Wednesday, Oct 29th, 2008 BEL20 + 6.56%
10.19
Paul comes over to my desk. I can see his desk from where I'm sitting, when I turn my head slightly. And I had noticed an increased interest from over there. His head turning away just a little too late, the woman opposite (who frankly I'd prefer to talk to, but she does not work for me) glancing in my direction. Something's definitely up. I dread to think what it might be. I have this meeting at eleven and need to prepare some Excel sheets, a good opening sentence, one or two explanations and a plausible excuse for a cock-up. But, as it appears, no such luck.
"Can I talk to you for a moment"? Silly question. You are talking to me, and it's likely to be longer than a moment. But do go on. I'm here anyway.
"It's rather personal. Or perhaps private". Paul is very proud of his English. I don't blame him. My German is okay, but not more than that. To show my sympathy, I gesture to a nearby meeting room.
"See, I haven't had a pay rise for three years now...."
Oh God, here we go.
It's appraisal time. The bad news is that I have my once-a-year opportunity to tell my team I love them (so that they will stay) and at the same time convey the message so carefully given to me by my boss that unfortunately, due to market circumstances, there is no room for to provide my beloved resources with a bit of extra support to fight the inflation (so that they will leave, given half a chance). The good news is, there is no such thing as half a chance. The credit crunch has decended in full force and (shame, oh bloody shame) did not skip Switzerland this time. On the contrary. Our largest competitor got hit really hard and as a consequence their staff is knocking on our doors with alarming frequency, persistence and desperation. I quickly decide not to waste my remaining 39 minutes explaining this to Paul, although he is a good project leader. I will tell him to switch on his telly, read the papers and get a life.
But then, in the nick of time, I hesitate.
Suddenly I'm back in the course I had last year. "Advanced Leadership" or something similar. And the year before that, although that one was called differently then. The practice sessions on "how to...." and the first practical hints flash in front of me."Don't sit opposite, but around corners. Don't interrupt or break eye contact. Don't give in to anything, but do give the impression that you take them seriously. Remember, they are your most important assets."
While Paul talks, I realise he has a wife and children, unlike me. Equally unlike me, he has been in the same position for four years now. Paul likes stability. Except, so it would appear, when it comes to his salary. I sympathize. It could be more. He did not do too badly this year. But I have no budget and five other Pauls to appraise. Or more precisely: three Pauls and two Paulines. Or is it Paulettes?
He has been going on for twelve minutes now, and I really need to get moving. I nod, mumble "I see", "hm", and "of course" and let him finish one of his sheer endless sentences. Then, as he stops to grasp some air, I cease the opportunity.
"I understand your position Paul. And believe me, I wish I could give you good news. But I can't. We don't have the means at the moment. You know what it is out there. But let me reassure you of one thing. The moment things get stabilised, I want to have another conversation. There is no way we would have been where we are today were it not for you. I want you to realise that." And so on and so forth.
But I don't say that. Instead, in a flash of reality, selfishness and panic (7 minutes to my meeting now, and there is a board member in there, for chrissakes) I look him straight in the eye and ask him: "A pay rise. Hum. Have you visited the planet Earth lately?"
The reaction is one that amazes me more than anything else. For a moment he freezes and gazes at me in utter astonishment. Then he burst out in a nervous laugh, turns around and says: "Well, it was worth a try..."
See? Get a life.
Now I remember: it's Paula.
Friday 31 October 2008
Licensed to sex
Tuesday, Oct 28th, 2008 Nikkei + 6.41%
08.22
A free tabloid paper in the tram to work points out, as a well needed change to the usual anti-immigration rhetoric that the latest James Bond, which is to open soon, is more Swiss and less Bond than ever before. I say...
I saw Daniel Craig last week on Jonathan Ross. On his show that is. Looked a decent, likeable sort of chap. Enjoys his success in a down-to-earth manner. Kind of guy you don't mind having a beer with. So unlike like Mr. Ross himself who can be a right prat at times.
I stopped going to see James Bond movies after Roger Moore passed on his part to someone else who looked much less experienced but a lot more boring. I had stopped really enjoying them long before. Come to think of it, the only really good one was "From Russia with love". That was genuine, authentic. And of course I have a passion for long distance, luxury trains.
