I’ve been dealing with an organization at work for over two weeks now. This Shall-Remain-Anonymous organization has information about my organization on their Web site. I have been asked by my boss’ boss to update the information because the information is inaccurate.

Thus began the fun. Upon going to the organization’s Web site, I was delighted to learn that I wasn’t the first person to want this kind of information changed. In fact, there was a giant flashing button on their Web site that says: “Update Your Nonprofit’s Information.” Wow, a flashing button? This is gonna be the easiest part of my whole week. Click…

Next page says, “You currently do not have permission to update a nonprofit report.” Uh yeah, OK, I mean how would this Web site know who I was? I could be playing one of those classic nonprofit practical jokes where I lower the fiscal year operating revenue by a couple hundred thousand dollars on this Web site, and then everyone has a good chuckle. All right, though, I’ll play your game.

“If you’d like to request permission to update your organization’s report, please enter your EIN here. Then click ‘Request Permission’” These people have thought of everything. After figuring out what our EIN was through a series of internal phone calls, I was given a 9 digit number (our Employer Identification Number). And I entered it. To which, I received an error message: “This EIN does not exist. blah blah.”

After double-checking the number (it was correct), I contacted customer service to inform them of my plight. What do I do if my EIN does not exist in your system? Can I register it with your organization? etc. I received this response ‘Thank you for contacting XX. It appears your EIN does not exist.”

Ah, yes, thank you for repeating the error message I told you I received. I responded, this time copying the error message in the email. To which, I received a snooty reply. “Sir, you need a dash after the second number.” It must be rough having to deal with such idiots who don’t know where to put the dashes in their EINs.

This time, when I entered the number with the correct placement of the dash, I received the following error message: “Jane Doe is already registered as the person responsible for updating your organization’s information. If Jane Doe is no longer with the organization, please contact us at XXX@na.com.”

An answer, finally. “Dear X, Jane Doe is no longer with our organization, can you change the access so that I can update our information. hugs and kisses, duodecad.”

And the response a few minutes ago? “Dear Duodecad, Jane Doe is already registered as the person responsible for updating your organization’s information. If Jane Doe is no longer with the organization, please contact us at XXX@na.com.”

This could get ugly.

During one of the boring, unintentionally comical conference calls I had to attend last week, as we discussed marketing efforts, a colleague busted out with, “It’s like ’sell the hole, not the nail.’”

I could hear the blank stares buzzing through my phone line.

“You know it’s one of those sayings. Like, ‘you don’t sell the sizzle, you sell the steak,’” she explained.

In a way, “sell the hole, not the nail” is like “you don’t sell the sizzle, you sell the steak.” In that they both don’t make any sense.

But the real saying, as folks pointed out, was: “You don’t sell the steak, you sell the sizzle.” But what the saying should be, I think, is that the sizzle sells the steak. Or else the steak salesman does.

I think the really real saying, getting back to nails and holes, and what my coworker may have picked up somewhere and meant to say, must be: “You don’t sell the shovel, you sell the hole.”

This would mean, you don’t sell the product, you sell what you can do with it. Like, hey aren’t holes great? I mean wouldn’t you like to have a hole? Well, buy my shovel and dig your own hole!

But it doesn’t work with the nail/hole metaphor. Hey, wouldn’t you really like a small hole in your wall? Doesn’t your wall need a series of small, deep holes? Well, poke your own holes with my patented nail!

Isn’t it just like marketing to teach people marketing with semi-catchy phrases that have no real meaning? In that spirit, let’s have a marketing-aphorism contest.

It goes like this: “Sell the _____, not the _____. Because/Unless _____.”

Like, “Sell the steak, not the cow. Unless it’s a farmer buying.”

Like that. But funny. Or else just play Mad Libs with the blanks.

Most of my workday is spent deciphering e-mails from colleagues. I’m the only person who seems to have a problem with the traditional corporate form of communication, which, it seems, is the poorly punctuated, spouted-off e-mail of whatever word salad happened to take residence in your forebrain while your fingers rested on the keys.

When I write an e-mail, it’s treatise on the task at hand, with complete sentences and adjectival clauses separated with real commas. I never use a pronoun or abbreviations. And nobody, of course, ever reads them.

Yesterday, I got this from my boss (who, I must point out, is a cool, un-corporate kind of guy, but must have been in a bit of a hurry):

When the time comes, please deliver these banners and do the i.o. We’ll extend this by one week so we’ll have new creative come June 1. So schedule the banners for ASAP to June 5.

Not so bad. We have a little conflict between “when the time comes” and “ASAP,” but I didn’t puzzle over it too long. There was the question, in my mind, over the new creative, so I asked:

Do you want the banners you sent to run while we wait for the new creative?

