How to Succeed in Business By Someone Who Hasn't and Doesn't Really Want To

I've been a quasi-member of the business world for almost two months now. I feel confident that this qualifies me to write, based solely on what I've seen and have by no means tested in any way, a comprehensive guide to the business practices of today. So if you desire to dominate in business, read on. I'll take you through the ins and outs of presentations, meetings and some other topics. Honestly, those are all I've thought of. But if I think of anything else, I'll be sure to tack it on to the end of this extensively researched and very well-written instruction manual to commerce.

First, I feel it is beneficial to the complete understanding of business to look at the word itself. Business. Look at it. Just sitting there. No, seriously. I meant we're going to look at the etymology of the word. Or perhaps the entomology... well, one of 'em means word studyin' and one of 'em means bug studyin'. I'll be leading the word one, but what you do on your own time is no concern of mine. So business- let's break it down. First, we've got 'bus.' Lots of people take buses to work in business. This isn't to say that a career in business doesn't pay well enough to let you buy a car. Maybe these people are concerned about the environment. Or, they really like meeting new people. Or maybe their son needed to borrow the car because he had a dentist appointment, at least he SAID he had a dentist appointment, he better have one, because if he gets arrested one more time, he can just stay in jail and maybe it'll teach him a less- but anyway. Public transportation. The second part of the word business is 'i.' It's a dog eat dog world out there, and I gotta look out for me. Or I, if it's you talking. I think you'll find my logic quite flawless and self-explanatory on this point, so we'll just press on. The last part of the word business is 'ness.' This harkens back to Loch Ness of Scotland. This lake may or may not be home to Nessie, a legendary aquatic animal. Business is like Nessie in three main ways. First, they both make a lot of money. Secondly, they both are very elusive. And thirdly, they both have flippers. Now that we have that cleared up, let's talk business.

One of the most integral parts of business today, I've noticed, is meetings. These meetings occur in specialized areas of the company known as meeting rooms. These rooms can be greatly varied; for example, the company I work at has one very technology-oriented meeting room. It has big screen televisions (yes, that's right, plural), projectors, surround sound and enough Internet hookups so that every participant can have upwards of eight computers. This is to facilitate teleconferences, supposedly. To this, I say, hey, howzabout I bring in some DVD's and we can teleconference with them while we do some online shopping on the company’s dime? No one gets hurt. Would all those with a strong work ethic please step forward? Not so fast, me. Other meeting rooms have a table and old, bad books. I don't mean 'bad books' as in a limited edition leather-bound copy of the Matrix: Reloaded script (I love you too damn much), nor do I mean graphic romance novels which prominently feature codpieces (no pun intended). I am normally a fan of books. But with titles like “Business: 1,000 Treatises on Micromanagement” and “Zen and the Art of Cubicle Organization,” these books were destined to die alone and unread on a shelf in a windowless meeting room. Perhaps they are meant only to spew the funk of good business practice into a room, much as an air freshener spreads the scent of flowers or vanilla. You're not gonna find out from me, because I'm not opening 'em.

Meetings themselves are available in several flavors as well. I am forced to participate in the 'weekly meeting.' During the weekly meeting, there is much Discussion. Items to be Discussed usually include ideas, papers and many other nouns. The use of multi-consonant acronyms to describe these nouns is greatly desirable. Vowels may be added only to form cutesy words out of the acronyms. These cutesy words cannot legally have anything to do with the words they are formed from, as that would facilitate 'understanding.' Notes should be taken, and a general idea of the status of something should be ascertained.

Another type of meeting I have been a part of is the Quarterly Meeting. (Insert thunder here to indicate importance of the Quarterly Meeting). As a temporary employee with a job length expectancy of 2-3 months, it was quite obviously important that I should attend this meeting, whose main topic was the five-year plan of the company. Presentations were given, speeches were made, soda and coffee were drunk by jerk co-workers who didn't tell me where the Quarterly Meetings was, so I got there too late to get a soda. Overall, though, the Quarterly Meeting was a success in my mind, and the reasons for this are fourfold. Firstly, I didn't have to pay attention. I'm sure employees should have some sort of concern about the state of their workplace; however I am both temporary and completely lacking any sort of work ethic. Secondly, they showed video of stuff exploding. You have to screw up the rest of a meeting pretty badly to give me a negative memory of a meeting where stuff was blown up, if you know what I'm sayin'. Thirdly, there was food afterwards. Also, the meeting was held during work hours. In an analogy to school, which is all I have known up until recently, any field trip is better than class. And I got paid to be at this thing. Thus, Quarterly Meetings are a-okay in my book.

