A surprisingly useful guide to Christmas wishes

Aaah, another Christmas. What better way to get in a festive mood than a good old story from the past? No, this is not the one about of the ghost of Christmas past or Mr. Scrooge, I promise.
This is a short, happy story. You'll have enough time for suicidal thoughts and worry about financial trouble when the in-laws are at the door.

[Light harp music...]

Twenty years ago, there were no hands-free sets. Or if there were, they were for mobile phones and I only had a fixed landline. My parents did. I was using theirs, on account on living in their house.
There were many consequences to this. My girlfriend at the time was very very (I think I missed a "very") very (no, there it is) chatty on the phone, and I was at the age when I could not even consider the possibility that I could break up with a girlfriend. I had to improvise and adapt instead, which I did: I held the receiver with one hand learned how to play Need for Speed with a single hand. Don't think of nasty things; Internet came from dial-up in those days, and someone was on the phone already, telling me how her marine biology classes went that day, not missing any detail. Not a single detail. None. For the one or two young people reading this, I realize it is not very helpful to describe an old technology by means of a dead technology: it only means internet was very slow. Too slow for video, anyway. Also, I may have rounded up the numbers, you're not that many if I count all my readers across all age-segments. For the other reader of this story, Need for Speed is a simulation of a racing simulation game. You may remember it from recent movies inspired by it, with fancy graphics and sound effects to make up for lack of talent (more on that topic later). There was something special about playing computer games back then, some unique sensations you cannot get today with all the modern technology: the dizziness induced by the blurry flickering image from a CRT monitor; the sound of the most expensive cars in the world blaring through the most inexpensive speakers in the world, outdone only by my parents yelling to put the damn phone down because they were expecting a call from my aunt. All those memories... some of them wiped for good because storage was tiny and unreliable. I guess many things were like that back then. Would you please stop thinking about nasty things already? I'm trying to keep things clean here. It's Christmas, for #*&'s sake.

Another consequence was that I learned how to pretend I was paying attention to boring conversation while doing interesting things instead. This is one of the most critical skills if you're working in technology. With people that don't understand technology. But think they do. And really don't. And call you. You get it. They don't. Anyway. Yes. This is what I referred to earlier when I said "later".

No, this is not yet another story about those support calls. It's not even about calls. Now it's easier, people no longer call. I told you. Short and happy.
They send you a message with a picture these days instead. And maybe a second one with the text, because it's hard to join them and two notification chimes are better than one. If they are relatives, it's an animated GIF instead of a picture. And if they're close relatives, it's a link to a video. And if they're old and close, they make sure to attach the video. And since it's a time of giving and sharing, they send it to everyone in the address book. Sharing the joy with the postman somehow makes things better. But what's that? I think I hear the doorbell. [Light (s)harp music...] I'm off for the single malt and that carving knife. Time to find out who's the next ghost of Christmas pas... damn it! I broke the promise. Well, I guess that's another seven years of hell; this is how long the dinner feels like when you don't really drink single malt and the chatty (now) wife is smart enough to hide the sharp cutlery. Well, I guess that's all for now. Merry Christmas, everyone, and remember: tap the three dots on the screen in the top-right; select Settings > Privacy > All conversations; tap Mute for 1 year; tap OK. I told you, happy ending!

A useless guide to haggling nice gifts from Santa

Right off the bat, this may not be for you. While pushing away a potentially large part of my audience is not necessarily a good thing, I thought I should be honest with you. This is another bad thing, but I will not be covering this here. Or I do not think I will; I have not made up my mind about the narrative yet. That being said, we'll see how it goes as we go.

If you do not believe in Santa, this is probably not for you. If you do believe in Santa but are Jewish, this is a bit more complicated. If you do believe in Santa and your parents are Jewish, this is even more complicated. If your parents are Jewish and you are not, or if you are Jewish and your parents are not, this should not come as a shock, but you are adopted. Still, it could be worse; you could be Jewish, and your parents could be followers of the Islam.
If you do believe in Santa and you are more than 5 years old, again: there may be some problems, regardless of your or your *cough* parents' beliefs.
Come to think of it, the right audience is children below five whose parents are neither cheap nor followers of an intense religion. After subtracting from this the lot those that cannot read yet, my audience is around 10 people at best. Which is still more than my regular audience...

