Peter, we need to talk about your TPS reports…
If you’ve seen the movie Office Space (if you haven’t, I highly recommend it), you know what a TPS report represents: some mindless drivel that gets consistently generated, its reason for being long forgotten. Earlier in my career, I was assigned the task of producing, with my cohort Clapton (name changed to hide his identity), a weekly report that tracked the hourly budgets for the Engineering department. This, like many things of dubious value, was the brainchild of a tyrant. We would get our data for the report on Monday afternoon, and publish the report by Tuesday afternoon.
Lions 1, Christians 0
The only person, as far as I know, who derived a benefit from reading it, was the maniacal Director of Engineering. Let’s call him Ivan. He was a tyrant, the likes of which haven’t been seen since Ivan the Terrible ruled Russia with an iron fist. He terrorized Clapton and me on a weekly basis, and always disputed the validity of our work. One memorable exchange with Ivan went something like this:
Ivan: Guys, I have a problem. I need the report by Tuesday morning.
Clapton: Sure, we’re a little ahead of schedule, so no problem.
Ivan: (Raising his voice) There IS a problem! WE CAN’T BLAH BLAH BLAH…
You get the picture. Ivan just wanted to pick a fight with someone, and he chose our report for the reason, even after we complied with his demands. He was a bully through and through, from his toes to his beet red, vein-bulging forehead. He had no problem bad-mouthing us to our boss, who just wanted to escape Ivan’s wrath. Our coworkers stood around like a bunch of gazelles who look on dumbfounded as a lion devours one of their own. We were a sacrifice to save the rest of the herd. They were just glad it wasn’t their turn.
I hope the job market picks up soon…
So, as we were forced to produce this drivel week after week, we hashed out revenge scenarios against Ivan. One of Clapton’s favorites had him interviewing Ivan’s son for a position, ripping him to shreds, and launching him from an ejection seat through a hole in the roof. That’s how much he hated Ivan. I’ve had other demanding bosses, many who’ve made me a better worker, but Ivan contributed nothing to my development. The Help Wanted section was required reading each Sunday, but the job market at the time was stagnant.
There is a God: Ivan gets promoted
As a testimony of the Peter Principle, Ivan was eventually promoted out of his position as Director of Engineering. It was felt that he could do more harm to the company’s goodwill by taking over a sensitive development program for the Air Force. Clapton was so happy that I could swear that he was doing cartwheels in the hallway. A sense of relief spread throughout the Finance department, as we were finally free of Ivan’s wrath. We had high hopes for his successor.
Be careful what you wish for…
The replacement was a guy with a 1950’s greaser’s hairstyle. He looked like Count Chocula from the breakfast cereal. Possessed with not one iota of creativity, nor a desire to step outside the established norm, he had us continue the dreaded weekly report. Needless to say, Clapton was not overjoyed. I was ready for a straightjacket. The weekly drudgery continued.
I catch a break
Well, I finally found another company that would have me, and I left the weekly report in Clapton’s capable hands. He and my replacement dealt with Count Chocula until the company was taken over, and then they were free. When Clapton followed me out the door a couple years later, he sent me a manila envelope with a memento from our time together with Ivan: a yellowed copy of our weekly report. I keep it in my desk drawer as a reminder of my mission…
The moral of this story…
It takes an Ivan to force the creation of a TPS report, but the Count Choculas of the world enable it to remain a thorn in your side. The TPS report becomes an unstoppable force of nature, seemingly a living thing with a life of its own. I’ve made it a personal mission to ensure that these wretched pet projects never get off the ground in the first place. If I ever waver, I just have to look in my desk drawer for my symbolic mission statement.
Do you have your own TPS report? Has anyone ever asked if you have a case of the Mondays? ;-) Let us know in the comments.
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