To which he replied:

What new creative are we waiting for?

I had thought I was on board and in the know. I was marching ahead, getting it done, and oh by the way small question? But now I realized that I had absolutely no idea what was going on.

What did you mean here? “We’ll extend this by one week so we’ll have new creative come June 1.”

I had dived right into the heart of the matter. No more pussyfooting around. Here’s what you said, sir, now explain that! Which he did, with just three words:

Deadline extension banners.

Although the words appear to be in my native tongue, the combination continues to elude me. Needless to say, whatever the task he wanted from me was, it’s totally been dropped.

About one and a quarter minutes later, on a completely different topic, I got this from a coworker:

Who has the vector file for the event prelim brochure?

Now this should have been cut and dry. We have an event, we have a brochure. I shouldn’t have bitten on this one, but I was discombobulated from other mysterious e-mails, and the “prelim” threw me off. Were we working on a new brochure now? Did she mean the show guide? I found myself compelled to ask: What’s the prelim brochure?

The brochure (preliminary bro) that is on the web

It’s a prelim brochure, or a preliminary bro, but it’s not a preliminary brochure. It’s not a preliminary brochure, probably, because it’s been printed, mailed, and posted on the Web for two months, and the event is two weeks from now. I do not think that word means what you think it means.

I got this in my inbox this morning:

It’s been over a decade since
I subcribed to your magazine,
but you used to publish a yearly edition of the top US industrial areas, by city.

Do you still do that, and if so, when was the last month and when will it appear again? Thank you.

I’m sure he didn’t mean it, but he has a real rhythm here . . . two 8-syllable lines, two lines of 24(ish), with the pause before the final two beats, “areas, by city.” is echoed with “again? Thank you.”

And what subject holds more pathos than a wistful look back at a magazine subscription left to die? This e-mail is about the relentless nature of change, and, although he is trying to hold on to something, the reader knows that, of course, there is no longer a yearly edition of the top US industrial areas, by city. That time is past.

Ever get into one of those e-mail exchanges with everybody in your entire organization?

You know: when one person e-mails a giant list (the wrong giant list) and then the cc list, down to the last e-mail account, replies all with the message “This is not for me” or “Remove me,” until, eventually, a crazy person replies (to all, mind you) “STOP REPLYING ALL”?

It happened to me (noted here). And it happened to (yes, believe it) the U.S. State Department, where so many people replied all “you got it wrong” and “stop replying all” that it crashed the State Department’s servers and now anyone abusing reply all will be subject to unspecified “disciplinary actions” (read: Kabul embassy transfer).

Rather than a vague governmental threat of “disciplinary actions,” my company is cutting off the problem at the source:

The [My Company] Executive Council ([MC]EC) reviewed suggestions that would eliminate bureaucracy and inefficiency. Beginning Thursday, January 29, we will remove the “Reply to All” functionality from Microsoft Outlook.

I hope they mean remove the functionality from Microsoft Outlook on machines within our company, unless they have a hot phone that directly rings Bill Gates.

And moreover: we have an “Executive Council”? Like the Jedi? And moreover still: we have an Executive Council dedicated to removing bureaucracy? Isn’t than a Zen koan? “First order of business: disband Executive Council!” Poof.

In more cutting-nose/spiting-face fashion, the Executive Council goes on to explain:

We have noticed that the “Reply to All” functionality results in unnecessary inbox clutter. Responders who want to copy all can do so by selecting the names or using a distribution list.

Yes, we will now reduce inefficiency by copying and pasting enormous lists one e-mail at a time, or creating spreadsheets of distribution lists. You know what else causes unnecessary inbox clutter? Inboxes. If everybody had to write e-mails by hand, and buy a stamp, well, they’d damn well think twice before replying all! I’ll get the Executive Council to call Bill Gates.

There is much to be said for grammatical parsings. Since 12 Apostrophes is full of PhD and MFA types in all things english, I thought I would whet you appetite with a relatively simple one from my place of employment:

Please schedule the committee meeting the month prior to the second monthly board meeting after quarter end.

Nice. One sentence reads half high-school algebra problem, half Orwellian mind transplant. But if you thought that was impressive, let’s move to a graduated example:

Remember that due to 2009 Open Enrollment completing at weeks end for medical and dental insurance and spending accounts ending tomorrow (Wednesday).  You only need to complete Open Enrollment paperwork for medical/dental insurance if you are adding, changing or canceling coverage, otherwise you can do nothing unless you are adding, changing or canceling coverage. Your current elections will carry over in 2009. If you want to participate in medical or dependent care spending accounts in 2009 you will need to submit new forms.  Submit forms, unless not required, to [NAME REMOVED TO PROTECT THE INNOCENT] in Human Resources.

