Today I will describe the day I lost all hope and ambition. It was the day I started working for Barney. Also known as Grimace.

The organization I (and Barney/Grimace) worked for provided low income housing through community groups, financed by largely corporate investors who received a tax credit for doing so. It was a "low income housing tax credit syndicator." In order to succeed, the organization had to attract and service both investors, and the community groups with viable housing properties.

When I was hired, I was a jointly-held property by the Investor Relations department and a newly-formed Research and Development sub-department. I distinguished myself with my cleverness, ingenuity, and strokes of brilliance that managed to overshadow my perpetually messy desk and clownish attitude.

Unfortunately, one of the ways I distinguished myself was by uncovering information that put a glaring spotlight on the company's weak point: we were not attracting community groups. They were disgruntled. We had a bad reputation with them.

Because I was young and stupid, I viewed my report as a triumph. I failed to see the political ramifications, which became all too clear when I was reassigned as the marketing person TO the community groups... under the department responsible for the mismanagement of the problem in the first place.

They were not grateful to me for pointing out how they could improve.

So, I get placed under the auspices of one large, slow-moving. slow-witted purple dinosaur with a grudge against me. I had heard complaints about this woman for years. Despite being a Vice President, she spent far less time Vice Presidenting, and far more time lurking in the shadows, reporting on who was 5 or 10 minutes late. She always wore purple. in fact, replace pink for purple, and you pretty much have this lady. Only add about 75 pounds.

For my initial meeting with her, I had put together a marketing plan for how to improve relations with these groups. I enthusiastically went through my bullet points, put succinctly into pre-printed notes for her convenience. She sat through it all without comment.

When I had finished, she looked at me and sneered, "That's all well and good, but what I really need you to do is file."

Thus was I introduced to the concept of office politics. It didn't matter anymore how brilliant I was, or what great ideas I had. In fact, those had become negatives for me since they were seen as threatening instead of helpful.

I was relegated to mundane tasks and inconsequential activities. Previously, my bosses had not given me things like their expense reports or their busy work, because my mind was better employed elsewhere. Not so under the purple nightmare.

Both she and I found out, nearly simultaneously, that American Express turns off your card if you don't pay them in three months.

I was brilliant in some ways, but not at filling out expense reports and collecting greasy receipts. I swear I didn't do it on purpose at the time, but I can't say I feel bad about it now, either.