Another important aspect of business is presentations. I have seen a few in my short time here, and I feel comfortable making broad, sweeping generalizations about all presentations based on that extremely limited exposure to them in a business setting. A running theme of successful presentations that I've seen was something of a surprise to me. Clip art. The transfer of knowledge is secondary to the propagation of as much clip art as is humanly possible. Exceptional use of extremely rare and unusual clip arts have led to promotions, knighthoods and quite possibly immortality, judging by the import placed upon these tiny, poorly rendered pictures. And it's not enough to merely have the clip art in your presentation: each clip art must be explained as thoroughly as possible. The explanations can state an obvious relationship between two nouns (i.e. "I put the clip art of the severed hand in my presentation about worker's comp- isn't it cute?") or a more abstracted metaphor (The wizard looking through the telescope represents our customers, searching for a good product. Our customers generally aren’t wizards- at least, not that I know of. And also, they probably don’t use telescopes unless it’s on a recreational basis…). The use of clip art is a highly respected art form and can make or break your business venture.

Finally, in order to have a successful business, you will need secretaries. There are many large misconceptions about secretaries. For one thing, secretaries are now called 'executive assistants.' Also, they do much more than answer phones and make coffee. Today, executive assistants talk about whatever reality TV show was on the night before and discuss private matters way too loudly as well as answer phones and make coffee. Your executive assistant, depending on the make and model, may create presentations (clip art included, don't worry!) and order food for Meetings (see previous section regarding Meetings). Executive assistants can also type at the speed of light, dial with deadly accuracy and organize reasonably well. I guess you don't really need executive assistants. But it's a useful position if, say, your kid sister needs a job real bad.

Now that you have the knowledge to take over the world of business, all you need is a power suit and a briefcase and you’ll be all set. And also, let me know if these tips work. I’m sure not going to use them- the business world starts too early. It’s really a shame… this beautiful collection of clip art is going to go to waste.

You Say Potato- And Nevermind What I Say. Savvy?

Recently I went to Best Buy, or as I like to call it, "I Want Everything In This Store.” I had to buy a network adapter for my computer. As much as I pretend to know about computers, I didn't want to have to return to the store to return an adapter that was meant for an Australian koala-factory computer system, or something of that nature.

The computer section was abuzz with activity, occupying all of the usually rabid salespeople. With no one latching onto my throat until I agreed to a 54-inch and monitor and rust deflecting underbody coating for my CPU, I was left staring dumbly at a vast wall containing perhaps a billion boxes, give or take twenty. After about thirty seconds, I began to perform the dance of the passive-aggressive confused consumer, to the tune of 'I Don't Know What To Buy, Help Me.' It's catchy and has a good beat. Feel free to improvise; the basic movements are pretty standard. They include, but are not limited to thoughtful and/or confused stares, shuffling your feet, picking up a box, putting down a box. Lather, rinse and repeat until you have been helped.

After a few steps a friendly, computer knowledgeable sales guy approached me. "Can I help you?" he asked, ever so helpfully. I assured him that he could, and explained my quandary in the hopes that he would present me with simplified options- like talking to a toddler. "Milk or Kool-Aid?" translated into computer peripherals. He grabbed two boxes and held them out. "Well," he said, "this one is very simple to install, you just plug it in and you're ready to go. This other one, however, has to be installed inside the computer. It's probably for the more computer sway-vee." He continued speaking, but I stopped listening. He didn't really just say 'sway-vee,' did he? Surely I had misheard him. I turned my ears back on. "...So if you're not as computer sway-vee..." SWAY-VEE! He continued in earnest as I struggled to keep a straight face.

He meant savvy, I think. But somehow, he had gotten it mixed up with 'suave' (which really had no relevance to our conversation) and a healthy dose of training in hypothetical English pronunciation. It was as if he had been diligently studying a word-of-the-day calendar purchased from the misprinted 'as is' bin of a Merriam-Webster outlet mall. He must have said it about five more times, and I think more of myself as a person because I managed not to laugh. I purchased my non-computer sway-vee adapter and left in a state of mild disbelief.

Now, I don't mean to mock this kid. Okay, maybe I do. But when I sat down and thought about it, I realized that I pronounce things incorrectly all the time. So as a sort of penance for this online exposure of his ineptitudes, I offer up to the gods of grammar a few of my own faux pases. Faux pasii. Screw-ups.

