The Closet

Nazy, sensing that the week appeared to be focused on things that I do badly, suggested a construction project – after I carried her rock to the house.

“I need new shelves in the closet,” she said (ominously).

“Why?”

“My shoes are in boxes and I can’t see everything..”

“Your problem, my dear, is quite simple.”

“So you’ll install the shelves?”

“No. You have too much stuff. Too many pairs of shoes, too many dresses – simply too much stuff.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Just throw things away. No human being needs more than 4 pairs of shoes. In fact, if you follow my advice, you’ll become more efficient. You won’t have to waste time trying things on before making a clothing decision. Reducing the potential combinations to 4 outfits will improve efficiency by..”

Nazy was aghast. “I hope you’re trying to be funny, Dan.”

“Where do we get those new shelves?”

I hoped that we wouldn’t visit Ikea. Entering, I always try to find a quick way to the exit. During our last visit, I stepped off the beaten path – directly into a worm-hole held open by exotic matter. Certain that I’d discovered a shortcut, I emerged both somewhere and somewhen else. I believe that the wormhole spit me out in the past – at the entrance to the store. Suffering from Groundhog Day syndrome, I was destined to repeat my path through the kitchen and bedroom portions of the facility. I finally realized that I could escape perpetual entrapment only by moving through the checkout counter. It was impossible to escape with my life and my money.

In the end, we purchased five new shelves from Interio. Four new shelves came with the requisite hardware – i.e. the bolts needed to complete installation. I explained the shortfall to Nazy. She was understanding:

“How could you possibly lose those? Did you look in the trashcan?”

We subsequently returned to Interio to collect the six screws needed to complete installation. Four of those screws were the correct size. A follow-up visit was required to get the final two screws. Because the clerk couldn’t find the right size in his open stock, he opened a box containing an identical shelf and gave me the hardware.

“I understand how the shelves I purchased came sans hardware,” I thought.

Excuse Me

AIG: We are contractually bound to make bonus payments to these traders.

Dan: The sanctity of a signed contract is fundamental to our way of life. But… My employer is able to abrogate my employment contact with little difficulty. If, for example, I was working in the USA, my pay would already have been reduced by 10%. Luckily, I have a European contract, so my working conditions and pay cannot be changed without my consent. Unluckily, in Switzerland, where I live, if I don’t give my consent I can be sacked with 3 months notice. So, if my employer can change my pay without worry, why can’t AIG change their employee contracts? Should I have worked in a division that destroyed the company? Would that have protected my pay?

AIG: We need these people to wind down the business. If we don’t give them bonuses, they’ll go elsewhere.

Dan: Really? Where? Is there actually business demand for employees with a track record of total, abject, wretched failure? Do we have any enemy that might hire them? (I can hope.)

AIG: If we don't pay these bonuses, these traders will leave and use their knowledge elsewhere to undermine our effort to wind this mess down.

Dan: There is a word for this: blackmail.

Multinational is not International

Note: Blog entries about corporate life should not be read as complaints about my own employer, the customer that I deal with or specific individuals. They merely represent commentary that may be at odds with best corporate practice

Unexpectedly the Norway-based customer had made a reasonable request. They wanted a single global price for all of the project’s computers; they also wanted delivery anywhere in the world. Our multi (not inter) national company found this very hard to do. Each of the operating units was country based and each had different standard terms, conditions and prices. (And, most importantly, each country wanted to make sure that ‘they’ got full credit for the sale of hardware in their country.)

I had, I thought, designed a clever solution. We had a local Norwegian distributor, Telenor, purchase all the computers. Then Telenor would ship the machines to the various local sites. The first four computers were purportedly going to London. It had taken a long time to get intracompany agreement and now, the computers had been shipped, but weren’t working. I called our project engineer in the UK for an update.

“They’re still not working? Still?” Naturally I was patience and understanding.

“Not yet, Dan.”

“What happened?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Enlighten me.”

“The computers were assembled in our plant in Scotland.”

“Yes.”

“Then they were shipped to Norway. I think that was your idea, right?”

“Editorial commentary is not necessary,” I replied.

“Telenor repackaged the machines and air shipped them to London. When they arrived, the customs agents were confused: computers manufactured on Monday in Scotland were being flown into London from Norway on Wednesday. A hold was placed on the order.”

“A hold?”

“Yes. But we worked that out. I arranged for a lorry…”

“A lorry?”

“It’s a truck, Dan. The trucking company picked up the computers on Friday..”

