You Bet Your Life: A Playful Look at the Sports and Recreation of the Corporate American Life

About the Author

You can learn more about business and your own personal style by reading good fiction rather than dry business books. The lessons stay with you longer.

– D. W. Amos –

From the Northeast, D. W. Amos has worked and consulted with a variety of companies – from small business to Fortune 500 – for the past 20 years. She earned an MBA in International Business from the University of South Carolina and is an Information Technology executive now living in Utah’s Silicon Slopes.

Contents

Dedication

About the Author

Introduction

Part I - The Players

Haley’s Hero (Chapter I)

The Rookie (Chapter II)

Wonder Woman (Chapter III)

Barbie (Chapter IV)

The Village People (Chapter V)

Part II - The Games

Twenty Questions (Chapter VI)

Survivor (Chapter VII)

Risk (Chapter VIII)

Putt-Putt (Chapter IX)

Beginner’s Luck (Chapter X)

The Boxing Ring (Chapter XI)

The Boot (Chapter XII)

Chutes and Ladders (Chapter XIII)

Apples to Apples (Chapter XIV)

Bubbles (Chapter XV)

Life (Chapter XVI)

Beat the Clock (Chapter XVII)

Monopoly (Chapter XVIII)

Part III - The Rules

Batteries Not Included (Chapter XIX)

Keeping Score (Chapter XX)

Do-Overs (Chapter XXI)

Discards and Keepers (Chapter XXII)

Angels and Demons (Chapter XXIII)

Part IV - Advanced Play

I Spy (Chapter XXIV)

Dungeons and Dragons (Chapter XXV)

Password (Chapter XXVI)

Mastermind (Chapter XXVII)

Jenga (Chapter XXVIII)

Part V - Game Over

Winners and Losers (Chapter XXIX)

The Box (Chapter XXX)

Acknowledgments

Introduction

For what does it profit a man to gain the whole world, and forfeit his soul?

Mark 8:36 (NAS)

This novel was inspired by my own life experiences climbing the ladder in Corporate America, having worked and consulted with a variety of companies – from small business to Fortune 500 – for the past 20 years. During much of this time I have been viewing my life and the lives of my colleagues through a certain lens, recognizing our daily routines for the sports and recreation they could be.

You Bet Your Life

A Playful Look at the Sports and Recreation of the Corporate American Life

The book is based on the true-to-life experiences of all who are living the 9-to-5 existence and wondering why we do what we do. My goals are to entertain and to expose the games we either play overtly or subconsciously as we live out our work lives each and every day.

Although the book uses Corporate America as its backdrop, anyone - whether he or she is a government worker, lawyer, doctor, or housewife - can appreciate the games that are played and tactics taken. Whether you are subjected to punching a time clock or to someone barking orders, you will see yourself or others you know in this book. If you see yourself and laugh, then I have achieved some of my purpose in writing it. If you see yourself and better understand your actions and those around you, I will have succeeded to an even greater extent. If you actually change your behavior in any way to make the workplace more engaging for everyone, including yourself, then I will have accomplished all of my goals.

D. W. Amos

Part I - The Players

Haley’s Hero (Chapter I)

Hal’s white, monogrammed robe was tied loosely about him as he sat at his desk in the den of his penthouse apartment, sipping a scotch behind closed French doors. He had not been able to sleep through the night ever since he found his father dead in the basement three months ago. Only he and the mortician knew there wasn’t much of a body to bury.

Although it was just past 3 a.m., he had no need for a light switch because the room was bathed in green neon coming from a sign on a high-rise across the street. The glow, less intrusive during the day, outlined a bright green apple, signifying the relocation of Green Enterprises, Incorporated to the New Jersey area.

Hal winced at the scaffolding obstructing his view, and the light shining in his eyes.

Why there, he thought. Crazy zoning laws.

You will rue the day, Mr. Green! He shook his fist at the glowing fruit. Did I get the fist pump right, Blue? he asked the portrait of his father that hung over the television set opposite the window. Blue, a fair-skinned man dressed in a dark Armani suit that contrasted sharply with his exceptionally pale blue eyes, stared coldly at him. "You’re turning over in your grave, aren’t you, Blue – an upstart like Green threatening your throne, seeking the lime light. Hal smiled at the pun. Don’t worry. I’m on it."

