Three times in the last six months the fire department has been called to my workplace to extinguish fires in microwave ovens. All three fires were caused by people putting popcorn packages into the microwave oven, and walking away while they cooked. You have to put the time select all the way up for this to actually produce flames, by the way, mostly you just get a God awful stink that lingers for days. I know this, because the burnt popcorn thing happens about twice a week in my particular unit. (No we were not the ones that had actual flames, and fire engines.)
So, management has forbidden the practice of making popcorn in the microwave throughout the facility.
Sigh. Ok, I got nothing to say to them. I keep my mouth shut politely, and never say a word. A few weeks later I get a memo. Turns out I have to sign a piece of paper so they will have proof that I know that I am not allowed to use the microwave for popcorn. I ignore the memo. A few days later, The Absolutely Useless Employee Anti-defamation Committee sends me an invitation to a meeting to address workplace policies, and offer my suggestions on how I feel management should have dealt with the problem that the County Fire Department had advised them that there would be a $14,000 dollar charge for any future fire alarms for burning popcorn. (Turns out that there was another fire after the policy against popcorn was implemented.) I file that memo with the one about signing the acknowledgement of the no popcorn policy memo.
I took a vacation. While I was a way, the Committee on Past Useless Projects and Committees has a meeting, and there is evidently a great deal of unrest among popcornitarians among my coworkers. I get my copy of the memo, and file it unread as per the prior ones. The following day, I was advised by my boss that the head of that committee asked her if she had given me a copy. I admit that I had been give one. She says thank you. She pauses, because she knows me well. “Did you read it?” “Of course not.” She hands me a new copy, and says, “Please, Tris, do me a favor and read it.” I read the memo as I stand there, and say, “OK.” I hand it back. She asks if I read the part about making suggestions. I ask her if she really thinks they want my suggestions. She laughs, and says, “No, I doubt it.”
Days pass, and the Chairperson Herself comes to my workplace. As it turns out, I am not busy, and when she asks me if she can speak with me for a few moments, I say sure. (She is in Human Resources, and might actually have something important, or at least significant to tell me.) She shows me the blank suggestion form I have now been given three times, and says, “You know, if the bright people like you won’t help out, there isn’t any way we can improve this sort of thing.”
“OK, but remember, you asked me to tell you how to solve this problem.” I print in all caps on the form, HIRE PEOPLE WHO ARE SMART ENOUGH NOT TO BURN POPCORN IN A MICROWAVE OVEN. I sign the memo, and hand it back to her.
I wonder if they will implement my suggestion.
Tris