We noticed participation has decreased, though whether due to layoffs or malaise we can’t be sure. While the survey is anonymous, if you filled the comment boxes with These questions suck or Stop wasting my time, we probably know who you are, especially if you mentioned your division, duties and job description, and even more so if you signed your name. We’re sorry you’re suffering, but we doubt work caused your divorce. We’re also dismayed by demands for better leadership. While you’re welcome to select Somewhat or Not at all in response to Do you find management effective?, we’d like you to imagine how that makes us feel. Perhaps it was insensitive to ask which of your coworkers are seeking other jobs, but we really need an estimate. If you left that question blank, it’s not too late to pass some names along. The news isn’t all bad. Even with increased co-pays and deductibles, our health plan is a hit, especially for those with anxiety, depression and insomnia. Although we can’t eliminate long waits when contacting HR, you can now turn off the music while on hold. Widespread raises are impossible, but we’ve found funds for better toilet paper, ice cream once a month. In the coming weeks, a new task force will form to brainstorm future questionnaires as well as cost-effective ways to ease— if not eradicate—your pain. (Though we’re aware of some survey fatigue, this instrument was too expensive not to use.) The next window for feedback opens soon. We’ll keep asking what you think until your answers change.
After Marvin Bell The Deadman speaks in sentences but rarely paragraphs. He wears boots with silver buckles and walks without a sound. His hat and coat exaggerate his height. Unlike other wrestlers, the Deadman doesn’t need applause to prove that he exists. He mostly moves above the waist, his gestures plain from the back row. The Deadman’s x-rays always blur. Likewise MRIs, though he holds perfectly still. He controls light and fire with his mind. His burns are first degree. The Deadman works 19 days a year, but only 6 of those are matches. Even if he wrestles first, he’s still the main event. No matter where he dresses, the Deadman runs the locker room. He shakes hands because he must. His palms are neither moist nor dry, hot nor cold. His grip has nothing left to prove. The Deadman disappears at will, but he always returns. He did not invent his famous matches— Hell in a Cell, Buried Alive— but he perfected them. The Deadman can be surprised, but never by himself.