humor
Workplace witticisms, job jokes and career quips; who says work can't be a laughing matter?
The Office Part 1
I sat at my desk on the back wall facing the entrance of the huge open plan room that served as an office for fifteen to twenty cold call tele/field salesmen. Behind me was an enormous mirror which allowed my boss who sat opposite me with his back to the front door to see who was coming in.
By Liam Ireland5 years ago in Journal
Dumbed Down Advice From Dumb Customer Service Experts
You’d think it would be easy to determine what customers want. Just ask them. Or, watch them behave. There aren’t any other options. If businesses could get actionable and accurate information this simply, we’d have much better customer service, and companies would get a better return of investment. It is WAY more complicated. In this chapter we’re going to look some of the fundamental problems in the quest for understanding customers, and in particular, how we end up creating over-simplified and over-generalized descriptions of what customers do and how they make decision.
By Robert Bacal5 years ago in Journal
What happens when a girl who knows nothing about cars tries to sell one? . Top Story - May 2021.
I woke up Friday morning, two snoozes past my actual alarm, oh how I terribly didn't want to go to work. I just had this feeling that it wasn't going to be a good day. Besides, I hadn't even attempted to look at the briefing that was sent prior. It was a 20-minute video and pages and pages of documents about the new Kia Carnival GUV car that was going to be positioned in the middle of Chermside Shopping Centre, yay.
By Elly-Grace Rinaldis5 years ago in Journal
So I'm a Self-Published Author...
I'm a writer (If I weren't, I'd have figured out what the "Vocal" community is by now and headed for the hills). My obsession with spinning words into universes caused me to seek out a "local"(-ish) school with the vaunted writing program (THE Grand Valley State University. "Currently an alum; ALWAYS a LAKER.")
By Kent Brindley5 years ago in Journal
Inside the Head
The set is moving. There are animatronics. No one told me there’d be animatronics. A rabbit with a busted plaster ear eternally chases cabbages, which are inexplicably spinning, spinning. A tiny farmer, armed with a pitchfork ( a real pitchfork, mind you, on a children’s set—madness. ) a farmer futilely tries to defend his garden. One of his arms looks like it was broken and set wrong; it sticks out at a weird angle. There is fake green grass, little white picket fences, a shed with a big ornate garden chair for kids to sit and pose with the Easter Bunny. There are no kids yet. One young guy is manning the fort.
By Keith Merritt5 years ago in Journal
My Career as a Lesser Child Prodigy
When I was a little kid, if you asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would have said, " a flying teddy bear." That was just because people told me I could be whatever I wanted to be, and I took them at their word. When I found out later they really didn't mean I could be WHATEVER I wanted to be, I toned my expectations down a little and said "a writer." I don't know who or what put this idea into my head, for all the good it's done me I probably should have stuck with the goal of being a flying teddy bear. Once you're out of school you don't get to make up for part of your missing work with a stunning essay. You can't pay your rent in Iambic Pentameter.
By Helen Stuart5 years ago in Journal
Introducing the Hive
All my life I wanted bees. As a child my eyes would scan the countryside on road trips, seeking out those colorful and seemingly abandoned boxes at the edges of fields. I wondered about the people in the strange white suits, the suits that made them look like astronauts and they almost seemed to float as well, in a puff of smoke and a swarm of bees around their heads. I dreamed of having my own apiary. I’d paint flowers on the sides and they’d live in the tall grass at the end of a long, foot-worn path.
By Jaine Semon5 years ago in Journal
Ice and Ibuprofen
It was dark here, before they lit the fire. On the only place to stand on this horrible little hill, it showed us that the porcelain of the floor very much matched, much to our surprise, the walls, the ceiling and our whole little world. Our faces shown back at us, eyes big like saucepans and wretched little mouths, smiling in the dim glow. Everywhere, all around us but where our shadows fell, the crowd of us, laughing.
By David Deluca5 years ago in Journal