"More Swiss" allegedly means sensational chases through familiar landscapes, a little bit more violence but at the same time more emotion and personality shown, reportedly in his dialogues with M. But the weirdest thing is this. Apparently Bond, when given the chance to strike up his reward in the form of a Bond girl, settles for just a kiss. Whatever happened to the old "make that two hours, Moneypenny"...? How times have changed.
We don't go to see Bond films for sex, of course. But even the Swiss were disappointed at this lack of erotic suggestion, which is so out of touch with nowadays Zurich life. In the city where a decade ago there was practically a curfew after ten p.m., party is the name of the game now, and the scenes have changed beyond recognition.
The same rag published a story two pages further about the ease with which the youth enter into sexual activities, and indeed prostitution of all sorts. Last Sunday, a fourteen year old girl set out to the cinema with a her boyfriend and a colleague of his. Having arrived at the box office, they found the tickets to be slightly over their budget, but the somewhat elder colleague offered to pay for the girl, in return for a blow job. She agreed and complied, but there was some "domestic" trouble with the boyfriend later. An interview with a hastily invited social worker revealed that children (sorry, but that's what they are) of that age tend to have more and more "consumer oriented" sex than ever before. His view was that this was certainly no exception. Now to put things in perspective, the cinema ticket in question was over 20 Francs. The proof that some things are still cheap in Switzerland, if you don't mind child labour.
A quantum of solace for the Gary Glitters of this world.
less Bond - more Swiss
08.22
A free tabloid paper in the tram to work points out, as a well needed change to the usual anti-immigration rhetoric that the latest James Bond, which is to open soon, is more Swiss and less Bond than ever before. I say...
I saw Daniel Craig last week on Jonathan Ross. On his show that is. Looked a decent, likeable sort of chap. Enjoys his success in a down-to-earth manner. Kind of guy you don't mind having a beer with. So unlike like Mr. Ross himself who can be a right prat at times.
I stopped going to see James Bond movies after Roger Moore passed on his part to someone else who looked much less experienced but a lot more boring. I had stopped really enjoying them long before. Come to think of it, the only really good one was "From Russia with love". That was genuine, authentic. And of course I have a passion for long distance, luxury trains.
"More Swiss" allegedly means sensational chases through familiar landscapes, a little bit more violence but at the same time more emotion and personality shown, reportedly in his dialogues with M. But the weirdest thing is this. Apparently Bond, when given the chance to strike up his reward in the form of a Bond girl, settles for just a kiss. Whatever happened to the old "make that two hours, Moneypenny"...? How times have changed.
We don't go to see Bond films for sex, of course. But even the Swiss were disappointed at this lack of erotic suggestion, which is so out of touch with nowadays Zurich life. In the city where a decade ago there was practically a curfew after ten p.m., party is the name of the game now, and the scenes have changed beyond recognition.
The same rag published a story two pages further about the ease with which the youth enter into sexual activities, and indeed prostitution of all sorts. Last Sunday, a fourteen year old girl set out to the cinema with a her boyfriend and a colleague of his. Having arrived at the box office, they found the tickets to be slightly over their budget, but the somewhat elder colleague offered to pay for the girl, in return for a blow job. She agreed and complied, but there was some "domestic" trouble with the boyfriend later. An interview with a hastily invited social worker revealed that children (sorry, but that's what they are) of that age tend to have more and more "consumer oriented" sex than ever before. His view was that this was certainly no exception. Now to put things in perspective, the cinema ticket in question was over 20 Francs. The proof that some things are still cheap in Switzerland, if you don't mind child labour.
A quantum of solace for the Gary Glitters of this world.
less Bond - more Swiss
Gruezi Zürich
Monday, Oct 27th, 2008 Hang Seng -12.7 %
06.47 a.m.
