There goes the fear
Because it’s Monday, because it’s nearly Christmas and because I can do what I damned well want, I fancy a slight change from the norm today and want to tell you about my family.
I don’t normally write about my family because,
a) I’m sure you don’t come here to read about them, and
b) I’m not a mommy blogger (and Christ know the last thing the world needs is another one of those)
In fact I’m not even entirely sure I qualify as a blogger, although I do blog, but then I cook but that doesn’t make me a chef. Anyway, I digress…………
I got a call on Friday afternoon telling me my daughter was sick and she needed to be picked up from school. In itself this is highly unusual and in fact this is the first time in her seven and a half years she has missed a single hour of school. She had a headache and a tummy upset and to quote, had turned a “whiter shade of pale”.
On a Friday night, both of my kids practice Taekwondo, they train twice a week and then grade on a regular basis. The next grading was the following day. Because my daughter was ill, we agreed that she didn’t have to go training, but that we would see how she was in the morning for the grading.
That evening went well, she rested, ate like a horse and then slept soundly through the night. In the morning she came downstairs and the look on her face told me something was up. “How are you I asked?” she just cuddled me. “Did you sleep well?” she held me tighter. “I don’t feel very well” she replied, “my tummy hurts and I couldn’t sleep because of the grading”. Now I’m no Doctor, but I was ready to practice a little home diagnosis….
I sat her down and we went through the questions that she was likely to be asked (they need to be familiar with Korean which for a 7-year-old is kinda tough). We went through her pattern and stances. We talked about the sparring. All of it was perfect. She could do it without question. Except there was a question. A big elephant of a question. The question was inside her head.
I guess, normally in a scenario like this, you’d have time to coach, to influence, to build confidence. But there wasn’t time. There wasn’t breathing space. So I told her she had to go and there was to be no discussion. She knew what she needed to do; she was able to do everything that she needed to do. All that was lacking was confidence. I told her the fear wasn’t real, that it was all in her head, that she had the power to control it.
I’m ashamed to say that she went to the grading in tears. Every part of me was screaming to pick her up, to hug her and tell her that she didn’t need to go. To protect her and make her never worry about anything every again. But I didn’t. And she went. And I felt bad. Really bad.
So what happened? She passed her grading and got her new belt. Her instructor praised the brave ones that had overcome their fears. She even managed to smile at one point. Later I asked her how it had been. She told me one of the other girls, a black belt at 14, had come to talk to her and told her that she was nervous too. And that had kind of helped. I pointed out that in three years she would also be a black belt if she carried on and then maybe she would find a little girl who needed a helping hand. She thought for a minute and then a broad smile broke out across her face.
And at that moment I knew I had done the right thing. Because fears? We all have them. We all need to face them. But sometimes we just need a helping hand…….even if it’s not as gentle as we would have liked that hand to have been.
5 ways to wind me up
Around 10 years ago I took up my first proper line manager role. I remember well the fear,trepidation, the excitement and the challenge. The team were a pretty awful team if I’m honest. Demoralised, resistant to change, bitchy and out to massacre the young pup that I was then.
We had some ups and downs over the 18 months that I worked with them and by the end of the time most of them had left the team if not the business as a whole. I’m sure I made a whole load of mistakes, I certainly learned a lot about myself. To their credit, those that stayed in the company were always polite and civil to me throughout our time together.
Ten years later, am I a better manager? I think so. Am I perfect? Not by a long way (and no being in HR doesn’t mean that I have to be!) But I do think I am more aware of my strengths and weaknesses than before and also particularly aware of my low tolerance zones:
1) If you don’t know something, you don’t know. And that is ok. But for the love of God, do not bullshit me. My bullshit detector is top class. I am more cynical and sceptical than anyone you have ever met. If I get even the smallest sniff of crap I will question you to within an inch of your life. Just fess up at the start.
2) Don’t take the piss out of me. I’m a generous guy. You need your boiler fixed – sure work at home. You need to see the kids play, then go. You feeling a bit under the weather, be off with you. But when you’re here you work and you work hard. There is no such thing as a half measure. “I was just coming to that next” is not a good response.
3) Never question my memory. Whilst I can’t remember what I watched last night on TV or what I had for breakfast, I can remember the conversation that we had three months ago about the potential reorganisation in Sales and who was going to do what and come back to whom. It’s an illness, what can I say. Check the notes, you’ll find I’m right.
4) “It can’t be done” and “it won’t work” are phrases that should be confined to satan’s cess pit for eternity. “I can’t find a solution” now that just might make the grade. Everything (within reason!) can be achieved; it’s just a question of working out how, when, and with whom. Think about it……get creative.
5) We do not wash our dirty laundry in public and we stay united as a team. As a rule we do not fuck up. But if……if someone gets something wrong, we sort it out, we make it good, we deal with it. Then we kick arse behind closed doors and out of earshot when we have succeeded and it has all gone quiet. Nobody need ever know…..
Speaking in tongues
The following are extracts from a board meeting yesterday discussing performance management and performance related pay. For those unfamiliar with the language I have added translations.
