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Vincent was there every morning. A Yale graduate, he was tall and lanky, with round frames mounted on his nose. His hair was straight and black, and fell around his head in a nineties-style mushroom. Vincent, or Vin as I grew to call him, was always one of the first to arrive and one of the last to leave. He used most of his free time to volunteer. The way I saw it, the kid had no life, yet I wondered where he drew his dedication. I wondered why he did it. The more I thought about it, the more it dawned on me: he had no life not because he spent all his extra time at work or volunteering, but rather he did all that because he had no life. His family lived in California, while he joined the company here on the East coast just last year, coming straight from his dorm room in Yale. So with barely any real acquaintances, Vin found solitude in his work, and preferred spending his free time in the arms of society, rather than confinement of his 4 walls. While Vin was genuinely a nice guy, he was too wired and too nosy, and wanted to have his hand in every project and a word in every conversation. He sometimes spoke so fast and loud that his voice radiated around the entire room, bounced off a few walls, gathered in a hurricane-like circle in the middle and exploded outward, leaving everyone cringing in its path. And for these qualities, he was despised around the office, laughed at as the company nerd; the annoying geek that’s always in your way.

Vincent wasn’t the only one to dedicate his time to something that didn’t love him back. We were all there. While the ownership hired people with the notion of launching a career, many realized quickly that this wasn’t the place to create one. They wanted to do their jobs and go home with a paycheck, and when the opportunity came they jumped ship as if it were on fire.

Project assignments often came around with unreasonable deadlines and the quiet whispers and stares around the office hid backlash against the management. Everyone complained…everyone. It all came out outside. The moment they set foot outside, it was as if the sunlight injected them with renewed energy, a wanting for real communication and interaction with the world. But their faces spoke for them. You didn’t need to hear what they were saying, it was obvious. It wasn’t just this project, or this deadline. It was everything: the place, the bosses, the clients, the lack of real titles or real progress. They all even hated each other, though most were careful not to admit it.

I tried to remain neutral. If I was to be in control around here, I needed to be on good terms with everyone. Put the company’s interests first. I guess, they weren’t the only ones who could put on a good smoke and mirrors routine.  I guess I wasn’t really faking anything, at least not any more than anyone else around here. I may not be an old man, but I’ve lived enough to learn a few things about myself. I’m outspoken, intuitive, and quite arrogant. I’m that guy on the road driving faster than everyone else just because the people in front of me piss me off. I’m vengeful and unforgiving, but I’m fair. And if you love me, I’ll love you back. Cross me, and you’ve made an enemy for life.

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I’ve been asked what it was that inspired me to write this book in this particular, curious way. After all, this is a sad story that makes absolutely no attempt at showcasing any sort of happiness throughout my entire journey. The answer is quite simple: it is what it is. What’s the point of sugarcoating reality? Office politics are real, and lies, deceit, and self-interest drives most of it. Like little worker ants, we line up every morning either in the car on the highway, or in the train or bus. We come to work, to do some mundane job that most of us at the very minimum dislike. And while we’re expected to do our jobs with smiles and enthusiasm, the man is looking for ways to shortchange us, and each coworker is looking for a way to get ahead of you. This is our life as we know it today. We put on a face and push and shove everyone aside. But at the end of the day, we all go home, kick back and realize that deep down inside we really don’t give a f**k. This story is for every person that wants to go home the minute they arrive and for every player in this corporate game of conquest and domination. This book is for every job that sucks a little of your soul each day until you look in the mirror one day and realize that who you were no longer exists.

I hope you know that I can hang for this. It’s a tell-all. Or may be fabrication…hmm…
Jump into my world. I have to warn you, it ain’t pretty. In this world it seldom is.
I don’t know what I was thinking; putting this all together…I must be crazy.  Hmm…

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As I sat there wasting away minutes at useless calculations, I wondered why everything was bundled into one giant PTO pool. Imagine if baseball didn’t break down hits into singles, doubles, triples, and home runs. You’d be as confused reading the back of the baseball card as the manager trying to set the lineup. Being the statistical guru that I am, I separated everything into categories: PTO that is automatic (like holidays), PTO that is granted (like vacation), and PTO that is urgent (like sick time). This made perfect sense – PTO as a single category should not exist if you plan to track it. But no one really tracked it before. People just entered their PTO hours in the weekly time reporter and that was it. No one checked it, no one cared. But I decided that I would.

The owners were on board right away, and I was writing policy change notices before I knew it. Advance request requirements, half day options, the snowball had been pushed off and was barreling down at the speed of light. And in the midst of it all, there I was, like a wizard waving a magic wand, creating rules and policies, setting requirements… What the f**k did I know about setting policies? I wasn’t a business owner now; I had never been one before. I did not realize…or maybe just didn’t care to realize that this made life harder on everyone. I’ve been an employee my whole life, yet I was sitting there in a suit and tie, and a smart-ass look on my face, setting up hoops for everyone to jump through. Not that I cared. I felt power. For the first time in my life, I felt like I exist outside my little circle of friends and family. Little did I realize at the time that the new system of tracking PTO will come back to bite me so hard in the ass that I still feel the sting crawling up my spine. Everything was rolling along smoothly, and then I fucked it all up…

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