The Hobo Code

Welcome to the Great Depression done up all 2008 style.

In times of economic strife, marketing budgets are the first things that get cut.

The soft things -- things like building a company's brand -- get pushed to the back burner. Downward spiralling marketing budgets somehow reduce a company's appetite for the fun things in life, like paying a million bucks to watch a chimp bang a drum for E-Trade.

In publically held companies like mine, that means that showing a profit often means shaving the workforce. It's everyone's favourite way to show fiscal responsibility.

So, there were layoffs at the agency yesterday.

Ten people from different departments were let go. Two came from our group.

It's a surreal, sickening experience.

When 10 people are let go, it needs to be a well-timed exercise. And the HR gurus and the lawyers always reccomend that those on the receiving end of layoffs be "walked". They're afraid of corporate espionage.

So the shocked and disappointed workers are escorted out of the building like criminals.

But that's not even the worst part.

The Prez -- who's about as popular around here as George W., and has unleashed about as much carnage -- called a staff meeting in the middle of it all...before our people had even been told.

And then he did something even worse, he read out of the name of someone from another department who had lost his job. A gentle, wonderful soul.

Thing is, this friend from another department hadn't been told yet, either. He was on holiday. He found out that he was fired when his friends started text messaging him with the message, "Sorry to hear, Dude."

"Sorry for what," he said.

And that's how he heard.

Back in the days of The Great Depression, hobos developed a system of symbols -- often marked in chalk or coal -- that would provide information and warnings to other hobos.

A cat indicated that a kind lady lives here. A square missing its top line indicated that it was safe to camp in this location.

A box with a dot in the middle meant: danger, brutal man.

If I had any guts, I'd go mark the area outside the President's office.

Here's one for my gratitude list

I had a meeting with M, a Planned Giving officer at a major children's hospital, yesterday.

He spends his days talking to donors about leaving a gift to his charity in their wills It's not a job for everybody.

What makes him uniquely qualified to do this job is his personal situation.

He and his wife had a child with a rare genetic condition. She was treated at the hospital. Sadly, she passed away at only 7 months old.

Before he started fundraising for the hospital, M was a six figure executive in the auto industry.

Today he's devoted his life to honouring his daughter's.

And now for something no one's talking about: the economy

Okay, if I see one more picture of a broker with his head in his hands looking at the crashing stock market, I think I'm going to scream.

Can't they think of another stock image to show us that our retirement savings are entirely depleted? I know, how about a box of sad looking kittens? Or that scene from Jaws where the shark leaps up on the boat?

Like most people, I've been caught up in the tornado swirl of bad news and have been examining that little thing called: discretionary spending. Starbucks. Restaurant meals. The magazine I become engrossed in in the check out line.

No thanks, I think I'll pass. I'm Amish.

I read somewhere that one of the great early indicators of a declining economy is the rise in lipstick sales.

Why?

Well, it would seem that women, when unhappy, like to buy themselves something pretty. And when Manolo's are out of the question, a $10 tube of lipstick tends to do the trick.

Ten bucks you can justify.

Stock market tip #1: invest in L'Oreal.

S.A.D.: AKA, it's only October and already I'm sick of winter

I don't think I'm ready for winter.

I'm trying really hard. I even bought a couple of coats on the weekend to prove it.

But not even fashion can keep the screaming meanies from the door. The shiver-me-timbers weather is getting me down.

You wouldn't expect this kind of reaction from a northern girl.

We're bread for ski-doo suits and muk-luks. Our childhood included at least half a dozen snow days every year. We're the last person you'd find with our tongues stuck to a frozen slide.

But I admit it.

I'm powerless over winter.

Counter Attack

It's in and it looks beautiful!

My Uruguayan friend -- whose partner lovingly calls "the slowest man on earth" -- slowly and painstakingly installed my new countertop yesterday.

There was the odd epithet decrying the Madonna, but all in all, it went seamlessly.

The spiffy new faux black slate laminate replaces the ugly, stained off-white, looks- like-it's-always-dirty laminate.

The result is pretty spectacular.

I can't stop wiping it off. Or looking at it under various lighting conditions.

Isn't it funny how we live with disagreeable things for so long, when a simple fix can make all the difference in the world?

Air Canada talks turkey to vegetarian

As I mentioned in a previous post, my flight from Hong Kong was punctuated by the unfortunate delivery of a turkey sandwich to replace the vegetarian meal that I'd ordered.

And, as you probably know, eating is about all you have to look forward to on these long haul flights.

You could easily watch 8 movies during this 16 hour flight -- and God knows you need the diversion to detract your attention away from the embolism that is forming thanks to your 2 inches of personal seat space.

During the second meal service, the flight crew accidentally delivered my lilliputian-sized veggie sandwich to another person.

Oops.

Accidents happen.

But here's the thing -- I wasn't even that fussed about it. I wasn't actually that hungry, and I knew there were easily two more meals to follow it.

I was sadder that I now had 8 more minutes of flying time to fill.

But it was the way they handled the mistake that made me bristle.

If only the offending flight attendant had owned up to it. If only she'd said, "Hey, this is what we did...and here's what we're doing to fix it," I would have been fine.

But attitude is everything...and the offending deliverer wasn't remotely sorry. Not even close.

She treated me like it was my fault. And she was rude.

It took another member of the flight crew to find me a small waldorf salad and a packet of cookies. Not exactly balanced nutrition, but the best they could do.

I'm normally not much of a formal complainer, but I took the initiative to write to Air Canada about it when I returned.

I told them that my Dad worked for Air Canada for 37 years and that I was actually flying on a reward ticket -- so clearly I bore no grudge toward the airline.

I told them what happened. And I told it without malice.

And you know what happened?

I got a really nice letter of apology from Air Canada, and 1,500 Aeroplan Points!

Wow!

So there. Saying my peace really worked.

And then what?

While I was away, one of my high school friend's lost a family member. He died of a heart attack at just 51 years of age.

As Jack Kornfield says, "The trouble is, you think you have time."

All that planning for the future...when the only thing we really have is today.

Choose happiness. Choose serenity. Don't sweat the small stuff. Because you never know.

Life is short. Eat dessert first.

Staying in tune with this fact helps keep me focussed on the things that matter, without getting too caught up on the things that don't.

And God knows there are lots of things that don't.

I'm lucky. I spend more than 50% of my time on not-for-profit clients. I genuinely love my job. But traveling in Asia has reminded me of how much I enjoy living abroad and how happy I am when I'm working full-time for a cause I believe in.

"When I leave here," Don Draper said on Mad Men, when he was been lured by a competitive firm, "it won't be for more advertising."

I know how he feels.