“It will just demotivate everyone” – I don’t want to tell people who aren’t performing the truth
“It will be divisive” – If I don’t tell people who aren’t performing the truth they won’t be upset
“It will be demoralising” – I actually tell everyone they are great even if they’re not
“This is putting people in boxes” – Whereas I prefer to use one big box to put everyone in
“The focus of the review will be all about the rating” – People will want to know how they are doing
“We are different” – I depend on people not knowing what goes on to create an impression of achievement
“Everyone is great” – I have no idea what people do or should be doing
“It is impossible to differentiate between them” – I have no idea what people have or haven’t done
“It is one thing in principle, but another in practice” – I am a work-shy bastard with no intention of doing anything difficult. But pay ME more?
This is my time
Those of you sat in the cheap seats for while now will know that I have a slog of a commute to work. And of course this necessitates an early start each morning in order to make sure I’m in the office looking perky and smug when everyone else arrives.
Despite working in London, I live in a small village in a very rural area vaguely connected to society by a series of lanes. At about 6.27 each morning, having shaved, showered and breakfasted I pull out of my drive with exactly 22 minutes to navigate these lanes to the train station to get on the train, find a nice warm corner and listen to music and dream. I work to a meticulously timed and planned routine. When it comes to travel plans, I am more Swiss than a piece of Emmental covered in chocolate, wearing lederhosen and yodeling in the mountains.
But over the past few weeks something sinister has happened. Some strange phenomenon has come and shattered my morning routine. I’m not entirely sure what, I’m not entirely sure who and I’m not entirely sure why. But at 6.26 every morning, a big slow van pulling a trailer goes past my drive and carries on all the way to the train station.
Do they know what they are doing to my blood pressure? Do they not understand the stress and pressure they are putting me under? Do they not know who I am?
Dear Mr. F**khead driving the aforementioned abomination. Find your own time, find your own road. Stay off my patch!
Put it to the tummy test
I was working on an employee engagement project a few years ago, looking to introduce a new measurement tool. The plan was for a twice yearly survey to gauge employee views on the business and more importantly their reported levels of motivation and satisfaction.
I was the project lead which involved persuading the respective boards of the companies within the group covering 52,000 employees with a turnover of c.£5bn. One of the MDs was renowned as being tough, to the point, analytical and generally twice as bright as anyone else on the planet. Before going to see her I prepared my shit. I knew the facts, the figures, the data, the correlations, the business case was as tight as a gnat’s chuff. I was an HR ninja ready to pounce.
I sat through the presentation delivering seamlessly despite her flicking back and forth through the pages of the presentation, scribbling, frowning, huffing and puffing. I got to the end and concluded my reasons for needing to introduce this model and the importance of measuring engagement. I asked if she had any questions.
“I’ve looked at the data” she said, “and quite frankly I’m not convinced. It’s all well and good putting this together but you can’t prove causal link”. My heart sank. “In fact” she went on, “most of this seems to be pulled together to try and justify some sort of nebulous argument for something that you know can’t be proved”. My heart popped. “When actually, instinctively we know this is the right thing to do anyway, regardless of the data. So let’s stop talking and make this happen”.
I have often asked HR people throughout my career, “What does your gut tell you?” to the point of being mocked at times (yes I know who you are and where you live). And I had forgotten the importance of relying on instinct, on a sense of what feels right because I was so tied up in trying to prove something. It was a salutary lesson, that regardless of level, regardless of profession….some things just feel right.
This came back to me in a discussion with a range of HR professionals and consultants whilst I was being preached to about the importance of building a strong business case and being able to justify HR to business leaders in terms that they understood. “What about instinct….about gut feel?” I asked “I call it the tummy test” came a voice from the back. “I ask myself does it pass the tummy test and if so, I do it”.
And that, dear friends, is as good as any other reason out there……
A turkey…..is a turkey
It was this time last year in the run up to Christmas that UK retailer Woolworth’s went out of business and last week we saw the long-awaited demise here of Borders. Cue much hand wringing, questions about the state of the high street and statements of how wonderful these retail institutions are.
But if we stop and take off the rose-tinted spectacles for a moment something else becomes apparent. The reason Woolworth’s went out of business was because it was a shit shop. The reason Borders is in administration is because it is a shit shop. These stores are not providing what the customer wants in a way that is financially effective. It’s not because the customer is wrong. It’s because the retailer is wrong.
I feel sorry for the staff and their families. No-one deserves to hear that they will likely be out of a job this close to Christmas. The reality, however, is that these businesses were badly run and out of time and step with consumer needs. We might not like this, we might not want this. But that my friend is the reality.
Take two examples. I ordered an advent candle the other day for the little HRD’s to enjoy in the run up to Christmas. Three weeks later I hadn’t heard a peep from the retailer, so I dropped them an email only to receive a reply saying that the candle was out of stock they were not sure they were going to be back in stock but don’t worry they “weren’t going to charge me”. Wow….thank you! After a glass (or two) of something with hints of blackberries and undertones of goat leather, my reply was thus,
“Thank you for your email. I have to say I think this is ridiculously poor customer service, given that I placed this order three weeks ago (that’s 21 days if you need some help) and only heard a response after I decide to email to chase today.