The first sentence here is a true gem. I think Open Enrollment may be ending on three different days, but I’m pretty sure the clearest indication is that it ends on Wednesday (maybe). The rest, well, I think I may need to turn in some forms, unless I am adding, changing or canceling coverage, but only if I am adding, changing or canceling coverage. If anyone would like to submit a formal translation, I would be much obliged.

Somewhere along the way, people decided to start saying “It is what it is.” No one knows why, but God knows everyone wishes they would stop.

I started hearing it last year some time, and I knew “it is what it is” had really made it when it appeared on the American version of the office (B. J. Novak, as Ryan, throws it in a rant filled with other business platitudes).

Soon after, I heard my actual boss say it on a conference call. Then, a client at work. Now, as of last week, my therapist, from whom I expected more (Me: “Why are the flying monkeys talking to me?” Her: “It is what is is.”)

Could any phrase, in the history of language, signify less? A is equal to what A is equal to. “It is what it is” could be summarized thusly: “it.”

My friend Ian pointed out another recent offender: “Going forward.” This is used, very, very often in my experience, at work to propose an action, for example: “Going forward, let’s make money instead of losing it.”

You don’t need the “Going forward” part. We’re certainly not going to do things previously. Proposing or mandating action is rarely effective when applied to the past. “Looking backward, let’s sell more ads yesterday.” Actually, I wouldn’t put that past the rank and file of managers I’ve met, but, you know, “time travel is impossible as time travel is impossible.”

“It is what it is” reminds me of our neighbor Patrick in Mississippi who would say “for obvious reasons.” But he never left well enough alone, and was compelled to then spell out his reasons, no matter how obvious. The one Pulao and I remember the most was when he got his pet rabbit, Floppy, whom he had named “for obvious reasons,” which were (obviously) that the rabbit grew up in a flophouse.

Salma passed her dissertation defense! Congratulations!

Last week, I got my yearly performance review. Although the words in the review seemed pretty positive, the number ended up being a positively small 3%.

Don’t get me wrong! — a 3% raise is better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick (don’t try that at home). But I think my company makes it hard to get the big raises on purpose. The performance review is all online, and a big part of it is a self-assessment. Check out the instructions:

1. At least one objective should be set for each scorecard category.
2. No more than three objectives should be set for any one category.
3. The weights for all objectives should total 100%.
4. The total weight of objectives for any one scorecard category should not exceed 50%.
5. An objective should not be weighed less than 10% nor more than 30%.

This definitely favors people who aced the math and logic problems on the SATs. Two trains leave the station traveling at least 30 mph but no more than 55 mph. When do they get to Baltimore? I think if you can fill out the forms correctly, they automatically make you a VP of Operations.

The final insult, in the boss part of the performance review, was this:

Particularly, please document what the employee has done to achieve results by demonstrating the [My Company's] values: Simple and Open.

Simple and open aren’t the first two words I thought of to describe the online forms, I admit. I can only hope, then, that the employee who designed the performance review had to fire himself afterwards.

I got a little magnet in the mail from my health insurance company the other day, with a “Nurse Line” phone number on it. I’m supposed to call the Nurse Line when I’m sick to find out if I should go to the doctor. Or, as the card says, to help decide if the “doctor’s office, emergency room, or just self-care is needed.”

Suuuuure. I’ll call my insurance to ask whether I should accrue costly hospital bills for them to pay. Or not.

I’m sure it might depend on whether I had paid my full deductible yet, but I imagine the call to go something like this:

Me: Hi Nurse Line? I’m having some chest pains?
Nurse Line: Chest pains are more common than you think, don’t worry.
Me: But it’s kind of [gasp] stabbing? Oh boy. There it goes.
Nurse Line: Have you considered self-care?
Me: Tingling . . . in my . . . left arm . . . [thump]
Nurse Line: Advil should clear that right up.

The information I can get by calling Nurse Line, the card assures me, is “physician-approved.” How do the physicians know what the phone operator is going to say? Does a physician come in and bless the phone with a wave of his or her stethoscope first?

In other health insurance news, I also found out that I could get $50 from my health insurance comp by filling out an online questionnaire. Woo-hoo! right? The questions were a wee bit personal though. They moved from my diet and exercise regimen, to my mental health and family history, right down to the nitty gritty: height and weight please, marked with the dreaded red asterisk — required.

So I lied my suddenly-smaller-on-paper ass off, of course. Just because you’re paranoid don’t mean they’re not raising your premiums . . .

But even after I added a full inch and took off 20-25 pounds, the interwebs still said I was fat! Which almost scared me enough to call Nurse Line to see what I should do.