And you thought I was shittin you.

You thought I was joking here weren't you?
But I wasn't kidding. I really AM going to write a book. And I'm going to call it
Rat Race Rules
An irreverent look at how you can get ahead in your corporation.

And here's the preface.

All Hands. No Brains.

Today I went to an all hands meeting.
There were two executives on strutting about. The first one was so boring that I had to prop my eye open with toothpicks hurriedly grabbed from the not yet served buffet. Towards the end of his speech I just decided to give up the fight and fall asleep much to the delight of my upper eyelids. But then the second turd came on and he was so loud that I couldn't go to sleep. The CIA ain't got nothing on these fuckers in the torture department I tell you.

But they had one thing in common. They both didn't really have any message.
The first one talked about quarterly results and just kinda read the slides out in a tone reminiscent of a metronome that buzzed like a fly instead of ticking like a clock. The second one talked about some corporate strategy type shit that everybody already knew about without adding new information or clarity. I think he thought that if he just raised his volume high enough the people wouldn't really get that he was a terrible public speaker.

Don't get me wrong. I know public speaking is hard, but so what? If you're going to call 200 people into a suburban windowless hall, and expect them to pay attention to what your saying with only the promise of a cold mini samosa and a soulless cup of tea, you better put some work into it bitch.

And there's only so many reasons to subject the unsuspecting masses to an all hands: Energize them, Spread some information, Give out some rewards.
But what people mostly do is the exact opposite.
They bore the brains our of the audience to the extent that half the people are dreaming about something more fun that sitting on a chair listening to drones armed with PowerPoint. (Like say strangling that fucking drone and smashing that slide projector), and the other half is snickering about the speaker and texting other audience members snide messages about the his body parts, speaking mannerisms, or the speaking mannerisms of his body parts (Like "He's talking out his ass. Stuttering Dickhead").
The content is most often already known to everybody in the audience and also to those not in the audience. Like the bastards who made up a smarmy reason to stay at work and not come to the all hands. Even those damned waiters standing listlessly by the trays of perfunctory snacks and uninspiring beverages probably already know what they talk about on stage.
And they always get the rewards wrong don't they? Either they get the wrong person - like the guy who takes diving catches after setting up the emergency himself through his impressive lack of due diligence in the first place. Or they get the wrong award. Employee of the quarter gets what? A plastic plaque?
Really, motherfuckers?
And you got my spelling wrong bitch.
The name David doesn't have a fucking Q in it.
How did the Q show up there?
What were you doing when you sent this to the printers, man? Thinking about the line of people waiting to fuck your mama?

Is it really that hard?
Don't you feel like you should put some thought into this event? Or do you just get your nuts off on putting your employees through pain?

Screw you guys.
Here's my strategy.
Next time there is an all hands, I'm going to step out to go to the restroom. And then hang around at the bar till the meeting lets out.
And when it does, I'll be leaning against the wall with a beer in my hand laughing at the Lilliputian sandwiches and the ass-juice coffee