James' Tale
Copyright© 2008 by The Jester
Chapter 2
I wrote a poem this morning that I wanted to share with you. Have you ever had a day where no matter what you do someone has to shoot you down?
I am at work today and in our weekly meeting, we are asked to present new ideas that may help the company. I stand up and present my idea for improving interdepartmental communication, because frankly, it stinks. I present a well thought out, cheap, and feasible plan to increase such communication.
Only to be told that it is not a priority right now. I'm sorry, what? Since when is it not important to communicate within a company. Do you think that it is smart that sales is selling things that R&D hasn't even delivered yet? Oh, you tell me that is the job of sales. Oh really? To disappoint our customers by not being able to do what we promised? No one sees my point of view.
No one cares that programming is 2 months behind on the work promised by the sales team. No one cares that the budget was cut and we cannot hire more programmers. No one seems to want to run a company; they only seem to want to put out fires. As head of Operations, I have to deal with the complete lack of communication more than any other department. My team cleans up the messes and handles the brunt force of group stupidity.
After the meeting, I was quite upset with the reaction to my suggestion. I sat down and wrote this poem about dealing with these people. I know; get a different job, its easy to say, but really, why can't I try to fix where I am as opposed to letting some other schmuck come in and have to deal with it. Well, I was proud of myself because I did not let myself get down with the massive failure that was my suggestion, and that is a start.
Here is my poem; it's about close-minded people.
Five Hole Save
By JamesIdeas,
like a five story high
pendulum, sway from
axon to dendrite, leaping
the synaptic gap,
looking for a foothold.
Like a solo mountain climber,
hoping to take root and
flourish, like a bonsai on
a jagged mountainside,but, it just seems that,
something always jumps
in the way and blocks the
synaptic gap, like a
goalie slamming shut
the five hole on an
uncontested breakaway;
and the ideas slam
head on into it and then fly
through the windshield, leaving
an awful mess of what they
once were.
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