Right for the Beans

Roughly 6 years ago I began a corporate adventure with a sales company that has been quite good to me up to the present day.  At the tender age of 25, I began this journey with an apprehensive mind-set due to the my previous places of employment which were absolutely disastrous.  Shortly after I was hired, I was invited with my new team to a swank restaurant so we could get to know one another a bit better.  A "team-building" event if you will.  At the time, my idea of fine dining was Golden Corral, Mr. Gatti's, and on occasion (let's just say if I had a lady to impress) Poncho's.  I was not the high-society, mover and shaker I have blossomed into today.

We were seated in a large circular booth and appetizers were served.  The boss lady proposed we would go around the booth sharing tidbits about ourselves and goals for the future successes of our branch.  I wasn't nervous per say, but I wanted to make a good impression and was racking my over-sized brain as to what to say.  To take the edge off, I decided to dabble into the appetizers.  They looked tasty, but I wasn't familiar with many of the dishes.  I reached for the one closest to me and went to town.  I was shocked to discover that I wasn't able to chew nor swallow what I had put in my mouth.  I labored over this piece of food until I had to throw in the towel.  I discretely spit it out and discerned that I must have chosen a bad piece.  I went for round two and it was even more troublesome.  I began to choke and cough violently to where I stopped the whole table down.  No Heimlich maneuvers were administered, but it was a lengthy episode that destroyed the momentum of the exercise. 

 I now was at a cross-roads.  It was explained to me in a condescending manor that this mystery vegetable known to uppity types as "edamame" is not meant to be eaten whole unless it is tender. I was told normal humans split it open to get to the precious soy beans inside.  I was unaware of such cuisine and now came the moment of truth.  Was I to be the butt of joke during this monumental Team-Building event?  Oh no my friends.  Oh no.  The wheels began furiously turning in aforementioned giant brain  and I spoke up to defend myself.  I told the group that I knew exactly what edamame is and that I put on the display to portray my relentless work ethic and my out-side the box mentality.   I explained how me eating the rough part of the inedible skin was a metaphor of how I break down barriers to get to the eventual decision maker to make the sale.  While my competitors would waste time delicately splitting the edamame to get inside, I would let them flounder with the details as I went right for the beans……Right for the beans. As my inspiring oration continued, my voice unknowingly grew louder.  Other tables began to take notice and by the end of my heroic speech about my future successes, I received a rousing standing ovation from both patrons and staff alike.   I was now hailed as a Trailblazer who would not let any East Asian delicacy stand in the way of me and my lavish goals.

Some may question the validity of this story.  If so, I can assure that it is completely true other than the speech part.  For you see, the truth is that I choked on some Asian green-bean looking shit and everyone made fun of me for not knowing what edamame was.  But you know what?  Let them get their fingers dirty tearing apart that vile vegetable.  To this day, I still go directly through to the skin and right for the beans brotha.  Right for the beans.                

Vator Madness

Recently, my office building has acquired several new tenants, who in turn have made daily activities more cumbersome than usual.  Parking is a bear.  Paying nine bucks for a sandwich at our sub-par deli now requires a long wait.  And increased bathroom traffic has ruined what used to be the highlight of my day.  Oh, how I long for the days of making the trek up a few flights of stairs to a vacated floor where I had my own personal stall of solitude.  Nowadays, ‘tis nearly impossible to peacefully conduct my business in the restroom due to a steady stream of foot traffic, some of which include generic salesmen bringing their blue-tooths to the potty because you know, "time kills all deals" and they haven't a second to spare.  That life-altering sale of theirs MUST be closed in between wipes at that very moment.  And I get to hear all the details.

Now, I am grateful to be employed and shouldn't let these irritants grate on me as they do.  But something more sinister is taking place amongst my new office brethren.  Something I simply can't abide by. Elevator etiquette has all but evaporated.  The universal protocol that should be followed by people of all faiths of any demographic is to let humans off the elevator first before you bum-rush it.  Who doesn't know this?  I started carrying a switch-blade to work several weeks back to thwart these evil obliviouts who can't seem to spare an extra 4 seconds to let me out before they get in.  I thought I had successfully stabbed one of these offenders but was only able to puncture her pant suit.  No breaking of the skin but she got the point.  

Furthermore, I am a staunch believer that the purpose of an elevator is to simply move people in one of two directions, either to your place of business or the lobby so you may escape to the outdoors.  It is most certainly not a place for idle prattle with strangers.  Sure I've met some nice people in the building and built rapport with them to where we converse.  Sure it's fine to speak with your co-workers on the way back up to the office.  And I grant a reprieve for Friday afternoon banter with strangers because the giddiness level is high and people are extra chatty.  Fine, but here is what grinds my gears.  Arriving to work in frigid cold temperatures, I enter the elevator seeking a tranquil ride to my cube.  Then a stranger slips in.  He felt compelled to break the news to me that "Man, its cold out there."  Perhaps he thought I have an underground, climate controlled tunnel from my domicile to work and wasn't aware of the conditions.  Stranger, I'm not interested.  Let’s ride the valor in peace.  On other occasions, I get a lot of "Well (sigh), its Monday."  Once again I'll play devil's advocate.  Perhaps she thought I had time-traveled into the future that morning where in my world we follow the Mayan Calendar.  Maybe she thought of herself as an ambassador to me as I entered this modern, frightening society and she wanted to at the bare minimum; make me aware of what day it was. 

The most egregious elevator offender was an older gentlemen I met a few weeks ago who was wearing a beret and sporting a button on his lapel that stated "People Matter".  When in the lobby in my building, it is impossible to not have the ability to discern that the only way you can go is up from the bottom floor.  As a small group of people waited for the button I could sense that this man was itching to talk.  I was closest to him.  Sure enough, he blurts out, "We going up, huh."  I said "Yep."  Then we get in the crowded elevator.  Doors close.  He then slowly extends his arms the length of a reflective panel in the elevator.  He turns to me and says, "Nice mirror."  I nodded to him in agreement.  This man was so infatuated with hearing his own voice that he decided to critique the aesthetics of the inside of the elevator and then seek my approval.  Stranger, please let me go to my cube. 

To avoid elevator related issues, this week I'm scaling the building with grapple hooks or possibly some type of webbing system like Tobey Maguire would use.