Anyway, let's cut straight to the chase. A normal exchange with Santa would likely go like this.

"Dear Santa,
My name is Lulu. I am 4 years old I have been a good girl this year. For this Christmas I would like a new doll, the blonde princess from Disney. She would be my best friend forever. I would also like a magic kitchen, a pony and lots and lots of chocolate.
I can't wait for your gifts.
Love, Lulu."

Ah, sweet Lulu! Let us see how successful she was at melting Santa's heart (and budget).

"Dear Claire,
Everyone says they have been a good girl, including your mommy, who obviously was not. This is why 3 different milkmen have been at your house this year, even though there isn't even a milk delivery service in your area. Maybe you should think twice why mommy sends you to buy milk from the grocery store when the nice milkman comes around to visit her.
Anyway, that aside, every year you are asking me to bring you a doll to be your best friend. And even though you have no other friends, every year that doll ends up in the garbage before February and stuck in a reef before June. Given your brief attention span, I fear the pony would meet a similar fate. The only difference being a glue factory or a high-end grocery chain instead of a reef. In the latter scenario at least, you could see him again when you go shopping for milk. Speaking of which, you should consider regular instead of the chocolate caramel range every once in a while. I know you're only 5, but it's already very difficult to find a kitchen for you to fit in, magic or not. And my sleigh sure as hell is not magic enough to carry it anyway; I would surely need to swap the reindeers with a long-haul truck. And a small lorry for the chocolate. Which, again, I strongly urge you to reconsider. For your own sake. And, who knows, you might even make some real friends after this. It's nice to have someone to help in case you have a stroke.

So how about a wooden doll and a bag of oranges? If anything, there is less risk of a turtle swallowing doll parts once you get bored with it. And let's we skip the magic kitchen completely? A kitchen is probably the last thing you need right now.

Santa"

Hardly optimal, is it, Lulu? Santa got all your wishes wrong. And your appetite, too. Heck, he even got your name and age wrong. Well, this is where my help comes in.

"Hey, Santa.
To say I was gravely disappointed by your reply would be a gross understatement. You might be interested to know that my name is Lulu, and not Claire. You might be also interested to know that I know the truth about the milkmen. And that I recognize you as one of them. And you know who else might be interested about them (and you)? Daddy. Remember daddy? Well, he got back from the seas at the end of summer and we are spending Christmas together this year.

How about that, huh? The eyes of a child may be innocent, but they do see a lot of things. Remember last Christmas? Well, I sure do. You brought that magic rolling pin with batteries for mommy last year. And then you showed her how to use it. On several occasions, until April. Therefore, I am expecting my magic kitchen this year, alright? Or at least a mini fridge stocked with chocolates. Along with the pony and doll. And don't you worry about my friends and health! It's my enemies you should be worried about.

As for the oranges, you may feed them to your reindeers. The extra energy might help you arrive on time this year instead of blaming Amazon Prime.

We can skip the love for now. Lulu."

After some serious after-thought, I have made up my mind about the narrative and decided to not pursue here the subject of being honest, after all. Somehow, it looks like it is not suited for the occasion.

A useless guide for the... dim lights to attracting moths (I'm not sure)

