Morale Budget

EILAM part VI (plus new Wirepine MERCH!)

When I’m eight, I spend all my money on tiny trinkets and carry them on a keychain like a lunatic. Maybe I’m a weird kid, but that collection — compass, pocketknife, flashlight, tiny etch-a-sketch — would make even today’s most jaded kid jealous.

My grandma, sister, mom and me. Sadly there is no picture of the keychain, but I obsessively collected pieces until it wouldn’t fit in my pocket anymore.

The trinket train rolls on.

Now I’m in High School, but work is a disappointment. Shiny objects discouraged, uniforms mandated. The uniforms are stinky, the customer cranky, the bosses inept. In my best gig, I carry around a pro-sized flashlight to shine on couples making out in the back of the movie theater.

It’s worth it though — my paycheck covers comic books and model rockets and cherry coke Slurpee fueled Pac-Man benders down at the 7-Eleven.

Work after college will be better right? It is not. Alameda County Social Services IT is down in the basement: a gray, dingy, cubicle farm. I sneak out at lunch, retrieve my stale sandwich from the supply room fridge and find a spot of sunshine down at Jack London Square along the Oakland Estuary. I watch the jets take off from the Alameda Island Naval Station and I look at San Francisco — glittering, teasing — just on the other side of the Bay Bridge.

I can’t take it and I get out of there, landing a job running the IT shop for the local Sanitary District. Straight away I get my first perk: I win the holiday raffle and a $50 gift certificate to Kinders Meats.

You can lick our chops but you can’t beat our meat.

This bumper sticker brings me much joy. Then JFran discovers it on the back of her car. This also brings me much joy, but also the demise of said sticker.

I leave my IT empire at the Dookie District for a string of boutique consulting shops. I finally make it into San Francisco and my gigs offer a glimpse of posh corporate life. Company laptop, a fancy title, T-shirts for everyone!

Every Christmas I dust off my favorite perk from that era and place it high on our tree: an oversized disco-ball ornament, the white elephant gift from my first corporate Christmas party in SF.

Dotcom madness hits, and now I’m at a startup. Premium perk pandering — that’s how they get you. Every break room with a ping pong table, kitchens with fresh fruit and bagels each morning, and cupboards overflowing with the best snacks.

A microwave for hot-pockets and a fridge full of Jolt Cola — don’t leave! Sunshine is overrated.

I get Spider-Man printed on the back of my business card.

And — after much controversy, as this falls under my purview — flip-phones. Motorola StarTac, the ultimate 90s tech status symbol.

Dotcom boom goes dotcom bust and when the fresh fruit and the ping pong balls disappear, it’s time to seek safer harbor. I head off to the mothership — Microsoft.

Microsoft is fully swagged out.

My new boss doesn’t even bother picking up his free conference laptop bag — he’s got a closet overflowing with them at home.

The dotcom bust leaves a nasty merch hangover. I forge on.

After twenty years at Microsoft, I’m addicted to the Pink Grapefruit Sparkling Rain drinks stocked in every Redmond fridge. I get them by the case.

My kids reap the spoils of offsite trinket treks: stress balls, lightup ice cubes, flashing Bluetooth speakers, logo water bottles, fidget spinners.

Then perks get personal — I get a promotion and my boss gives me a copy of Dr. Seuss' Oh, the Places You’ll Go! I get a plaque with Bill Gates’ signature for stuff I do. I get successively larger 5 year, 10 year, 15 year service awards.

I got rid of all the service awards taking $ instead for the 20 year but they get silly big; the 25 year award is shipped in a crate.

Some of the brands I work on are fun — Skype swag is the best. R nicks my Skype puffy jacket for high school.

My FIL rocking my startup vest, still zipping strong after over 30 years.

Corporate swag is generic, Goodwill bound, but the personal stuff sticks.

Then, the tables turn.

I move to Microsoft Teams, and suddenly I’m the proud owner of a morale budget. Now I have the responsibility to shore up the troops with shiny nothings.

I’m up for this. Donuts, mini-golf, happy hour, awkward dinners with the big boss, wandering around NYC for a hole-in-the-wall to catch up, silly socks with smack sayings and stickers by-the-person, coffee mugs with all our mugs printed on them.

I hit peak perk performance during the pandemic and it actually makes a huge difference to my freaked out, geeked out, stressed out, team.

My new guy is struggling — stuck in an apartment in Minneapolis. His little sister is in college, trying to stay sane during Zoom school. She has a pandemic side hustle making tie-dye t-shirts. We get her to make up a bunch of Teams Purple ones, add a cosmic video background and my boss joins wearing one.

It’s amazing.

Purple reign: we all need this.

Perks can work.

Now here we are in 2026, marking 50 years of shiny fun and also Wirepine’s three year anniversary.

It’s time for a brand refresh. You can take the kid out of the keychain, but you can’t take the merch out of the man. I’m working on this updated logo — do you think I could make a linocut of this design?

WIP: The yellow represents Wire or digital energy, while the White represents the organic Pinecone. Wirepine. I’m playing with different yellows to make the wire stand out more. Wirepine is a play off the Telcom term Wireline - AT&T’s traditional landline business.

If you take the survey below on what you’d wear, I might extend my morale budget for you.

I am strongly pre-disposed to a lightweight pullover hoodie. I got one for my birthday that I’ve been living in all winter. So, vote for that (#1) and leave your size in the comments.