“Which Friday?”

“That was two weeks ago.”

“Two weeks ago, but..”

“The lorry was too wide to fit in the alley by the customer’s building. So, they took the computers back to Heathrow.”

“I see.”

“Heathrow isn’t used to handling freight that isn’t going somewhere. Our shipment got lost.”

“Lost?”

“Yes, we worked that out last week. I organized a small truck..”

“A van?”

“Precisely. The van driver loaded the computers and then telephoned. He wouldn’t deliver the equipment until he got paid ₤58 and 43 pence.”

“What?”

“In cash. It seems that the last time we did this, it took him six months to get paid. So I drove to Heathrow, got money from the ATM and paid him. You will, I hope, approve the expense report.”

“Yes, of course. When did this happen?”

“Today.”

“So the computers have arrived?”

“Not exactly. With all the delays, the crew I hired to unload the computers had gone home by the time the van arrived in Central London. Luckily, the customer was willing to help unload the machines and carry them into the computer room.”

“Finally, some good news.”

“Yes, but it was raining and we dropped one of them down a stairwell.”

“Down a stairwell?”

“Only one of them. By some miracle, the racks for the units had arrived by land shipment, so we were ready to install the machines.”

“Finally, good news. So, three machines are working…”

“Not quite. In addition to repacking the computers, Telenor replaced the British power cables with Norwegian cables. We can’t…”

The Flexible Office

Note: Blog entries about corporate life should not be read as complaints about my own employer, the customer that I deal with or specific individuals. They merely represent commentary that may be at odds with best corporate practice.

Following an exceptionally uneventful flight home, I rested for six (whole) hours before heading to headquarters to catch up. I was somewhat surprised to see someone sitting in my office, eh, sitting at my desk. I calmly walked to HR.

“So,” I asked. “Where have you moved me?”

“We have established a flex-desk concept, Dan.”

“Flex desk? What’s that mean?”

“Most of our headquarters staff spends most of their time traveling. Financial analysis indicates an opportunity for massive savings by eliminating fixed desks. If you come to the office, simply choose any available desk.”

“There are no available desks,” I replied.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t be in the office, Dan. You should be traveling or visiting customers. You could work at home. You should really be at the customer's site.”

“I understand. But this is a holiday week. My customer’s office is closed. So what do I do now?”

“You can work in the cafeteria – just push the holiday decorations out of the way.”

“But..”

“And, Dan, I’ve got this package for you from HR.”

“A package? From HR? Is this one of those extremely generous severance packages?”

“Of course not, Dan. You are…”

“So how do I get one of those packages?”

“The proven route is incompetence.”

“But - how will I stand out in the crowd?”

“Dan! You’re cute.”

I picked up my briefcase and walked to the cafeteria to open the package from HR. As I opened it, a plague, eh, plaque, framed in plastic, popped open. The plaque, ‘suitable for display in your office’, celebrated 10 years with the company. There was a small yellow sticky note with instructions to telephone a number allowing me to choose an appropriate gift. (Parenthetically, the note also reminded me to use the land line, not a mobile phone, in order to limit expenses.) I dialed the number and was greeted by an ‘Intelligent Voice Response’ system:

“Welcome, valued employee of Mega Corporation. Congratulations on your 10 years of service. If you would like a digital clock please press 1 if you would like a….”

Question: You clearly don’t like the hotel concept of office space. Surely you understand and support the fact that companies must control costs.

Answer: Indeed. It might, however, be wise to have enough ‘flexible’ space to handle the workload. Companies may also discover that forcing people to work from home leads to a loss of social cohesion. (People like to see their colleagues.) There might be less resistance if companies didn’t degrade working conditions (and fringe benefits) at the same time they’re saying “people are our most important asset” or “we will be global thought-leaders”. It’s hard to see the connection between being a thought leader whilst providing industry-average (i.e. mediocre) working conditions.

Question: Does the photograph at the top of this entry have anything to do with the content.

Answer: Guess.

The Residence Permit

Whenever something goes missing Nazy's analysis is predictable:

“You threw it in the garbage, Dan.”

“Why would I throw my residency permit..”

“Or you passed it through the shredder.”

“Nazy!” I exclaimed.

“There is always a mess on your desk. You like shredding.”

“Right!” I thought. “My career ambition is to be a vegamatic machine.”

“Remember when you lost my invitation to the special sale at the Hermes store?”