Three men walk into a bar, except that it is not okay now to have only men; women should be represented. It would be more balanced to make a joke about being in a bar and a lady who promises is a gentleman, although the less divisive path is to say there a person which claims to be the opposite sex to make it equal-gender and neutral. Such terrible inception for a prematurely dead joke, but hey, at least it's inclusive. All this so that people with no sense of humour would stop yelling that it is not funny. Like saying something dumb so that the stupid can also acknowledge it to be intelligent. And just like the LGBTQSUF is going to run out of letters soon, humour is going to run out of audiences. Sudden laughter will need to be carefully evaluated before bursting and spontaneous quips should be compiled in a list that is thoroughly checked by people who have no sense of humour. And guess who thrives in such barren circumstances? Funny (sorry) you should mention it, but there is this guy at work that could limbo flawlessly below the low bar held by the unfortunate cocktails of words, mime and utterances that crack priests, corporate people and other people to from the bottom of the dull barrel into spontaneous laughter. Or, to put it on a more cheery note, the rat feasting during the plagued times of intellectual atrophy.
If knowing your audience is key, he should refrain even from attempting to entertain brighter pets or even some of the more intellectually-endowed pieces furniture (like a smart-fridge that sets to defrost whenever you put a cake in) that are stand on a higher rung where his brain cannot climb. But just like moths around light, he cannot help himself from stampeding at even the faintest flicker, away from his more suitable environment: the pitch dark of switched-off minds. Which means not even the canteen could provide haven during my feeble attempts to take refuge from his spewed broadcast in the open space. Some would call it fate that he happens to take his coffee breaks whenever I'm on a coffee break myself, but as I do not believe in fate, I would rather say it's the fact that I'm always on coffee breaks.
Maybe it is time to take a better look at myself and identify one of genders that entitle me to use bathrooms he should not be allowed to go to. Just like the white clouds of heaven, an immaculate white haven for me right here on earth (second hallway on the left after the elevators, if you're curious). Well, not quite immaculate, but at least white. Mostly white. It's ironical how the most handicapped people use the lavatory for the disabled, even though theirs is the only handicap that does not qualify them to use a lavatory for the disabled. They should be restricted to the filthy corner in the cage of their inconsiderate minds (that's also second hallway on the left once you exit the elevator, but first you need to take the elevator all the way to the basement, near the garages where they park their expensive company BMW's).
Another thing I could do is... well, screw it, I'm tired of being pompous and pretentious. I'll get a coffee across the street. Call me if there's an emergency, I find the missed calls notifications soothing.
Handle it with funny-boy, you referred him just so you can get a new phone.

A useless old-school guide to business optimisation

Recently at the office I watched an educational film from the late '80s on how you can turn a failing business a multi-million-dollar business in less than forty minutes. The film was exactly forty minutes long, but there was no relevant advice during the credits section. With a bit of smart scrolling through the timeline (you will understand later why), you can master the secrets of becoming successful in any business in fifteen minutes*. For free. Well, it probably was not free when it was launched, but now it is on YouTube (thank you, Youtube, I do not want to try now your paid subscription). Anyway, prepare to change your life and from now on your only worry will be which type of veneer you should choose for the deck of your yacht** or which colour to choose for your new office-golf set.

Before we start, you should remember is that eighties cheesy synthesiser music is a must for success in mastering the art of doing business. Bonus: it goes great with yellow all-caps text that fills half the screen. This is where the key points are; pay attention!

Bob was just promoted to line manager. It was always a Bob back then. Or a Dan. Of course, it could have been Sandeep, or Sarah, or Ngandu, but this was in the eighties. So, it is Bob. He is a nice guy from Engineering, currently a manager. He is as surprised as anyone else, except for Charles. Charles is the CEO. He is white and male, too, but he has a longer name. Also not very surprised by the promotion is Denise, Bob's wife. She is having an affair with Charles and thought that such a promotion should be keeping Bob busy at work. Plus a bit more money in the household... Win-win. In all fairness, I did not see this in the film, but it is probably in one of the sections I skipped. Since she married an engineer, she is probably not very good-looking, hence I did not bother to scroll back and check. Charles does not find her attractive either, for him it is a thing of power. I know better websites where you can find more attractive women involved with their husband's boss, but the web filter is blocking them at work. Damn you, corporate firewall!
Anyway...

In the past months, business was not doing great. Sales were declining, inventory was piling up in the warehouses, customers were not happy, employees were getting frustrated.
Bob is not very sure where to start. He asks for a one-on-one meeting with Charles to ask for advice. Being a true leader, Charles starts with generic advice that sounds interesting but is useless, like "look at the big picture". Then sends him to talk to Cecille in finance (of course she works in finance, her name is Cecille) to take a look at the production flow in order to identify bottlenecks. Bottlenecks are the enemy of lean production (this is an important lesson, it twirled in an animation and filled the screen for about 5 seconds). Charles exits scene, probably heading for another one-on-one with Denise.