In my experience, I've found it's best if you can keep these mutated pronunciations in your own head. For instance, one night while I was reading, I had a minor mental lapse. I came across a word spelled h-a-v-e, which I pronounced hay-ve. Shut up, it was late. In my mind, it rhymed with pave and save and I had never come across it before. "Hmm," my sleep deprived brain thought. "I don't know what that means." So I did what any rational person would do- I looked it up. Did I mention it was late? "H.... HA.... HAV... here we go, h-a-v-e. It means 'to be in possession of.' Oh, kind of like have-" I think it was at that point I decided that it was time for bed.

I've also butchered 'Des Moines.' Yes, I know you don't pronounce the s's. Now. Just kidding, I’ve known that for quite some time now. But when you're driving on unfamiliar highways and your trusty navigator can only stutter "uh, uh" when you ask what road you should be on and the exit is coming up and it's now OR NEVER... well, I think mispronouncing the name of a city is excusable. I got us there, didn't I? Besides, if you're en route to Iowa, you better start dumbing it down as soon as possible. Seriously. I think you know what I mean, Iowa.

Let's see... and these mistakes aren't limited to when I'm tired or rushed. Not by any means. After going to a movie, I read the word 'steak' to rhyme with 'peak.' That would have been fine- had I just shut up about it. "Hey," I asked, brazenly flaunting my stupidity. "Look at that- the password to the website is 'steek.' What the heck does that mean?" Sigh. The mockery ensued. And henceforth, Steak'n'Shake restaurants were known as Steek'n'Shake. Thanks, pals. That's what friends are for.

Okay, one more. Ever seen peacocks fly? Yeah. I hadn't either. So when I saw one fly off a roof at a zoo, I thought my family should share in this spectacle of nature. I ran over to them, shouting to alert them to the flight. "He's flewing! He's flewing!" I shouted. “He’s what-ing?” my family shouted in reply, completely ignoring the bird. And they still haven’t forgotten it. Yes, English is my first language.

So when I make fun of the Best Buy guy, it’s as a kindred spirit. We can’t all be pronunciation sway-vee.

Don’t Judge a Book by Her 3-Layer Thermal Underwear Cover

Everyone knows it’s important to look professional when you’re a member of the working world. After all, you only get one chance to make a first impression. Furthermore, the clothes make the man. Or woman. Okay, I’m finished hurling clichés at you. I’m talkin’ about dress codes, man.

The summer after my sophomore year I worked at a Hallmark store. ‘Twas the summer of the paper cuts, as I lovingly remember it, and it’s really quite amazing that I didn’t end up with some sort of lethal greeting-induced blood infection. One time I cut myself on a ‘get well’ card… I almost choked on the irony of that. And I’m almost positive that approximately half of the smell receptors in my nose have been permanently disabled thanks to the candle room, a.k.a. Nasal Assault and Battery. What’s that you say? Nine hundred candles, each with scents strong enough to fill a warehouse, gathered together in a room with no ventilation? I like the way you think- make it so. [Insert evil laugh here].

The dress code at Hallmark was fairly straightforward: no flip-flops and no jeans. Since we were on our feet all day, either catering to or avoiding customers, depending on your individual sales technique, sneakers were the obvious choice for footwear. Slap on some khakis and a tee shirt to prepare for the inevitable air-conditioner breakdown and I was ready to go. We were also required to wear aprons. No, I don’t know why. Apparently a nametag with a brightly colored bow on it was not enough to indicate that I was, in fact, an employee.

On one hand, the aprons did have rather large pockets, which were useful for carrying small items that you needed or wanted to keep with you, i.e. stray greeting cards, jelly beans, hamsters. On the other hand, they were aprons. I was doing nothing related to getting dirty or baking. Although it would have been nice to have a wooden rolling pin to perform some durability testing on the countless ceramic figurines we sold. What? No, I didn’t leave Hallmark with any neuroses. Certainly not any involving collectable figurines [nervous tic] or the cretins who collect them.

My next place of regular employment was Kohl’s. This stint pretty much solidified my long-held conviction that I am not meant to work in retail. However, when you’re stuck in a small town for the summer, you gotta go where the cash is. And also where your roommate can give you a glowing recommendation. Kohl’s showed a whole training video about dress code, but when you deduct the bad writing and cheesy actors, it basically boiled down to no sneakers, no jeans and no sleeveless shirts. I worked at POS, which does not stand for what you think it does, although it should. POS stands for point of sale, and that means I was a cash register monkey for those of the non-retail persuasion.