He put down his drink and rummaged for the Wham-O slingshot in his desk drawer. He grabbed a handful of steel ball bearings from a jar and took careful aim at the eyesore across the street. The original 1948 ash wood frame of his weapon of choice was in fine shape. He carefully pulled back the flat rubber bands, but they broke easily under the strain.

Dang, Hal said as he wiggled his stinging fingers. He dropped the slingshot and crossed to the gun rack display on the far wall, unlocking it with his own secret combination.

Heh, heh, heh, he said as his pale blue eyes passed over the 1938 Red Ryder BB Gun, modeled after the Winchester rifle, and the Daisy Model 25 spring-loaded BB gun, to rest upon the American Classic, the Crosman 1377. The corners of his eyes turned up as he took the single-shot, bolt-action, pneumatic .177 caliber pellet gun off the rack and ran his hand along the rifled steel barrel and imitation wood checkered plastic grips.

Now we’re talking, Blue, he said as he proceeded to pull the bolt back and place a BB into the chamber. He pumped the gun several times and held the glowing sign within its sight.

Pow! he exclaimed as he released the trigger. All that escaped was a loud puff of air. He sighed and rested there a few seconds, imagining the apple exploding and green glass shattering.

Had you fooled, didn’t I, Blue? he quietly said as he turned to the portrait behind him, revealing the BB still in hand.

Blue, as he had been called by friends and family, even his son Hal, was the icon of Corporate America. The son of Dutch immigrants, his eyes could see things others could not; trends that would otherwise be left undetected if not for his business prowess. Always dressed in a dark suit, white starched shirt, and power tie at the office, Blue had been seen as a big, intimidating man, a corporate man. In truth, Hal knew his father had stood only 5 ft. 10 in. and had been a rather portly fellow. But everyone chooses his own memories.

Hal towered over his father at 6 ft. 3 in. in stature only. Because he had his father’s stunning baby blue eyes, nicknames like Baby Blue, Little Boy Blue, and Little B.J., short for Blue Junior, came naturally.

My name’s Hal, he would tell them all, but to no avail. The more he fussed, the tighter the nicknames took hold.

Hal had grown up watching Blue establish a market for specialty-item toys and gifts long ago. Playing with hula hoops, yo-yo’s, and Hot Wheels, Boy Blue was on the payroll as a test-marketer by the age of seven when his father’s American Collectibles Exchange (ACE) began to take shape. During his teen years he had earned spending money detailing little red wagons for the spoiled elite. During summer breaks from the Wharton School at the University of Pennsylvania, he had traveled with his father to overseas manufacturing bases and distribution centers, inspecting state-of-the-art robotics in the plants and adjusting formulas for the plastics. Toys were all he knew. Toys were what the family knew.

It seemed only fitting that Blue willed Blue Enterprises to his one and only son upon his death three months ago, especially since his mother had passed away several years earlier. It was now up to Hal, or Mr. Blue, Jr., as he was called to his face around the office, to move the company, kicking and screaming, into the 21st century network and information technology age.

Hal had often tried to broach the subject of the 21st century with his father years before he died, telling him that there was a whole new market out there of modern electronic games and gadgets. Hal had traveled to Asia often, visiting with microelectronic manufacturer Davids, eager to align with the American Goliath. But his father preferred the more traditional mainstays of American life. Classic toys. Classic life.

Hal could hear the man in the portrait thundering back at him at decibels that still made him cringe to this day. What his father lacked in stature, he made up for in volume. "The ACE network of manufacturers, wholesalers, and distributors is far more superior to any computer gadgets or super highway, Boy. Hell, ACE is the last great bastion of what Corporate America used to be - the good ol’ boy, cigar-smoking, suit-and-tie wearin’, politically incorrect oasis - AND I AM ITS KING!"

Okay, okay, Hal replied. He’d always be Boy to his father, and he’d always shudder at the sound of thunder.