Bob proceeds to talk to Cecille, who sends him to consult Donovan in the factory warehouse and Mike in Sales and Marketing. These crucial holders of relevant information (well, except Mike; he is in Sales and Marketing, after all) provide him with numbers and charts. Bob nods but is not thoroughly convinced.

The weekend finds Bob not happy with his progress, worried he might not be doing a great job. Denise reminds him he is supposed to go on a trip with their son's boy-scouts group in the forest. Yeah, right; anything to get poor Bob out of the house. Denise, you cheating cow! However, Charles decides to spend the day with his buddies playing golf and smoking cigars in the restaurant over a lavish dinner.

Meanwhile, Bob is wandering in the woods with a bunch of kids. This is during the eighties, it is not a problem until thirty years later. The problem is that their pace is slower than estimated; if they keep on like that there is no chance they can complete the hike before sunset. Bob has a flashback from his discussions during the week and remembers that in situations like this he should look for bottlenecks. In this case the bottleneck is Georgie, a fat kid whining and gasping for air while struggling uphill. Since the kids are supposed to stay together, he is slowing everybody down. Bob notices Georgie is carrying an enormous backpack. Upon inspection, he redistributes the heavier content to other kids that were carrying less despite being stronger and more fit than poor Georgie. After this shuffle, the pace improves considerably, the children make it to the cabin on time, enjoy a nice dinner and tell stories by the camp-fire. Most likely about Debbie, the classroom cheerleader, who has started wearing bras and hanging out with older kids. The boys are wondering if she could get pregnant from kissing with that guy from the football team behind the gym on Thursday or whether they might get tickets for the next Michael Jackson concert. I cannot be certain, because their dialogue fades out and the cheesy music and animation combo takes over to remind you how crucial it is to eliminate bottlenecks.

This was an interesting turn of events; based on my experience in the workplace a more likely scenario would include firing Georgie for slowing the team down, throwing out all his stuff in a bush and enjoying the increased productivity. By the time the boys (except for Georgie) reach the camp, they notice that the pots for preparing dinner were in Georgie's backpack, along with crucial ingredients and the tasty snacks. Everyone goes to bed hungry and irritated, hoping that Georgie gets mauled by a bear and eaten slowly. In the mean-time, Georgie recovers his things -and as the road back is downhill- he gets back to town quickly, happy that he has the rest of the afternoon off and a big back of sugary treats.

The following Monday, while the kids at school are bullying the crap out of Georgie for making them carry his stuff, Bob is telling Charles the episode with Georgie and how he fixed the problem. He somehow managed to take the same approach in the second assembly line and has improved production by reducing the wait times for machine P385B. Charles does not seem to notice how that was possible between Saturday afternoon and Monday morning, given that the factory is closed during weekends; probably the backstabbing bastard has other things on his mind. He congratulates Bob for the progress and tells him to continue with the quality control and customer satisfaction. After this, the boss walks out of the office, leaving Bob with a confident smile and a full-screen text regarding customer loyalty being of utmost importance for the success of any product.

The boss walks in, and everything must be put on hold for now.
If this sounds confusing, let me explain: this is my boss, in real-life, not in the film. I hit pause quickly before bringing up an Excel window and put on a busy face while selecting random columns. Oh! He only wanted to say he was attending a meeting in another office and would not be back before the end of the day.

At this point, I had to speed things up; it is a well-known productivity rule to never spend more than four minutes in the office after the boss has left the building.

To sum up before I leave: avoid bottlenecks, optimise production, pay attention to quality and customer satisfaction, be careful with the marketing campaigns and deliver quickly. Also, be careful with that back-stabbing bitch, either at home or at work (never trust the sales guy)!



*Note: In my case it took under two hours; after the first 8 minutes I was exhausted and went for a sandwich and nap in a small conference room.

**Note: I skipped the ending, but I imagine Bob bought a yacht.

***Note: As you may see, I am not asterisks-adverse. This would have killed in the eighties. Not like Pol Pot, though.