and annals of fundraising, and a milestone descried

BraidDead Systems (within living memory the substantially smaller Flatline, Comatose, Torpor & Drowse, with which, God knows, I had my issues, but which now appears in roseate hindsight an exemplar, a paragon of enlightened management) holds a continent-spanning charity drive each holiday season, and our various offices across this great land contend with one another for pride of place as to the percentage of the workforce that can be browbeaten into committing some fraction of their wages or salaries to the BDS-approved worthy cause of their choice for the coming year, and the dollar amount committed. The local metric of "success" (apart from the national competition) is "last year's haul plus 5%." I should confess up front that in years past I have driven the solicitors from my office with genial abuse (sarcasm, dramatic irony, metaphor, bathos, puns, parody, litotes and satire).

This quite literally thankless task was handed a couple of months ago to—who else?—the embattled art director, presumably on the grounds that with demand for his services drying up, there is little else to occupy his idle hours. Gentle readers, this was about as congenial to my temperament as would be swimming laps in a particularly piranha- and candiru-infested stretch of the Amazon, but I threw myself into the mission, peppering our Bay Area staff, which has grown to over 500 since the merger thirteen years ago, with amusing email appeals, organizing an event at which speakers made pitches on behalf of various charities (this was well-attended, possibly because management granted that hour to anyone at our downtown office who cared to attend, possibly also because I personally sprang for about $125 in coffee and pastries by way of inducement), distributed promotional materials, etc...

The result, as of year's end, was fewer than two dozen contributions, or under five percent of the roster. A colleague in our (admittedly smaller) Denver office expressed surprise, saying that they generally got nine out of ten people there to chip in. As to the "last year's haul plus 5%" metric, I've been unable to find anyone in the organization who can tell me even approximately what that might have been.

Well, I gave 'em four C-notes plus the damn coffee and doughnuts, whereas neither the middle manager who assigned me the job nor the Boss of Bosses here in San Francisco could be troubled to drop any coin in the cup, so I do feel as though I'll enjoy an unassailable moral position should either of these gentleman reproach me next week with the meagreness of the collection. In this organization the envied holder of an unassailable moral position requires only another few dollars for that tall cappuccino with an extra shot at the coffee emporium down the street. Also, I'll have the satisfaction of knowing that I've set a nice low bar for next season's lucky "voluntold" fundraiser.

****

I'm not significantly closer to jumping ship from HMS Mismanagement than I was on Thursday, but there is this psychological difference: now I can say to myself "Next year. I'm going out next year." As late as last spring I'd planned to tough it out until April of 2019 (partly because, as I joke to friends, L has so many projects lined up for me at home that if I'm to get any sleep at all during the day, it'll have to be at the office), but over the course of 2015 I came to the belief that this would merely exacerbate sundry stress-related issues that have been accumulating coral-like since my fortunes at BDS began to decline four years ago (it is a great pity indeed that for many months and until further notice—not forever, there are grounds to hope—the succour of strong drink has been denied me by medical fiat at precisely that point in my professional life at which it would prove particularly comforting), and that I'd feel damned silly dropping dead in these traces. The Tartar Steppes indeed.

So: four hundred fifty-nine months down, twenty-one to go. There's no guarantee that they won't close me down before then, but if that were to happen on Monday, say, it would be a vexatious inconvenience rather than a catastrophe, and the level of inconvenience will diminish incrementally with each passing month.

Next year. Next year. Next year.

cordially,

Here's hoping they appreciate your efforts. One would think that if management took it seriously, there would be more information trickling down to you and the troops.

We have an annual fundraising season and my employer makes it very easy (payroll deductions, etc.). From November 1 on there's a big board out front showing how close each of our main organizational units are doing toward their goal. Lots of the rank-in-file people don't care, but management does make an effort and they do thank the people who "volunteer" to do the grunt work. But it does take leadership and some commitment from the highter-ups...

Here's hoping 2016 is much less aggravating for you! Hang in there.

Cheers,
Scott.