Hal dutifully returned the pellet gun to its glass case on the wall and turned his attention to his work. He glanced at the double-stacked rows of books and videotapes on the shelves that flanked both sides of the portrait. The vintage collection contained excerpts from his father’s lectures on corporate policy dating as far back as 1975. Originally, the lectures were scripted only for Blue’s Senior Leadership Team to hear. But as his father’s wisdom grew, the subscription base grew to encompass CEO’s and senior leadership from around the country. He had, in fact, defined Corporate American business strategy and what it meant to be a Capitalist in every economic situation, serving as a source of inspiration during the most trying times.

Whether the economy was in a recession, inflation, depression, or nirvana, Blue had something to say to inspire the masses. And people listened. His classic Mr. American Capitalist (MAC) books and videos had been quite the revenue generators during the late 1980s and early 1990s, the proverbial cash cow, used in business schools and boardrooms across the country.

Hal had been viewing some vintage clips, gathering material for a Best Of series going out to subscribers in just a few weeks. He was still working on his prologue, paying homage to his father, but the rest of the presentation was ready to go.

He was also finishing up his own script, his own words, for a Q&A session with his senior executive team early next week that he hoped would serve as a catalyst to point the company - now his company - toward the 21st century only a few years away. There was no denying that he needed to reinforce some of his father’s concepts that even his father, no matter how visionary, had difficulty embracing.

Hal pulled up a comfortable leather swivel chair and sat down in front of his new 27 in. CRT television set. Rubbing his eyes, he fired up the VCR and inserted a tape into the machine. In an instant he was watching his father, wearing a black Armani suit, white starched shirt, and red power tie, standing on a stage against a navy blue backdrop. The date, June 3, 1991, and title, Keep the Dream Alive, shown on the bottom corner of the screen.

Hal’s eyes moved up and down between the portrait looming over him and the image on the screen. Hello, Blue, he said wistfully.

Today, we are going to discuss Corporate America in transition, the image began.

Hal recalled his father’s executive voice, slightly lower in tone than his normal voice, more formal in nature.

"The fact is that the classic American corporation that our parents and grandparents grew to know and trust is dying. We CEO’s all know that. Having a job for life or lifetime employment with the same company is a thing of the past. However, our jobs as corporate executives are to foster that trust among our employees as long as we possibly can, even though the inevitable is coming. Encouraging our workers, or ‘keeping the dream alive,’ as I like to call it, is to everyone’s benefit.

"First of all, as we discussed earlier, a trusting worker is a productive worker. Our employees trust us, Mr. American Capitalist, to provide them a place to go five days a week, 40 hours a week, 50 weeks a year. In exchange for their loyalty we ask them to be productive, hardworking, corporate citizens. They should not worry about things like job security. After all, such distractions hamper productivity.

Yes, our employees are to play in the corporate sandbox we have created, live their dreams, fight their battles, and come to us, their leaders, when the other employees won’t play fairly. Unfortunately, our sandboxes are getting a little crowded these days, and the playground is full of other diversions. Allow me to elaborate.

At that point the curtains parted, and the camera pulled back to reveal a large 8 ft. by 8 ft. sandbox, a swing set, and a rocking sea horse. Two men and one woman dressed in business suits were standing in front of the sandbox. The men stood barefoot with their pants rolled to just below the knees, while the woman stood in a dark skirt, blouse, pantyhose, and heels.

Okay lady and gentlemen, begin working, Mr. Blue said. On his cue the three climbed into the sandbox, began filling their buckets, and building castles. Notice how everyone in Corporate America is content because there is plenty of sand to go around. Isn’t it beautiful?

After a pause Mr. Blue said, Now, look what happens as more kids come to play. At that moment five more people, two women and three men, came from off stage to enter the sandbox.

Can I please take off my pumps? one middle-aged lady dressed in teal protested before entering the box. I could play much more effectively if you let me play in my bare feet like the men.

No, I’m afraid not, Mr. Blue answered curtly. You know the rules.

Yeah, but it’s the men who made the rules, she said under her breath as she climbed in.

Mr. Blue crossed the stage and stood directly in front of the sandbox.

"Now, notice how crowded the sandbox has become. The children are becoming irritable. There isn’t enough sand to go around. You, Mr. American Capitalist, have several options at this point.

