You ask the waiter what the restaurant’s core competencies are.
You decide to re-org your family into a “team-based organization”.
You refer to dating as test marketing.
You can spell “paradigm”.
You actually know what a paradigm is.
You understand your airline’s fare structure.
You write executive summaries on your love letters.
You think that it’s actually efficient to write a ten page paper with six other people you don’t know.
You believe every company is “a traditional functional organization, with promotion based on tenure, but one that needs to change as it is facing ever increasing competition…”
You believe that a company’s problems are never caused by an “ineffective handling of an administrative situation.”
You believe you never have any problems in your life, just “issues” and “improvement opportunities.”
You know every single piece of clip art in PowerPoint.
You calculate your own personal cost of capital.
You explain to your bank manager that you prefer to think of yourself as “highly leveraged’ as opposed to “in debt”.
You start doing your kid’s math equations in reverse Polish notation.
You enjoy using an HP-12C.
You refer to your previous life as “my sunk cost”.
You refer to your significant other as “my co-CEO.”
Your favorite stories begin “Bob Jones, VP of marketing, sat at his desk and stared out his window…”
You like both types of sandwiches: ham and turkey.
You believe the best tables and graphs take an hour to comprehend.
You refer to divorce as “divestiture.”
Your favorite artist is the one who does the dot drawings for the Wall Street Journal.
None of your favorite publications have cartoons.
You account for your tuition as a capital expenditure instead of an expense.
You insist that you do some more market research before you and your spouse produce another child.
At your last family reunion, you wanted to have an emergency meeting about their brand equity.
You’ve decided the only way to afford a house is to call your fellow alumni and offer to name a room after them, if they’ll help with the down payment.
Your “deliverable” for Sunday evening is clean laundry and paid bills.
You use the term “value-added” without falling down laughing.
You ask the car salesman if the car comes with a whiteboard and Internet connection.
You give constructive feedback to your dog.