“I remember it well,” I thought. “Whatever are you talking about?” I said.

“I should never put anything on your desk.”

“So,” I pounced. “You put my residency permit on my desk?”

Nazy looked, eh, glared at me.

I ruffled through the papers on my desktop.

“Oh look!” I said. “Here’s that pesky Hermes invitation. But sadly the sale is over.”

Later, at the town hall, Nazy and I discovered that the old residency permit – an awkwardly sized document – was being replaced. The new permit will be the size of a credit card. Moreover, both of us needed to get the new permit.

“See,” I whispered as the clerk prepared the forms. “Losing the permit doesn’t make any difference. You need to get a new one too.”

A new photograph was required for the new permit. There were, moreover, specific rules about the photo.

No Smiles. (“Naturally,” I thought. “We’re in Switzerland.”)

Eyes Open. (“I wish the bankers had followed that edict.”)

Full Face. (“Excuse me?” )

The requirements, specified in great detail, described the size of the requisite photograph and the proportion (in percentage terms) of the photograph that had to be ‘face’. (This was to prevent submission of a 1” x 1” photograph of an unsmiling, eyes open, full-faced person the size of a microdot standing in front of the Matterhorn.) The rules were so complex that the clerks were not qualified to judge the worthiness of the submitted photos. We have made several trips to the town hall in attempts to provide an appropriate photograph. Some of my efforts are provided in this update.

Refuse Recycling

You may not care about garbage. But it is impossible to overstate the cultural impact of Zürich’s garbage rules. The challenges of living in Switzerland cannot be understood without a working knowledge of, well, garbage.

To begin, there are at least different categories of recyclables. All are collected (or must be deposited) at different places following idiosyncratic schedules. Plastic PET bottles, for example, should be returned to the grocery store. [They must not be mixed with plastic milk bottles.] And, on the PET subject, dead pets, except for fish, should be returned to the store where they were acquired. Glass (sorted green, brown and white) must be deposited (during the week, between the hours of 7:00AM and 9:00 PM) in collection bins scattered throughout the city. Newspapers and magazines should be tied together, in bundles not to exceed three kilograms, using approved cord: these are collected every other Tuesday (in our part of town). Cardboard, also bound together into standard sized bundles, is collected every third Wednesday. Green waste (i.e. garden clippings) is collected every Monday (during the growing season) and alternate Mondays during winter. (We have recently discovered that, paradoxically, you shouldn’t put evergreen cuttings in the green waste container. The container has not been emptied since Christmas.)

The examples presented in the paragraph above simply illustrate the flavor of the situation. There are rules for rubble, ceramics, radioactive waste, metal (the city provides a magnet to help with classification), broken glass, shoes, clothes, lids, electronics, engine oil, feathers, mirrors and, well, essentially everything. Almost everything: There was a potential catastrophe when it was discovered that there was no classification for cat litter. The sewers became clogged as citizens thought of innovative ways to cope with the uncertainty.

A predictable human response when facing an overly complex regulatory environment is to ignore the rules. This approach is genetically impossible for native Swiss. There is, however, a large expatriate community in Zürich – and these people have to be ‘encouraged’ to take part.

Consider, for example, a typical American family. In the States, economic status is determined by the volume of garbage generated. What prevents a transplanted family like this from simply dumping industrial strength Glad™ bags into local dumpsters?

Well – in Switzerland the standard approach involves a combination of rules and financial incentives (taxes and fines.) Normal garbage must be discarded in official Züribags – pillowcase sized trash bags that cost about $5 each. So, if residents can’t stand the rules, they can discard anything they want provided it will fit in a Züribag. The bags, however, are expensive. Garbage police are in place to make sure that the rules are followed and that “Züribags”, not random plastic sacks, are used. The garbage police sort through the illegal discards for clues to the identity of the discarder. They are supplemented by local citizens who take it upon themselves to help the police enforce the law . (I realize that this may be a difficult concept to grasp in some cultures.)

“You even have to be careful with what you place in public trash cans,” my wife explained.

“What are you talking about, Nazy?” I asked.

“This morning, dear, I saw you drop a newspaper into a trash can….”

“… of course! I like to keep the city tidy.”

“Yes, but that particular trash can was designated as dog poop only.”

“Dog..”

“… poop only. But since you were wearing gloves, there won’t be any fingerprints so they probably can’t trace the newspaper to you. I just hope that Mrs. Stickelgroöber didn’t see you.”


“Me, too, dear..”