First of all, in option A you can get a bigger sandbox to accommodate. You’ll remember this as the Merger and Acquisition Theory of the earlier years. This is no longer a viable option for many since too many financial analysts are onto the game.

Mr. Blue sighed.

Nonetheless, let’s move on to option B. You can promote someone out of the sandbox. On his cue one of the gentlemen got out of the box and walked toward the swing set. He took his pail and shovel with him.

Hey! one of the other gentlemen remarked. He can’t take his pail and shovel to his next job, can he? I want his shovel! It’s got a bigger scooper and a longer handle!

I thought maybe I could use them at my next job. The gentleman shrugged. I’m sorry. I just assumed… He tossed his pail and shovel into the sand, brushed off his pants, and walked over to the swing set. One gentleman in the sandbox picked up his shovel while one lady quietly exchanged pails.

Don’t feel bad, son, Mr. Blue said as he, too, walked over to the swing set. Many young people such as yourself make that mistake. They assume there is a linear career path to the top, and skills learned in previous positions directly transfer to the next. Well, no more. That was Corporate America of the past. Today’s path is a dot-to-dot puzzle that careens in many directions. Just what picture you draw is entirely up to you!

He tapped the man on the shoulder. Now, begin swinging please. At this point the man got on one of the two swings and did as he was told. Notice, Mr. Blue continued, there is only one more swing seat available; yet, the sandbox is still rather crowded.

Oooh, oooh! the lady in teal exclaimed. Let me play on the swings!

No way! another gentleman retorted. You can’t possibly have the strength and stamina to swing as high as I can!

Wait a minute, you two, the lady in the dark skirt lamented. I’ve been here longer than either of you. I’m the one who should be promoted. Just give me a try! she wailed.

Mr. Blue offered her his handkerchief.

Option C, he continued, is to offer employees laterals to go over to the swing set. Not only does this save the corporation money because you will be paying the individual his or her current salary, rather than offering a raise, but it also gives you the opportunity to test the employee’s endurance and loyalty toward the company. On the one hand you can see whether the person can perform, and on the other hand, if the employee will perform without a pay increase, that employee is very loyal to the company.

Boy Blue paused the tape and jotted down some notes. Company loyalty, he thought. It simply will no longer exist in the workforce. By 2005 the average new employee will stay around three to five years before moving on to another company. Three to five years! And he or she will have anywhere from 10-14 jobs by the time they’re 40! Something that could be a blessing or a curse on long range strategic planning if managed poorly.

He continued the tape.

Now, for the sake of demonstration, let’s move the young woman in teal to the swing set.

He picked me! He picked me! the woman in teal exclaimed. She jumped out of the box, dumped the sand out of her pumps, and carried them over to the swing set as she took her place next to the gentleman. He had an impressive head-start at this point. But no matter. She was determined to catch him.

Uh, uh, doesn’t she need to put her pumps back on? he stammered, nervous by the determination he saw in her eyes as he swung back and forth.

That’s right. Mr. Blue answered. You know the rules. One more violation and I’ll have to disqualify you, Missy, I mean, Ms.

Sorry, she replied, a little less sure of herself. She put her pumps back on and began swinging. Someday, I’ll make the rules, she mumbled.

What was that? Mr. Blue asked.

Nothing, she replied. See, I’m swinging.

And at three quarters the salary of the young gentleman! Isn’t Corporate America great!

Boy Blue paused again. According to his figures, this fact remained true even today. He shook his head and resumed.

"Notice how the swing set is full. In the past there would have been at least five more swing set chairs to be filled. But no more. Corporate profits have diminished to the point where we simply must do more with less if we MACs are to maintain our current standard of living.

Now, depending on your company’s particular balance sheet, you may have to exercise option D at this time. Option D is to allow no one else on the playground or in the sandbox, otherwise known as a hiring freeze.

At this point four men, each holding a portion of one long, iron chain, took their positions at each corner of the stage, using the chain to enclose the set. However, the sea horse was conspicuously left on the outside.

"Notice how this chain-link will keep others out of the playground, but you may still experience overcrowding in the sandbox. This brings us to our final option for this edition of MAC, option E.

"Option E is to offer individuals incentive packages to leave the sandbox or workplace and go it alone on the sea of life."

