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Those $@!%ing Meetings!

I’ve mentioned a few of the quirks of my new office building. Here’s another:

Our building has seven floors. Each of those floors boasts a conference room. To distinguish the rooms from each other, the higher-ups have seen fit to assign each room a name. None of this bland ‘Meet me in the third floor conference room‘ talk for us. We’re living on the edge! Bam!

It was also decided — by a subcommittee, which was nominated by a task force, which was convened months in advance by a board of directors, no doubt — that the names should follow a pattern. Something to name the conference rooms easy to remember.

Apparently, that last part of the memo was cut off by the printer in the subcommittee’s meeting. Because the conference rooms have been named after… mountains.

“Go on — name seven mountains. I dare you. And no, ‘Space Mountain’, ‘Brokeback Mountain’, and ‘Anna Nicole Smith’s chest for two, Alex’ do not count.”

That’s right, mountains. Famous mountains throughout the world. Seven of them. Go on — name seven mountains. I dare you. And no, ‘Space Mountain’, ‘Brokeback Mountain’, and ‘Anna Nicole Smith’s chest for two, Alex’ do not count.

Hell, I’ve been in the building for weeks now, and I can’t name seven mountains. Here’s all I know:

• ‘Everest’ is on the top floor. (Duh.)
• ‘McKinley’ is on my floor.
• ‘Hood’ and ‘Fuji’ are around somewhere.
• ‘Big Rock Candy’ is conspicuously absent. Who picked that damned subcommittee, anyway? Hello? Geography!

Sure, I’m an idiot — and they’ve made sure my keycard won’t work on most of the floors — but still, couldn’t they have thought of something easier? I know I have. Five things easier, in fact. To wit:

I’ll Gladly Teleconference with You in Tuesday, for a Hamburger Today

Name the rooms after the days of the week; what’s simpler than that? We peons on the lower floors get the crappy ‘Monday’ and ‘Tuesday’ rooms, the the brass can spend their time with their feet on the ‘Sunday’ table.

Of course, it wouldn’t be much good for their psyches to have meetings in rooms that remind them of the weekends. And that piss ‘n’ vinegar would trickle down to the ‘Friday’ crowd, who’d take it out on the ‘Wednesday’ crew, and they’d shove it down our miserable ‘Monday’ throats. So, maybe not a good idea.

Ahoy, Meet-ey! Arrrrrr!

How about the seven seas, instead? Wouldn’t you rather be soaking in the ‘Mediterranean’ or taking a nap in the ‘Caspian’, instead of freezing your ass off at a staff meeting halfway up some godforsaken mountain? I know I would.

On the other hand, the seas are no easier to remember than what we’ve got now. And what goes on top — ‘Red’? ‘Black’? ‘Caspian’? Eh, forget it. I need something less complicated.

Hi-ho, Hi-Ho, It’s Off to Meet We Go…

There we go — the seven dwarves. Who could argue with spending three hours in ‘Happy’? Hell, most of our meetings are ‘Sleepy’ or ‘Grumpy’ as it is; what harm is there in a name change to make it official?

Eh, but there’s still ‘Dopey’. Nobody’s gonna want ‘Dopey’, and of course, we’d get stuck with it. I do enough dancing like a monkey as it is, without having a whole room dedicated to the purpose.

You’ve Been a Baaaaad Conference Room!

Seven rooms, seven deadly sins — it’s like they were made for each other. You could even tailor your room reservation for the type of meeting. A powwow over lunch goes in ‘Gluttony’. Mergers and acquisitions use ‘Greed’. The rest of use can bounce between ‘Anger’, ‘Envy’, and ‘Sloth’ for most everything we need to talk about. It’s perfect.

Except… how pissed would you be if your ‘Lust’ meeting got bumped down into ‘Sloth’ because the boss is ‘dictating’ to his secretary in there? My guess is you wouldn’t take ‘Sloth’ lying down. That’d hurt your ‘Pride’, and your ‘Envy’ would soon turn to ‘Anger’. Then where in the hell would the rest of us meet?

We’re Meeting Where? And What Did You Call Me?

No, best to use my final and favorite idea — George Carlin’s seven words you can never say on television. We may not be much for meetings, but I’ll guarantee you that people would soon learn where the ‘Shit’ is, and which floor the ‘Tits’ are on.

(And then that Anna Nicole remark of yours would work out just fine. See? Better.)

I’m just here to help, folks. Alert the subcommittee; I’ll be waiting in ‘Piss’. Please hurry.