Post #407,332 by rcareaga 1/2/16 3:33:58 PM 1/2/16 3:33:58 PM Reply	and annals of fundraising, and a milestone descried BraidDead Systems (within living memory the substantially smaller Flatline, Comatose, Torpor & Drowse, with which, God knows, I had my issues, but which now appears in roseate hindsight an exemplar, a paragon of enlightened management) holds a continent-spanning charity drive each holiday season, and our various offices across this great land contend with one another for pride of place as to the percentage of the workforce that can be browbeaten into committing some fraction of their wages or salaries to the BDS-approved worthy cause of their choice for the coming year, and the dollar amount committed. The local metric of "success" (apart from the national competition) is "last year's haul plus 5%." I should confess up front that in years past I have driven the solicitors from my office with genial abuse (sarcasm, dramatic irony, metaphor, bathos, puns, parody, litotes and satire). This quite literally thankless task was handed a couple of months ago to—who else?—the embattled art director, presumably on the grounds that with demand for his services drying up, there is little else to occupy his idle hours. Gentle readers, this was about as congenial to my temperament as would be swimming laps in a particularly piranha- and candiru-infested stretch of the Amazon, but I threw myself into the mission, peppering our Bay Area staff, which has grown to over 500 since the merger thirteen years ago, with amusing email appeals, organizing an event at which speakers made pitches on behalf of various charities (this was well-attended, possibly because management granted that hour to anyone at our downtown office who cared to attend, possibly also because I personally sprang for about $125 in coffee and pastries by way of inducement), distributed promotional materials, etc... The result, as of year's end, was fewer than two dozen contributions, or under five percent of the roster. A colleague in our (admittedly smaller) Denver office expressed surprise, saying that they generally got nine out of ten people there to chip in. As to the "last year's haul plus 5%" metric, I've been unable to find anyone in the organization who can tell me even approximately what that might have been. Well, I gave 'em four C-notes plus the damn coffee and doughnuts, whereas neither the middle manager who assigned me the job nor the Boss of Bosses here in San Francisco could be troubled to drop any coin in the cup, so I do feel as though I'll enjoy an unassailable moral position should either of these gentleman reproach me next week with the meagreness of the collection. In this organization the envied holder of an unassailable moral position requires only another few dollars for that tall cappuccino with an extra shot at the coffee emporium down the street. Also, I'll have the satisfaction of knowing that I've set a nice low bar for next season's lucky "voluntold" fundraiser. **** I'm not significantly closer to jumping ship from HMS Mismanagement than I was on Thursday, but there is this psychological difference: now I can say to myself "Next year. I'm going out next year." As late as last spring I'd planned to tough it out until April of 2019 (partly because, as I joke to friends, L has so many projects lined up for me at home that if I'm to get any sleep at all during the day, it'll have to be at the office), but over the course of 2015 I came to the belief that this would merely exacerbate sundry stress-related issues that have been accumulating coral-like since my fortunes at BDS began to decline four years ago (it is a great pity indeed that for many months and until further notice—not forever, there are grounds to hope—the succour of strong drink has been denied me by medical fiat at precisely that point in my professional life at which it would prove particularly comforting), and that I'd feel damned silly dropping dead in these traces. The Tartar Steppes indeed. So: four hundred fifty-nine months down, twenty-one to go. There's no guarantee that they won't close me down before then, but if that were to happen on Monday, say, it would be a vexatious inconvenience rather than a catastrophe, and the level of inconvenience will diminish incrementally with each passing month. Next year. Next year. Next year. cordially,
Post #407,360 by Another Scott 1/3/16 10:54:28 PM 1/3/16 10:54:28 PM Reply	"No good deed goes unpunished." Here's hoping they appreciate your efforts. One would think that if management took it seriously, there would be more information trickling down to you and the troops. We have an annual fundraising season and my employer makes it very easy (payroll deductions, etc.). From November 1 on there's a big board out front showing how close each of our main organizational units are doing toward their goal. Lots of the rank-in-file people don't care, but management does make an effort and they do thank the people who "volunteer" to do the grunt work. But it does take leadership and some commitment from the highter-ups... Here's hoping 2016 is much less aggravating for you! Hang in there. Cheers, Scott.
Post #407,370 by Ashton 1/4/16 5:59:50 AM 1/4/16 5:59:50 AM Reply	Seems well in keeping with my Mater's rationale -- (long before there were $Ts in collective usury-grade CC-debt!! to notice, dumbfounded) when finally deciding to acquire (say) a Royal portable typewriter "on time" it was about ... "if you cut off an inch at a time of a puppy dog's tail he won't even notice it!" May you, like Scheherazade, dazzle the vanity of the conspicuous bean-counters, one month at a time. Eh?

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