Working at Kohl’s hot and boring, complete with angry customers, standing for eight hour stretches and minimal bathroom breaks: a lot like I imagine hell to be like. I got paid to be there, but that’s really the only difference that springs to mind. I understand the whole professional image thing, really I do. But when my job description is to stand behind a counter to be berated by customers who don’t want to pay twenty two dollars for a pair of cute baby overalls, what does it matter what I have on my feet? At least there were no aprons. And our nametags were upgradeable: you could earn different colors and stars based on positive customer comment cards. Yes, it was a psychological ploy straight out of kindergarten, but I fell for it. Sadly, I left Kohl’s with the same nametag with the same number of stars I started with: bronze plastic and zero. Yeah, I don’t know why either. Huh. I also left with my very own Kohl’s charge card and probably about half the money that I earned… these two facts may or may not be related. I left because as it turns out, “working at Kohl’s” and “taking organic chemistry” are mutually exclusive states of being. Thus ended my retail experience. I hope. I really, really hope.

Now that I’ve graduated from college and entered the real working world (at least on a temporary contract basis), I can report that dress codes thrive here as well. However, there is some leeway. For my interview, I played the young urban professional role. Apparently I didn’t screw anything up too badly, because here I am, employed. I wasn’t entirely sure of what to wear once I started working, so I played it safe with my good ol’ khakis and a sweater. I hadn’t seen anyone wearing either jeans or prom attire, so I went for the middle of the road and hoped I wouldn’t be flattened by the fashion police.

As it turns out, there’s sort of a caste system clothing spectrum here. At the ‘my boss’ level , people wear business casual. Traveling down to the other end of the scale, we come to the ‘lab rat’ category, which is where I fit in. If I had to categorize the attire that I see people in the lab wearing, the descriptive title would be ‘this is what I woke up in and/or found at my feet this morning.’ Pretty casual. For example, the guy who trained me generally wears basketball shorts and a tee shirt, as well as some lab shirt that is supposed to discourage static electricity but doesn’t.

I decided to ask him what the dress code was during one of our many periods of down time. He looked at me, slightly accusatorily, and then down at his outfit. “Why?” he asked. “Are you trying to tell me something?” I assured him that his dye-stained cotton shorts looked fine, and that I was just curious. And also that I figured I’d like his answer better than my Docker-clad boss’s. I did. His speech could be summed up in four words: wear pants and shoes. Beyond that, it apparently didn’t matter.

I had been wearing sweaters with two to three shirts underneath them. To say the lab is cold would have been an understatement back when they kept the doors to the outside closed. Now, though, the lab is under construction and doors are opened for half of the day. They must be building the new section out of ice blocks, because I can’t think of any other reason for it to be so cold. Let’s put it this way… if they made clothing that you could plug in, I would buy it and wear it, fire hazards and burn risks be damned. My new favorite accessory is my headphone ear muffs, which help to block out the frostbite and the noise – the construction workers have evidently signed a contract requiring them to work at a noise level of 140 decibels or higher.

Mostly I just follow my co-worker’s leads. The day I saw a guy wearing a hooded sweatshirt was a very happy day- and possibly the beginning of the end. I’m just waiting for the green light to bring in a 100-foot extension cord and a space heater to wear around my neck. I don’t dress to impress. I dress to survive.

Mornings: My Arch Nemesis

It’s official. After a seven-month hiatus, I have been unceremoniously dumped into the working world. I started working in January when my recruiter (or ‘The Vindicator of the Unemployed,’ as he is known by people, like myself, who enjoy assigning unnecessary yet impressive titles) gave me a call. “Jobs!” he cried enthusiastically, if only for the purpose of this narrative. So I set up an interview at an automated laboratory equipment company, and began shuffling my morals, ethics and core beliefs in preparation for my first real-world interview.

I shouldn’t have worried. Topics discussed during the interview included dogs, Cambridge, and my ability and/or willingness to perform repetitive tasks. I should have been suspicious about that last one, though, because it was touched on several times. Repetitively, one might say. However, the scent of a possible paycheck had numbed my mind. A few days later, supposedly after some other candidates had been interviewed, I got a call. The job was mine if I wanted it.

I actually had to choose between three jobs: validating automated laboratory equipment, sorting corn, and testing wastewater. Just like being a kid in a candy store... only instead of candy, the store is full of glass shards and red-hot barbed wire: take your pick! It was about this time that I began to seriously question my decision to be a biology major. Ha, ha. Just kidding. I’ve been questioning that decision for months now. Anyway, I made my decision based on a few factors. For one, the hours - "sorting corn at 6 a.m." is a little lower on my list of Stuff I Want To Do than “melon-balling my left eye out.” Thus, the corn would go unsorted. By me, at least. Another factor was the money – it’s a material world, baby, and I am a material girl. Also, I don't even want to contemplate what 'wastewater' encompasses for more than one millisecond, let alone test it for eight hours a day. Add all these factors up and you get me, going for the highly repetitive, highly paid temporary job.

