It's that time...(performance reviews!)
As we schlep towards the end of the (work) year, our overseers have seen fit to remind us that performance reviews are right around the corner. I can only pray I'm crushed by a semi on the way home some evening.
I forced myself to participate in a Lunch and Learn session dedicated to discussing TURD (Totally Unified Review Decider), our web-based 3rd party career evaluator. There was free pizza and I needed the training hours.
One of our upper management, "Herman" (not his real name) described how to set trickle-down goals based on our superior's goals and his supervisor's goals, from a stream that leads all the way up to the CEO.
The piss, as they say, flows downhill.
Since the CEO got a 16 million dollar bonus last year, I guess he sets good goals. My bonus was $300.
Herman seems like a nice enough person. The trouble is, he obviously believes in all this shit. I walked out of the meeting depressed and demoralized. I realized I was totally fucked. And the sad thing? I don't give a shit.
Later that afternoon, as I crept back into the break room for one last slice of pizza, an even sadder thought struck me about Herman and his Kool-Aid quaffing ilk: the well being of my 401K is dependent on them.
I forced myself to participate in a Lunch and Learn session dedicated to discussing TURD (Totally Unified Review Decider), our web-based 3rd party career evaluator. There was free pizza and I needed the training hours.
One of our upper management, "Herman" (not his real name) described how to set trickle-down goals based on our superior's goals and his supervisor's goals, from a stream that leads all the way up to the CEO.
The piss, as they say, flows downhill.
Since the CEO got a 16 million dollar bonus last year, I guess he sets good goals. My bonus was $300.
Herman seems like a nice enough person. The trouble is, he obviously believes in all this shit. I walked out of the meeting depressed and demoralized. I realized I was totally fucked. And the sad thing? I don't give a shit.
Later that afternoon, as I crept back into the break room for one last slice of pizza, an even sadder thought struck me about Herman and his Kool-Aid quaffing ilk: the well being of my 401K is dependent on them.
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