Bono you don't!

Things took a turn for the bizarre at beaver central yesterday.

I'd just returned from lunch and had arranged the separate tabs on Internet Explorer for the NZ Herald, Gmail and the slowest website in the world, aka theultimatebeaver.com.au. I had my phone switched to silent beside my keyboard so I could take private calls and check Facebook and Twitter at will. I had my ‘Boss Screen’ spreadsheet of multicoloured columns and rows ready to flick to just in case a senior beaver checked I was still plugging away at holes in the dam. I was ready for work.

In the middle of reading about Miss Mexico winning Miss Universe my sphincter began to spasm which could mean only one or two of two things. Either I had drunk too much of the free Moccona in the kitchen, the Grand Beaver was approaching or I had drunk too much Moccona and the Grand Beaver was approaching. I opted for the safety first approach so clenched my buttocks, switched to spreadsheet and picked up my phone to have a conversation with the dial tone.

The Grand Beaver waited until I had thanked the dial tone for its time and then asked me if I had time for a 15 minute meeting. My mouth was as surprised by this as my sphincter and refused to open so I nodded. The walk to meeting Room 6 was only a few metres but felt like a few metres more. My colleagues looked at me with pity and perverse pleasure.

We sat opposite each other and the Grand Beaver opened his leather folder to a blank page. It was then that I noticed his eyes were crooked.

“I’ve been watching you Greg.”

Wow, his eyes are really crooked.

“I’ve been hearing some good feedback about your work.”

I wonder if he’s had Bell’s palsy.

“I don’t know anything about you, I don’t even know your age. Tell me a bit about yourself and where you see yourself going.”

I friend of mine had Bell’s palsy at primary school.

“You have a real aptitude for probing.”

His name was Scott I think.

“I think it’s time we stimulated your probing skills.”

Yes, his name was Scott. He moved to Australia.

“I’d like you to aim for five face to face beaver meetings a week.”

It happened really quickly, one day he was fine and then the next…WTF?

“You’d like me to meet with beavers in Sydney?”

“No, even though we’re calling beavers in Sydney I’d like for you to set up meetings with their associate beavers in Melbourne to convince their Sydney beavers to submit a beaver for our fastest website in the world.”

I thought Bell’s palsy went away by itself though.

“Try and set up 5 beaver meetings a week. I’ll keep and eye on you and if you meet these targets I think I could arrange some increases in your hourly rate.”

Maybe he was just born with a lop-sided face.

“We’re always on the look out for people to place in permanent roles here at Beaver Central. Would that interest you?”

I remember the whole class walked to Scott’s house to visit him. That was nice.

“Keep up the good work Greg.”

If, by good work he meant this picture of Bono I had spent the morning hilariously manipulating in Paint, I was happy to comply.

This was done to irritate my Irish co-worker who I shall call Tiddly Tee to protect her identity. As a professional thespian I am using this opportunity to perfect my Irish invective by saying, ‘Tiddly tiddly tiddly tiddly tiddly tiddly tiddly POOOOTAEEETOOOS!’ to her on the hour every hour and them closely listening to the torrent of authentic Irish abuse that follows.

She was giddy with excitement with the news that Bono, The Edge, The Side and The Back were bringing their Giant Claw Tour to Melbourne and I knew this picture would get her all riled up and further my professional development. She says I sound like a “stoopid fookin leprechaun” and everybody knows leprechauns are Irish so I think she is saying my Irish accent is good.

I wish I could have meetings like I had yesterday in my other line of work. Imagine if during the filming of ‘The Lion The Witch and the Wardrobe’ Andrew Adamson had pulled me aside and said something like:

“I’ve been watching you Greg and I’ve heard some really good feedback about your faun acting. I don’t know anything about you, I don’t even know your age however this McAvoy guy just isn’t working out as Mr Tumnis so I’d like to offer you the role. Here’s a contract for a huge amount of money now go down to set and meet the beavers.”

I was planning to blog yesterday but was so traumatised by the meeting I couldn’t do it. The very thought of working permanently at Beaver Central filled me with an unimaginable horror. How could my complete disdain for everything associated with this campaign be perceived as an aptitude for probing. What the hell is probing anyway? I just want to keep this gig going until the end of September without any more responsibility. My sensitive co-workers sensed my pain and took me to the kitchen for my 15th Moccona and a chat. The Grand Beaver’s PA, who I shall call Gouda, told me he said exactly the same thing to her and it’s all a load of bollocks. Tiddly Tee said “Pooootaetoo poooootaetoo!” to cheer me up.

As I sipped my Moccona my sphincter finally relaxed and I went to the toilet. The PDF man was still there.

Temporal Monotony

I’m taking a break from soliciting beavers to write this update.


My temporary foray into temporary work continues. The grand beaver is absent from the office so I can blog instead of beaver without fear of being rumbled. Occasionally his underling will venture over to tell me he has been cutting and pasting however I can see him approaching and have plenty of time to switch to my spreadsheet and highlight a row.

I can also see rows of creamy cubicles, broken only by the tops of black Dell monitors and deflated red helium balloons attached to commemorate cup cake day last week. Occasionally a deflated worker will rise and exhale before sinking back to their seat to do whatever it is they do.

