Work Daze

With subpoenas flying like snow flakes in a Montana blizzard, the pristine reputation of the Hewlett-Packard company has been irreparably sullied by an ethical scandal so egregious that even the members of Congress have taken notice of the offense. And that’s saying something.

Of course, there’s nothing new with corporate big wigs having a confrontation with legislators. The difference is that usually such face-to-face tête-à-têtes usually take place at restaurants, like Chez Cash, the chic Washington boîte where corporate chieftains exchange campaign contributions for legislative perks. The fact that unfortunate HP managers found themselves eating crow at a Congressional ethics committee demonstrates the magnitude of the computer maker’s decision to throw common sense and perhaps, common law, to the winds in their efforts to determine who in the company was leaking valuable, insider information to the press.

Executives trying to plug leaks from corporate hot tubs is not uncommon, but in this case, the overzealous HP management went too far. Rather than resorting to the usual and widely-accepted techniques, like water boarding mid-level marketing vice presidents, the corporate Sam Spades apparently utilized techniques that if not exactly illegal are certainly unsavory, including the use of “pretexting,” a high-tech form of fibbing that allowed the operatives to gather supposedly confidential information from that other bastion of ethical conduct, the telephone company.

HP also utilized super-sneaky devices like installing computer programs to track the computer keystrokes of its own key employees, leaving private black eyes on company management when the practice was discovered.

Like you, I do feel sorry for the overpaid, overstuffed HP executives who, like so many before them, woke up one morning to find they were no longer masters of the universe, or even masters of their own domain, but simply normal human beings wearing custom made Italian suits and bespoke English shoes, outfits that could, at the whim of a judge and jury, be exchanged for the latest in prison jump suits.

But what about the real victims of this crime? Who is expressing sympathy for all the hard-working, loyal HP employees whose bosses not only didn’t spy on them, but were never even considered worthy of a quick, illegal perusal of their hard drives.

Imagine the shame of the HP VP who had to crawl home after the scandal was exposed and admit to her family that no one had pretexted her telephone records; she simply wasn’t sufficiently significant for private eyes and ears to track her confidential phone calls to the Pizza Barn for the family’s top-secret double-cheese with pepperoni.

And if you want to feel sorry for a truly sad case, consider yours truly, a noted business columnist who never had anyone install secret software to count or even read his keystrokes. Hey, top-level HP board members could have been slipping me confidential information, and I would have printed it, too, if I hadn’t been quite so busy bidding for Star Trek memorabilia on eBay.

It may be too late for me to cash in on the notoriety of the HP scandal, but there’s still time for you to do yourself some career good by repositioning yourself as a potential leaker. All you have to do is let company management suspect that you are passing secrets to the press. [And don’t tell me your company doesn’t have any secrets! I don’t care if you’re in charge of dusting powdered sugar on the crullers at the Tip Top diner. As long as you have a boss, you have someone who believes there’s a secret advantage in the way your business operates, even if that secret ingredient is only his genius in advanced crueler twisting.]

But if you’re cursed with an honest nature, how do you shed suspicion on yourself? Showing up to work in a Rolls Royce Camargue is one way to tip off management. And when your supervisor comes into your cubicle for a little face-time, act guilty and start frantically feeding all those Chinese restaurant menus you’ve been collecting into the shredder. I also suggest getting a lock for your telephone. It’s inconvenient, but don’t worry. You’ll be making all your phone calls from empty conference rooms, where everyone can see you pace anxiously, pausing only to wipe the sweat off your fevered, guilty brow.

With any luck at all, your phone will be tapped. Your computer will be bugged. And you will be promoted.

Listen: anyone as sneaky as you will definitely be recognized as executive material.