Clearly a product of this kind is time critical (let’s be honest, delivery in January would just be a disappointment). I guess I could roll up a newspaper and mark 24 parts for my kids to burn each day instead?
I’d be interested to hear why you think I should ever shop with you again?”
Surprisingly, or maybe unsurprisingly I have never heard from them. And guess what? They will never be hearing from me again either.
Then yesterday I was ordering the HRD family Christmas cards (oh yes we are THAT swanky). The website was being cranky and so I had to place two orders instead of one missing out on a discount and generally causing me grief. I sent an email laying out the problem and this morning less than 24 hours later, I receive the following:
“Our apologies for that, I have passed the information on so that any technical issues can be resolved. I have also organised a refund for the amount that you would have saved had you been able to purchase your cards in one order. Apologies again for any inconvenience. Your cards have been printed and will be dispatched today.”
No prizes for guessing where I will be shopping for cards next year.
Sure there will be a few examples or exceptions, but retailers, indeed businesses in general, mainly go out of business because they are badly run. Let’s stop apologising, let’s stop theorizing and accept the realities. Sales less cost equals profit. If you can’t make it add up its no-one else’s fault than your own.
Flexible what????
First of all a warning, this post in written in anger. The views below do not represent my rational self but are instead the product of my evil twin.
I’m having a moment. A BIG moment. The world is conspiring to come and kick me up the arse in more ways than one and then to top it all off, to add the whipped cream and cherry to the top of the already mountainous cake I have a bunch of arseholes being……well arseholes.
If you read this, you will know that my children have croissants for breakfast at the weekend I am in the middle of pay negotiations and have been trying to find ways of landing a relatively tough deal by my organisation’s standards (nope not Honda style tough deal). In doing this my team came up with a number of really good creative gives….because they are good and creative. One of which was the extension of the ability to request flexible working to all employees.
Now if you are in the UK, you’re probably thinking “you don’t do that already?????” if you are in the US, you are probably thinking, “Its Thanksgiving now shut the fuck up and let me eat more turkey” actually scrap that last one you are probably not reading this at all. And if you are….get a life.
I digress. So we don’t offer flexible working to all. Only to those that can request it under statute. (Anyone who has a problem with that can see me after class. And trust me, I’m not in a good mood). So we proposed that we offer this to all on the basis that its non- contractual, there is no obligation to do it and EVERY OTHER F*****G BUSINESS IN THE COUNTRY DOES IT!
Well you would have thought that I’d suggested that one day a year the Board drop their trousers bend over the board table and offer themselves any side up to all and sundry. The total shitstorm that has been created is really quite unreal. You can fill in the blanks to the type of comments I’ve had, but the narrative is essentially, “If we tell people they can ask…..then they might”.
Yes and if we don’t tell them they can ask then they might still ask anyway. Or guess what, they might just leave. Heaven forbid we actually have a dialogue with them. That, well that would just be….well wrong.
PS – Happy Thanksgiving to anyone who eventually got to this point!
Chocolatey goodness
At the weekend my kids like to have a croissant for breakfast, it’s something they have got used to and is now a kind of ritual. They have them with chocolate spread. It used to be Nutella, but seeing as we are such a “right on” hippy bunch, it’s now Green and Black’s. I would cut the croissant to make two half moons, put a little spread on one and then put the two together. A chocolatey croissant sandwich. What’s not to like?
One Saturday morning, a few years ago, my son asked me, “Can I have the two sides separately?” Seemingly an innocent question from a 7-year-old. Until I realised the catch. Open the two up and there was only chocolate spread on one and not the other. I gave it to him that way. “But there is no chocolate spread on this one”. True. And worse, seeing as I had always applied the minimum amount of spread (no threat of obesity in this household), there was no scraping and transferring to be done. I was snookered. (For the Americans amongst you, that means……ummm….well your balls are trapped). And they were……fully. I added more chocolate spread to the other half and returned the plate where, with a knowing smile, he promptly put the two sides back together to make…….a double chocolate croissant sandwich.
And from that point on, the amount of chocolate on the croissant had increased. There was no going back.
Now clearly I’m not writing about this because I want readers to avoid any croissanty unpleasantness on a Saturday morning. More that this came back to me last week as we entered into pay negotiations (yes I know I seem to spend my life doing this). The pot is small, the mandate is tight and in reality we have little to give. I could do the big swinging dick HRD routine and go banging on tables. But thats not really me and quite frankly I worry I might struggle in the dick department……
So the dilemma I’m facing is this. The Unions are there with the croissant open in their hands. One side has chocolate and the other doesn’t. The minimum has been applied and there is no scraping to be done. They’re asking for chocolate on both sides. But once thats done, it can never be undone. What to do, what to do…..
Time to downgrade back to Nutella maybe?
My Hell is Other People 