A rant

Following up on a nice tea on Saturday with TYM, in which the following topic was mentioned (albeit in a different form), I just had to get this off my chest.

It’s about work, and how busyness is often mistaken for the sign of a good worker.

To me, a good worker is one who gets the job done, whichever (ethical) way he does it. I don’t care if he spends 16 hours a day 7 days a week doing it or just finishes the job in one highly efficient spurt of 4 hours. (No, actually, I do. I think the one who spent the huge amount of time is inefficient and should be the first to go in the next reorganisation because that fellow is obviously in the wrong job. As far as possible people ought to be in jobs they can do well). So busyness is not necessarily a good thing. And people who put in 110% but get the same work done as those who only put in 80% are not necessarily better workers. Equal pay for equal work done, I say.

This brings me to the next point, which is about rewards. I would like my rewards for my work to be substantial. That could mean keeping my job when everyone else around me is losing theirs. Or it could mean getting a steady salary. Or it might even mean perks at the local Community Club. Priests and missionaries get their rewards in Heaven. I want mine here and now.

This doesn’t mean I won’t work for rewards in Heaven - I will if the Big Boss chucks me into the belly of a Big Fish. But while I’m here working for Men I expect to be compensated accordingly. And that means if I’m expected to put in extra effort I expect to see extra pay. Or other compensation.

Which brings me to my final point. Compensation comes in many forms. Material wealth and social recognition are both good categories of compensation. Personal satisfaction is also good (and probably the ideal we should strive to, but it doesn’t pay the bills). And the key to getting the best out of your workers? Give them what they want, and they’ll give you what you want.

Otherwise, back off and stop polluting my air.

the first of many "Which ... Are You?" posts

Hey, the bandwagon's big enough for all of us.



Powerful. Intimidating. Trivia Nazi. President Bartlet is all of these and more. A super-nerd who's into chess, National Parks, and rambling off things in Latin, POTUS is the 'real thing.' Not being completely upfront with the American people may cause him re-election headaches, though...

:: Which West Wing character are you? ::

Cars And Kings Are Not Personal Things

I have been wondering if I should name my impending set of wheels, and if so, what.

Rosinante came to mind, as did Rohir, and Boxer (the old workhorse from Animal Farm). Each had its own merits, but I didn't think they were quite fitting. I then considered Dolly, because I saw an ad for Toyota, which featured a sheep outrunning horses at the racetrack.

But then I realised that to name something before it shows its true character can turn out horribly wrong - much like naming children. In an ideal world one would have two names - one given at birth to signify your parents' hopes for you, and another later in life to show the person you really are.

The difference between children and cars (or at least one of the differences), however, is that children are people, and cars, after all, are things. No matter how much fun you have with or in the car, it's still just a piece of machinery. And this is a big deal coming from a usually sentimental guy. (Check with me again after I've had it for a year)

So I have decided to classify it in the same order as Kings, Queens, and other Things of Importance For Their Role Rather Than Their Selves. It shall be known as La Voiture (The Car), and, some years later, I will with the appropriate gravitas say, "La Voiture est morte; vive la Voiture."

That is, until it develops a personality.

The Murder of Palms

They committed a heinous crime this week at the workplace. I was shocked at the sight, and stood unblinking, mouth agape, as they chopped at the victims.

The roots were the first to go, methodically hacked by coldly calculated swings in a savage rhythm. As each bunch of roots was severed from the trunk, the palm shivered and was only prevented from falling by the rough hands of a callous collaborator.

After the roots were cleared, the tops were lopped off and the carnage left on the ground for sun and wind to devour. The perpetrators unabashedly left open graves.

Later in the week, the holes were filled, and in place of the old comforting palms stood thin bamboo stalks, so fragile they were held together with pieces of string. Even they will not last long, as I hear they will be replaced by something else for political reasons.

I wonder where the secret shrine to Shiva is. I can't think of any other explanation.

Caught in the Timestream

Over the past few weeks I have encountered several of my neighbours at slightly different times of the morning as I leave for work.

On the days I am early, I meet one set. On the days I am late, I meet another.

I have since been using them as reference points for how early/late I am. If I see neighbour family with primary-school-age daughter, I'm early. If I see ACS tennis brothers, I'm very early. If cute neighbour takes the same lift, I'm late. I've never been very late. (And I always get to work on time). At other times the irregulars will turn up at the lift - the neighbour who lives in Little Amazonia, the retiree out for a walk, the maid with the big dog (who is very considerate and takes the next lift since I'm not good around animals, and certainly don't want to be shedded on before work).

I wonder if they also use me as a reference point. Do they also think to themselves "Shite it's that guy from the other end of the corridor - I'm late," or do they check their watches thinking "Maybe I could have slept five more minutes?"

Someday everybody will be earlier or later than usual at the same time and everything will go wrong.