Scott Robinson

I've worked for startups. I've worked for major corporations. I've worked for research labs. I've worked for the government. I've worked for non-profits. I've worked for myself.

I never want to work for someone again.

So, I wrote a letter:

"Dear ThoughtWorks, My name is Scott. And I want to work with you."

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

ThoughtWorkers are notorious for their inability to turn in their timesheets on-time... and the Australian operations team thought they had a solution.

They enlisted Sam Gibson and myself to make an automated system to remind our peers of their responsibilities via increasing levels of obnoxiousness:

1. An e-mail
2. A text message
3. A phone call that plays a remix of Rebecca Black's Friday

Oh yeah, that last one went over fabulously.

But, here's the catch: that phone call has caller ID— Sam's caller ID. And I'm one of our worst late-timesheet offenders.

So, like clockwork, every Monday I get a call. Not wanting to interrupt my team, I quickly and politely excuse myself. "Excuse me, sorry, be right back guys! I got to take this." Into a private room where I can hear whatever gossip my good friend is about to dish to me. I press the answer button and put my phone to my ear with an eager, "hey, what's up homeboy?!"

Pause.

It's Monday, Monday, gotta get down on Monday! Everybody's turning in their timesheet, timesheet.

God. Damn it.

Every. Time.

I return to my desk, having successfully pranked myself for yet another week.