy little soldier anymore, and he was promising me the same future. 'I won't be that way, I'll serve Her Majesty with all my resolve and vigor' I promised myself.

Two years later I quit because I missed a Weird Al concert to attend a range shoot.

Each subsequent employment has had me make a similar promise to myself. And yet it happens. Work beats the desire to work out of me.

3 years ago I promised myself I would make the my job work by rigidly adhering to the rules and doing the best job I could. I believed I could be the bureaucrat who made the system work.

6 months later I asked for a transfer to another department.

Once there I determined to be the 'fresh blood' that brought new life to the department, showing them that a lack of knowledge and skill can be overcome by trying harder than everyone else.

20 months later I asked to be transferred back.

I'm no quitter. 10 years of marriage, 8 years of parenthood, I even stuck through a whole season of wrestling because I had committed to. No where else in my life am I as negative and cynical as I am at my job.

So to all you young up-and-comers (Perverts who read my blog don't have to re-read the last sentence) consider the new culture of work a positive one.

It used to be you had one career for life and were miserable for it. Now you have just have jobs with benefits.

Your accomplishments won't have a lasting impact (unless they are debacles, then you won't stay around to make another). Your retirement lunch will be later in life with fewer people attending. Still you have the gift of short term, temporary happiness. Enjoy it while you can.

Oh, and learn to love what you do, no matter what the stuffed shirts (perverts get to save time here too) say about dressing up as your favorite Star Wars character.

What's new? How are you?

It amazes me that people still come to me for advice, or comfort, or first aid. As I slowly degenerate, my patience with everyone diminishes. As of this week it is directly proportionate to the square of the number of words spoken to me.

An example is:

Hi. (Patience 100%)
Am I interrupting? (Patience 91%)
This might be a stupid question but here goes.... (Patience -44%)

I used to try not to be rude. I've done away with that. It kept encouraging people to talk me into a self-abusive state.

Now I openly mock, berate, and simply ignore anyone who has exceeded my patience:interest ratio in a conversation, with one adjustment. Append the equation of (100(1+(|patience:interest|)) to my wife and anyone she wants me to pay attention to. Like the kids.

As if my unwillingness to endure inane dialogue was not enough of a personality fault I've recently realized I actively avoid certain types of people. It isn't based on race, colour, creed, religion, gender, age or even smell. It is based on when I saw you last.

You see polite conversation demands asking how things are going and what is new. If I have seen you in the last 6 months this is pretty safe because mostly everyone I know leads a boring life.

But so help you if I haven't seen you in more than that. The odds that you have been hired, fired, engaged, married, had a kid, had a grandkid, started a band, or begun to collect rocks goes up exponentially.

And even if you haven't had anything new or interesting happen polite society demands that I not let that be and shake you down for info until I find something that proves you aren't a time traveler or have been in prison.

The crux of the problem is I will see these people when I have somewhere else to be right away. So I have 3 choices available:

1. Meet and greet you, spending the next 30 minutes JUST outside the grocery lineup while my family waits for me to return with the required fixings for dinner.
2. Meet and greet you, but shrug you off by avoiding any leading questions of new or interesting happenings in your life. Effectively this is saying "I'm sorry you recognized me over here."
3. Boldly sneak away and hope you don't notice me. Have a back up plan of pulling the fire alarm if you do and making a run for it.

I am still slightly upset with myself for practicing that third option so frequently, albeit without ever having to use the alarm. So I apologize for my behavior, but I am confident you'd rather me treat you like a social pariah than be rude to you. That way you can continue to tell yourself "maybe he didn't see me because of his apparent neck injury and spinal fusing. Look at the poor guy limp...".

And hey, here, now, tell me: How are you? What's new?

Seeing is better than hearing.

It has been said that children learn more from what they see than what they are told. I would believe that, because my kids don't react to me SAYING 'go to bed' or 'stop hitting her' or 'good heavens no that's flammable'. They like to wait until I do get up and physically assist them.

I used to think it was smart that my cat would do that. She would obstinately stare at me from the table as I bellowed for her to get her litter stained feet off the dinner table, and only move once I pulled my sorry butt reluctantly out of my chair.

Now when my kids do that it's just annoying. I know they don't have hearing troubles because occasionally I whisper 'chocolate to eat' and they come running from across the house. They rarely outrun their mother though...

As part of teaching them by 'seeing' I let them watch me play video games. This works because I'm selfish and can hide it behind their incapability at the games without any practice.

Today my younger one pulled up a chair behind me while I was 'flying' in a flight simulator. I made a game of it and said she could be my passenger. She put on a cute little pretend seatbelt, helped pick the airplane (a Bell Ranger helicopter) and the airport (Toronto city centre).

Me: "Ok honey, where do you want to go? The Eaton's centre? The training office I was at the other week? The Skydome?"
Her: "No, just crash into a building. How about that one?"
Me: "That's the CN tower, it's the tallest free standing structure in the world"
Her: "Oh. Crash into it."
Me: "You were born in 2003 weren't you."

I'm just happy she was so scared of the real plane this year that she didn't say anything. Sometimes the crippling fear of children can be advantageous.

I just hope I don't get pulled over by the police with her along. I don't want to think of what she'd suggest to the officer, but I imagine it would involve beatings and cavity searches. She would learn a lot from seeing that day...