Umpteen ages ago, someone posted a link to a site which trashed the “Who Moved My Cheese?” books (along with the other “management” books by the same author). I’d prefer not to flail ol’ Hammy to get the answer (assuming the thread wasn’t lost in the Winter of Our Missed Content) and am hoping that somebody can link me. (We’re starting a new “motivational” program at work, and it involves the Cheese book among others. Like every decent, cynical humanbeing, I want to be armed to the teeth when I go up against the boss on some of the crap that this is no doubt going to be spewing in my direction. :D)
My sister-in-law is a sincere Bible-thumper, so I bought her that new book about coping with change in the church; Who Moved My Jesus?
Nope. The site I’m thinking of was a scathing, pit-worthy, page-by-page (or nearly) rant, savaging the authors of the Who Moved the Cheese? books mercelessly, pointing out that the Cheese books and the One Minute Manager books were printed in large, easy to read type with no big words.
I think this site was posted here a while ago. Does the phrase “Cheese Week” ring a bell?
Yup, that’s it. Thanks a bunch.
Ugh…reminds me of this stupid little book the management went crazy for when I worked at the foodservice wholesaler…Fish!
Glurgy little tale about a bank manager who inherits a lousy division and is inspired by the fish-mongers at the Pike Place Fish Market to turn her department around. And she marries a fishmonger at the end! How cute! 
There were many sessions of that Fish! seminar given at the hospital where I work.
The net effect was I think, a few dusty stuffed fish lying around on benches.
Nobody Moved Your Cheese!
Oh fuck, that moving cheese crap, it gave me damn near a psychotic break. My ignoble employer herded 200 of us together for a whole day of dairy-inspired platitudes, interspersed with movie clips that were suppose to be inspiring, unless you actually saw the movie:
Clip from The Legend of Bagger Vance: Will Smith says something inspirational to Matt Damon. Matt whacks ball to hell. Cheese Lady says “you need to look at things in innovative ways!” I say “so, is this movie all about the black man serving Whitey’s golf needs?”
Dead Poets Society: clip of teacher getting rich boys to stand on their desks and rip up their textbooks-( more shit about changing your perspective, I guess. I’m pretty bad at metaphor) Snotty comment#2- " Yeah, and at the end of the movie, the sensitive boy kills himself and the enlightened teacher gets fired. Just which are you wanting to inspire us to do??"
I tellya, PMS is great, it lets your natural bullshit-detection mechanisms work at to effiiciency. But I digress…
So the day continues, the fondue keeps flowing and I pretty much give up, eat some tranks and play backgammon while pretending to take notes on my Palm. Then, the evaluation forms. I write “the presenter needs to die 8 hours early so I can have that waste of time back!” The only upside-paid mileage to attend.
Eight months pass. I remain unfired.
Scene: me, Wangfujing Street, Beijing, entering a bookstore. To the right of the door, horrors! Stacks of them, in Chinese! Who Moved My Cheese!
For god’s sake, the Chinese don’t even eat cheese! (ok, maybe they do, I dunno, I’m not Ian Wright fer crissakes). Maybe they translated it as “Who Moved My Noodles?” And what are they doing selling business pap books? Ain’t these people suppose to be Commies? Where’s the Little Red Book section anyhow?
Then, the earth shook a little. I dismiss that as my anxiety attack flashback, grab something english and trashy, and run. Tsingtao is aquired and consumed, and equilibrium returns.
The next day, we go four blocks west to Tianamen Square to visit the old dead Great Helmsman himself. But we are thwarted: Mao’s tomb is closed, it is rented out for a private event.
Let me repeat: the building holding the corpse of the father of Communism is being leased out. I shake my head and leave for some more Tsingtao and noodles. Then it comes to me-that quake-it wasn’t an anxiety attack-
It was Mao spinning in his tomb.
Your cheese wasn’t moved; it was taken by the guy who buiilt the maze and put on his sandwich.