I don't really need an alarm clock. Ever since I came to Zürich, now more than a year ago, I had to get up more or less at the same time. The Swiss are early starters, and meetings before nine are the rule rather than the exception. For some reason, they didn't tell me about that in the application procedure. Maybe they were afraid I wouldn't take the job. Maybe they thought it wasn't worth mentioning. Maybe it's normal for them. Who knows, what they think...But then, a year ago everything was different. After a number of years working here there and everywhere as a freelancer, I landed myself an offer for a permanent job with one of the worlds largest private banks. Apart from the salary, which was average at best, the perks looked good and more importantly, it came with a pension plan which would hopefully allow me to fill up the gap that my lifestyle of lucrative, but fast changing contracts in even faster changing locations had created. The opportunity to live in Zurich was appealing too. The city with the best quality of life in Europe, according to a survey I once read in the papers.
I don't know who they asked for that survey, but it must have been a smoker. Only in theory the air in Switzerland is cleaner. In practice, they smoke everywhere, except in the office where it is forbidden. But restaurants, bars, tram stops, platforms and any footpath are not granted the luxury of normal air that other people (here indicated as "non-smokers", as if smoking is the standard and the "nons" are the wet blankets) can't refuse to inhale. Whereas the rest of the world has slowly come to deem this habit anti-social, the Swiss label it as "freedom". As with a lot of other things, it might take a while before reality sinks in.
Getting up at 6.47 means making a cup of coffee, going into the living room of my small, but adequate apartment and switch on the telly, only to watch CNBC poor yet another load of miserable figures from the Asian markets overnight performance into our lives. After the first three minutes I figure I lost another two-thousand Euros from my already dried up savings and investments, I switch the damn thing off and in the best of moods (not) I make my way to the bathroom for a triple s, pick a suit and tie that hopefully impresses my superiors to the degree where they don't fire me just yet, and head for the bank where a new day of cost-cutting, downsizing and other extraordinary measures are waiting for me.
Welcome to Zurich. Beautifully situated on the north side of it's lake with the same name. More jewellers than supermarkets. And the trams go on the dot. I need them, as I can't afford a car.
You see I'm not really a banker, as in: I don't own a bank. I merely work for one.
And by the way, I'm not really Swiss either.
06.47 a.m.
I don't really need an alarm clock. Ever since I came to Zürich, now more than a year ago, I had to get up more or less at the same time. The Swiss are early starters, and meetings before nine are the rule rather than the exception. For some reason, they didn't tell me about that in the application procedure. Maybe they were afraid I wouldn't take the job. Maybe they thought it wasn't worth mentioning. Maybe it's normal for them. Who knows, what they think...But then, a year ago everything was different. After a number of years working here there and everywhere as a freelancer, I landed myself an offer for a permanent job with one of the worlds largest private banks. Apart from the salary, which was average at best, the perks looked good and more importantly, it came with a pension plan which would hopefully allow me to fill up the gap that my lifestyle of lucrative, but fast changing contracts in even faster changing locations had created. The opportunity to live in Zurich was appealing too. The city with the best quality of life in Europe, according to a survey I once read in the papers.
I don't know who they asked for that survey, but it must have been a smoker. Only in theory the air in Switzerland is cleaner. In practice, they smoke everywhere, except in the office where it is forbidden. But restaurants, bars, tram stops, platforms and any footpath are not granted the luxury of normal air that other people (here indicated as "non-smokers", as if smoking is the standard and the "nons" are the wet blankets) can't refuse to inhale. Whereas the rest of the world has slowly come to deem this habit anti-social, the Swiss label it as "freedom". As with a lot of other things, it might take a while before reality sinks in.
Getting up at 6.47 means making a cup of coffee, going into the living room of my small, but adequate apartment and switch on the telly, only to watch CNBC poor yet another load of miserable figures from the Asian markets overnight performance into our lives. After the first three minutes I figure I lost another two-thousand Euros from my already dried up savings and investments, I switch the damn thing off and in the best of moods (not) I make my way to the bathroom for a triple s, pick a suit and tie that hopefully impresses my superiors to the degree where they don't fire me just yet, and head for the bank where a new day of cost-cutting, downsizing and other extraordinary measures are waiting for me.
Welcome to Zurich. Beautifully situated on the north side of it's lake with the same name. More jewellers than supermarkets. And the trams go on the dot. I need them, as I can't afford a car.
You see I'm not really a banker, as in: I don't own a bank. I merely work for one.
And by the way, I'm not really Swiss either.
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