So it’s three minutes till lunchtime on a Friday, when the head of some other department steps into your cubicle and starts to explain how because of this – and it’s brilliant, believe me, really ground-breaking – change he’s made to the way HIS department does things, you’re going to need to redo all the work you’ve done for the past six months and, really sorry about this, we need it all done by Monday afternoon.
Your eyes glaze over and wander to the motivational poster on the wall – it’s something with penguins – but THAT is not what you’re seeing. THIS is what you’re seeing. The vision that truly motivates you.
His people won’t be calling your people, and you won’t need to tell him to talk to the hand. Because THIS guy, his entire family, and everyone who’s ever worked with him are about to TELL IT TO YOUR GIANT ROBOT.
Yep. They’ll be screaming and running for cover – and cover, you can trust me on this, will not be available. The three ton steely feet of your Obedient Servant will grind them all into a pinkish slurry of terror and despair as your own personal Giant Robot responds to this onslaught of corporate incompetence with a rampage of implacable destruction. And All Will Be Well.
Man, am I glad I left the day job.
Anyway, this began its life as an idea for a Retropolis Transit Authority t-shirt but couldn’t be stopped until it had plowed its path of destruction through an archival print, a poster, greeting cards, and a malevolent coffee mug because once that Giant Robot gets going, brothers and sisters, it is no mean feat to stop it. Which is as it should be.
