What's in a name?

I think we were all pretty upset when it went from the office Christmas party, to the office Holiday party, then became the office mid-winter celebration to the last year’s ‘mid-month’ social. When the announcement came last month that, because of the economy, the traditional office whatever-you-want-to-call-it was canceled, it seemed like the last vestige of corporate civility had evaporated. I’m not exactly Mr. Social, but hanging out for a couple hours and sharing some snacks and booze (all on the company’s dime) didn’t seem such a terrible thing. I actually like some of these people.

So much for that. They told us we could leave a 3:30, and I was out the door seconds later. Nothing like extending that 4 day Christmas break by one whole hour. Woot-woot !!

One tree, two enormous dinners, a bunch of beer and three losing football bets later, it was time to get back aboard the elevator and re-start the grind.

But, hark! What, pray tell, is that I see uponst yonder desk?” There, dead-damn center on my desk was a crisp, clean, alabaster envelope, held in place by a Pilot Varsity Fountain Pen, and a small red bow. Well, well, well. Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa.

My corporate cool went into warp-drive. I casually took off my coat, and suavely sauntered off to get some coffee. I wasn’t too sure about the fountain pen, but I was thinkin’ the smart money was saying ‘year-end-holiday-Christmas-whatever-you-wanna-call-it’ bonus. Those heavy hitters upstairs really knew how to spice up the game. That’s a pro move, waiting until after the holiday.

When I was very young, everyone called me ‘Bobby.’ I became Bob as a teenager and stayed that way thru college. Shortly after I graduated from college, my parents advised me that, from a professional perspective, I should become, ‘Robert.’ They thought it sounded a little more formal, and as Mom said, “Nicknames won’t be such a problem.” OK, Mom.

From day one, in the office, I was Robert. Strong. Respectful. Corporate-sanctioned mid-level royalty. Somewhere between year 5-6, and, in keeping with the corporate touchy-feely management mode, people slowly began to refer to me as Bob. Honestly, it never really mattered to me.

Returning to my desk, I picked up the pen. Hmmmmm. Seems this particular version of the Pilot Varsity Fountain Pen is of the ‘disposable’ variety. That’s odd. Not exactly what a 12 year veteran of the company expects to herald the arrival of a sweet chunk of bonus bread.

I flipped the envelope over, and noticed that it bore the distinctive marks meted out by the copy machine downstairs. That’s odd, too. Seems this envelope, and most likely the contents thereof, had been processed thru one of our machines. Computer input—printed, folded, stapled, crammed into envelopes without ever being touched by human hands. A sweet administrative tool, but not much in the way of personalization, especially considering the fact that this envelope most certainly contained my substantial, end of year……… oh crap…. “Houston, we have a problem.”

The rest went straight, and quickly, downhill.

Oh, yeah… the pen? $2.73 (with free shipping) on ebay.

It’s taken me 12 years with this hairball company to learn that, apparently, Starbucks has software that allows you to print up your own, personalized gift certificates, and even the cheapest of cheap crap is available, even cheaper, on ebay.

Squirt me an email. We'll commiserate.