My mom said they were probably lying about having other people to interview. Initially, I preferred to think that I won out against numerous highly qualified foes with my sparkling personality and impressive resume. But when I think about it now, I wonder if 'won' is really the most appropriate word to use- considering what I do day in and day out. Let me fill you in on what my biology degree entitles me to do, before the suspense overtakes the both of us.

I work in the glitzy and glamorous field of automated laboratory equipment. Try to contain your envy. To put it in layman's terms - the machine I work with is like one of those claw machines in grocery stores. You spend $10.00 to grasp at and ultimately fail to pick up a 2 oz. stuffed animal that has approximately the same value as a postage stamp. Fortunately for the suckers who fork over $45,000 for one of these marvels of modern technology, these are a little bit more accurate. And in addition to a claw, it has pipettes - basically a set of highly accurate basters for turkey fetuses. Or gerbil-sized squirt guns. Whichever makes me seem like less of a loser. These - say it with me now - pipettes move liquids into assays. An assay is like a tiny ice cube tray that could make 96 itty-bitty ice cubes.

These machines are, in my mind at least, used at some point during processes such as cloning dinosaurs, or any number of projects thought up by the licensed mad scientists in the country. This way, I can tell myself that I am in a small way a part of the scientific field I like to call "Friggin' Cool Science," instead of my quite obvious association with what we know as "Lame-Ass Science." Let's put it this way- Michael Crichton's never gonna write a book based on me or anything I do at work. Not by a long shot.

The first day of work, it was like having a new robot toy. Ten minutes later, the novelty had worn off and I was over it. There's really only so much fun you can have moving water around. The discovery and implementation of some food coloring managed to capture my interest for another five minutes. I definitely feel that the true potential of these machines is being overlooked: breakfast making machines.

Clearly, the need exists. Hollywood has proven it. I can think of numerous- well, several- okay, at least a few movies that feature these devices, and this only confirms for me that this is a very human aspiration, transcending time, language and religion. The first breakfast machine is featured in a film called "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang" and has been invented by a brilliant but misunderstood scientist. Primarily featuring a flying, sentient automobile, a small cameo is made by an albeit slightly antiquated breakfast making machine. If memory serves me correctly, it made toast and eggs and then sent the meals to the family on rolling plates. Even in 1968, the dream was alive.

Then, again in 1985, we see yet another mad scientist character, Dr. Emmet Brown, who is desperately striving to meet the world's demand for automatically prepared breakfast foodstuffs. The movie features, as a side project, a car that can travel through time. Obviously, a case can be made for some sort of relationship between cars with heightened functionalities, MAD SCIENTISTS, and breakfast making machines. The aforementioned machine reflects apparent advances in technology by adding a dog-feeding feature, demonstrating state-of-the-art technology. The breakfast automation knowledge base was advancing by leaps and bounds.

Other movies to feature breakfast making machines include Casper, Flubber, Honey I Shrunk the Kids, and Pee-Wee's Big Adventure. I feel this technology is ready for the inevitable step from the big screen to a kitchen near you and me. And I feel obligated- no, that's not strong enough- I feel bored enough to explore the feasibility and potential for this technology.

The machines I work with now will need some obvious adjustments if they are to be competitive in the cutthroat world of today's automated breakfast machine market. For example, the scale is much too small. A 'pancake' function would ideally create a plate full of pancakes 5 to 6 inches in diameter. Current settings, however, would only allow for the creation of 96 dime sized pancakes. Which, now that I think about it, has its own friggin' awesome potential right there. Baby pancakes eaten with a spoon! Pancake shaped cereal! Miniscule pancakes so numerous in number could surely solve at least half of the world's major problems.

Today's laser, computer and egg technology could create new, higher standards for perfect toast, un-runny eggs (or runny, if you like 'em that way. I'll make a setting for that) and tiny pancakes. But it doesn't have to stop there. French toast, fresh squeezed orange juice, bacon and sausage, even more tiny pancakes: all this could be waiting for you when you wake up, while your breakfast making machine flashes a good morning message to you on its high-definition touch-sensitive monitor. It's time for humankind to wake up to the dawning of breakfast automation technology.

So, in summation, my job sucks and I still have to make my own breakfast. For now.