Self Assessment

The devil has finally found the perfect instrument to torture me.  He tested me with those toe gloves, with phone calls to Verizon, and with the music of Katy Perry.  I may cringe, devil, but you cannot best a hardy thrillseeker like me with such paltry devices. 

And then I was given a “self-assessment” to complete at work.  It is not like a self-exam where you can just *not* do it and say you did (sorry, doc!).  No, no.  It is a series of fire-ringed hoops to jump through in the hopes of landing in a pile of money at year end review.  Not really a pile so much as a a thin bit of tissue to keep you from scraping your bottom.   I am not new to the concept, however at my current firm, it is quite the fucking doozy.   The questions are lengthy and sound like something that can only be answered after a 3 day seminar in “teambuilding”.  I thought this kind of shit only existed in the world of Steve Carrell and John C. Reilly.  I read, laboriously, over the half dozen items.  I cried a little inside and put it away.  Over the next days I periodically thought, sweatingly, of the paper in my bag.  I wondered how the fuck I am supposed to talk about my ownership of processes and my business contributions.  Remember when it used to be enough if you would show up not smelling too drunk? 

It’s a brave new world.  Time to justify my love.  Time to self-assess.  If only Katy would write a song about it.

4 responses to “Self Assessment”

  1. I would answer exclusively with pieces of your own organic self. Hairs or cells scraped from the inside of your cheek are a good place to start.

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