On the wall in front of me are photocopied pictures of Edward and Jacob from the Twilight movies. They are covered in different coloured post-it notes with the names of staff members written on them. Edward has 13 supporters, Jacob has 9. I don’t think this is a competition; people have just stuck their post-it notes on for something to do.

At 3.30pm today someone will take the quiz from the Herald Sun into the break-out room and everyone will gather as the questions are read out. People will attempt to answer the questions although no score is kept and no prizes are awarded. Yesterday one man knew what PDF stood for and everyone laughed at him and said that only he would know what PDF stood for. He laughed as well but I knew he was crying inside and wished he didn’t know what PDF stood for. PDF stood for Portable Document Format.

It’s very quiet. I’ve just been to the toilet and there was someone in one of the cubicles pulling out sheet after sheet of toilet tissue. I couldn’t hear any nose blowing or bottom wiping so can only assume the tissue was to soak up tears. Perhaps it was the PDF man. You could spend the whole day crying in the toilet and nobody would know, as long as you cried quietly.

Perhaps I should print this just to see what printer I am connected to.

I’ve just looked in the draws under my desk for the first time and found four name badges for Zipporah Szalay, two little packets of tea tonic Chamomile Tea and a Ndebele Sangoma Doll. According to the attached card it was handmade in South Africa. “It is believed that she reveals the will of the spirits. The Sangoma is revered as the protector of society and her opinion and judgement are highly valued.” This is a picture of my new friend.

The next company on the list to contact is called Nippon Meat Packers. I’m going back to the toilets to start crying.

Leave It To Beaver

While the rest of the world is on a train to Edinburgh I have been temping.

This was how the advertisement described the job.
 
We seek candidates with enthusiasm, outstanding verbal communication skills and solid administration experience. You will be calling potential participants of The Beaver in the Woods campaign, to obtain their email address to forward relevant competition information. You will also be required to enter details into a database and take inbound enquiries.

The campaign is not actually called The Beaver In The Woods Campaign. I have changed the name just in case someone from the real campaign stumbles across this blog as I really need the money and I'm hopeful it's going to provide invaluable material for this blog.

The is how the advertisement should have described the job.

We seek candidates with enthusiasn, outstanding verbal communication skills and solid administration experience to cold call people about a campaign they will not give a shit about.

Here are the benefits, as described in the advertisment.

In addition to being part of an exciting national project, you will be paid a competitive hourly rate and work either part-time (3 days per week) or full time hours within a fun and friendly team in stunning CBD offices.

Here are the benefits as they should have been described in the advertisement.

You will be paid.

They were telling the truth about the offices. Like a fish in a fortieth floor fish bowl I've had nothing to do but circle and pooh and look at the view. My workload for my first two days has consisted of looking at a website, setting up my email signature and reading a suggested script for phone calls which I will not use.

This is how the campaign would work if it involved beavers. Imagine a world where you needed to fill a beaver to receive an income. Myself and two other eager beavers will be calling every company in Sydney that supplies beavers to ask them to put their most exciting beaver on our website. They cannot just make up a beaver, it must be a beaver they really need to fill. Once lots of beavers have been listed a panel of celebrities made up of AFL players, radio DJs and the guy from 'Who Wants to Be A Millionaire' will decide on the top ten most exciting beavers and then the public can use online or SMS voting to determine the 'Ultimate Beaver'. The person selected to fill the Ultimate Beaver gets showered with prizes and the company I work for gets 17% of the value of all the beavers filled as a filling fee.

The fundamental flaw in my opinion is how do you quantify the value of a beaver?

Is this beaver...

better than this beaver?

I suppose at least with beavers you could measure their teeth, tail and dams however the entity I'm dealing with has hundreds of unqiue variables that have no relation to each other and are absolutely meaningless if compared. This is maybe why after one month and thousands of calls only one beaver has been listed on the Melbourne site and that beaver came from one of the sponsors. I've even heard that this beaver is in danger of being pulled because the sponsor is embarrassed  and doesn't want their beaver associated with a big cock up. The Melbourne competition has just finished so at least the task of the judging panel and the public has been simplified.

I'm sorry for being so obtuse but I hope you get the gist.

What is intriguing is the dynamic of the team behind this car-crash of a campaign. The creator and leader is an oblivious alpha-male who has jetted off to Sydney to set up the media launch for the next competition. The leaders underling is terrified of the leader and insists that the same failed approach be taken for the next stage of the campaign. He also says 'cut and paste', ' don't reinvent the wheel' and 'if it ain't broke don't fix it' at least three times every hour.

The leaders PA kindly showed me where the staff kitchen was. As we both stirred our tea she nervously glanced left and right and up and down before whispering, "Nothing is as it seems. Don't believe anything you hear." Before I could reply she scurried back to her cubicle. I couldn't follow her back because I didn't have a pass for the door so I completed another circle of the building, stopping at the toilet halfway round. As I completed my circuit I could feel the eyes of the other employees peering at me from behind their beige dividing half-walls. There was desperation in every pupil. They were pleading with me to ignore the giant white beaver in the corner, to put my head down and beaver away even though the dam was well and truly busted.

And this is what I will do. If nothing else it will be a sociological insight into how ridiculously expensive and fundamentally flawed things get made.

I will also be paid.