On cue one gentleman left the box and stood before the chain-link in front of the sea horse. After adjusting his tie and taking a moment to collect himself, he leaped over the barrier and took a seat on the saddle of the sea horse.

Yes, he’s a fine specimen, Mr. Blue said. How are your sea legs, young man? You’ll be required to go it alone from here on out. You realize that, don’t you?"

I realize that sir, he replied. Corporate America is all I’ve known, but you gave me an incentive package I just couldn’t pass up.

Glad to hear it son, Mr. Blue said as the man began rocking.

See what we’ve accomplished? Mr. Blue turned toward the camera. The camera then panned across the playground, from the sandbox to the swing set to the sea horse. True, the sandbox is a little more crowded than when we first started this exercise, but nonetheless, the folks are productive. The camera zoomed in on Mr. Blue for a close-up. He maintained a dead-pan expression as he said, Remember, MAC, we must keep the dream alive, for all our sakes.

After a short pause, the image disappeared and a voice-over announced, This concludes this segment, Corporate America in Transition. For a transcript of this broadcast please send a self-addressed envelope to the address shown on the screen. Also, if you or anyone you know would like to star in an upcoming MAC segment, please send your name, address, and resume, complete with past acting/management experience to RISING STAR c/o ACE TOWERS at the address on your screen. Auditions are held twice a year across the country, and you will be notified. Thank you.

**************

Daddy, it’s time to get up. A tiny five-year old hand was patting Boy Blue’s shoulder. The clock says 5… 0… 5…

Hal, leaning back in his chair, eyes closed, swiveled slowly toward the tiny voice.

Daddy?

Hal’s eyes opened wide and twinkled when he saw his daughter, Haley. Her thick, curly blonde hair was knotted up in every direction.

Twinkle, twinkle, little star, he began.

Cut it out, Daddy, she giggled, patting down the menagerie. Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn, she countered, learning the rhyme from her grandfather.

Okay, okay, Hal said. He scooped his daughter’s feet out from under her, to her delight, and carried her back to her bedroom.

Under the glow of her Scooby-Do nightlight, Hal stepped over the Easy-Bake Oven and Lite-Brite set, plopping her among the stuffed animals on her bed.

She lay there for a moment, giggling as her father hovered over her, playing like a kitten with the beautiful 24 karat gold key that hung from a chain around his neck.

So pretty, she whispered as she watched it twirl in the light.

It was your grandpa’s, he reminded her. She nodded.

After a moment he motioned to leave. Time to get ready for work, he sighed.

Haley looked around her bed, blue eyes wide. Here Daddy! she said eagerly, excited to have him among her world. She grabbed a red cape her mother had made for her and wrapped the strings around her daddy’s neck. Her little fingers worked fast to try to tie a bow. Because her daddy’s neck was so big, she did not have much to work with.

Here honey, I’ll get it, Hal said, taking the strings from her small hands. He tied a small bow. You practice on your shoe. He reached for an Old Woman in a Shoe shoe on her toy chest. The over-sized, wooden shoe, decorated with dozens of children of every shape and size, had ample laces with which to work.

Hal turned to leave.

Wait Daddy! She sprang out of bed and went over to her tiny desk, strewn with coloring books, crayons, and sticker books. She grabbed a sheet of stickers and looked at them intently in the glow of the nightlight.

She carefully peeled off a sticker and handed it to him. This is for you, she announced triumphantly, my hero!

Hal looked at it and paused for a moment before he put Superman’s red S shielded in yellow on his chest.

Thank you, Haley, he said quietly.

You’re welcome.

You really should get some sleep, honey. Saturday morning cartoons won’t be on for another couple of hours. That’s a very long time.

Okay Daddy! She scurried under the Peanuts Gang sheets and reached for her Care Bear.

Why do you wake up every morning with me? Hal whispered, tucking the bedspread around her tight.

I donno, she whispered back.

Hal kissed her on the forehead and made sure Scooby-Do was squarely in the socket before shutting her bedroom door.

He padded slowly to the master bathroom, Haley’s red cape catching a draft behind him.

Superman, he sighed, puffing out his chest slightly as he stared at the tired, haggard face in the mirror. Lines upon lines, eyes drooping. Some days he