Pissing Contest — and a Leadership Lesson
Remember the old Lee Press-on Nails from the 1980s? Fake nails, a foolproof strip of glue that is shaped exactly like your natural nail, press and voila! Instant manicure.
I am not into pissing contests, simply because I lack the equipment with which to point and shoot, but workplace semantics are forcing me to search the ‘net for a Lee Press-on Penis.
I was infuriated by a string of e-mails from Kumquat that arrived before I’d had my morning Joe, and was further infuriated when I learned that Demure had called a meeting with Kumquat and me for next Tuesday (Bless Shan for scheduling it as far into the future as she possibly could!), because Demure just assumed Kumquat wanted to meet with me. God motherfucking DAMN IT!!! This woman tries to solve EVERYTHING with a meeting. Jesus Christ! I have sent more late-night e-mails so that I could avoid a meeting, only to be hunted down and tortured in her office for an hour-long MEETING to explain my e-mails!!!! If you see the post below, you will realize that she sometimes misses the point of my e-mails, but STILL!!!
Seems that the crew at the Veggie Patch has noted a few things that they were unhappy with in the February issues of the Veggie Patch Gazette. Note that nothing was earth-shattering — just some old versions of ads were pulled off the graphics server (one was my fault, two were the designer’s fault) and run when there were new-and-improved versions that he had approved. So, I got this ridiculous e-mail from Demure — I could almost hear the trumpets blaring in the background, as though she were frothing at the mouth, savoring the taste of sending a meeting announcement through the e-mail — stating very formally that I am to be available for a meeting with herself and Kumquat to critique my issue and to discuss my plans for the upcoming TWO issues. Two! Christ, can I catch my fucking breath and clean up the mess I left in my office from the LAST one first?!?!
At any rate, they insist that I do a fucking storyboard (you should hear how hard I am pounding on my keyboard right now — my nails are about to snap off!) — i.e., a list of stories, author, date due (duh, they’re all due at the same time. Assholes), length (again, duh, I don’t know until they arrive) and another inane detail. This is information that, granted, is useful for the person who does the layout, but they are micromanaging me down to a gherkin, for the love of god.
Of course, I must bring multiple copies of this storyboard to the meeting. I am doing it in crayon.
So then, I didn’t realize that this was a pissing contest, so I sent e-mails back to request that we invite Graphic Goddess and Mac Guy. Because, let’s face it, if they’re gonna sit and bash me, I am bringing in my partners in crime so that they can hear this ludicrous bullshit firsthand. And granted, assuming that I will be bashed may be too harsh, but after the day I had to fight for my job and they made me feel like I was guilty with no chance of innocence, I ain’t taking any chances. Besides, if this is truly meant to be a constructive meeting, I figure that the person supplying the ads and the person doing the layout should be there to listen to their non-advice, right? And why did it take a peon to come to this brilliant conclusion?
So I got squirted with piss next. Demure wrote to say that I must invite not only those two, but Ad Angel (via phone, as she’s in Indy) and this new marketing director they’ve hired (who has been a consultant there for years). Why? I have no fucking idea, but now it’s the party of the century.
**Pounding of keyboard has ceased. Fingers are numb from flipping off the Veggie Patch Building every time I drive past it.**
Let me put it this way, I need their help now. I need for them to tell me any story topics that should definitely be covered for the next issue (not the next two). And they have — in fact, between Kumquat and another exec, they sent me the link to a potential story FOUR TIMES!!!! Four!!!! And Demure sent me two things, and it has been made clear to me repeatedly that I do not have a choice in this matter. I wanted to tell her that if we can pare down the four identical e-mail business, perhaps I would have time to read the rest of my e-mails and maybe even start the goddamned stories.
I do not need any further involvement from them. Unfortunately, that’s where we disagree. I am truly the type of person that if you just leave me alone to play in my little corner, I will do my work. I might draw pictures and write blog entries now and again, but for the love of god, I do not work well with a thumb over my head. Especially if my respect has not been earned or retained. I had to do backflips to beg them to give me a chance, and I worked my ASS off to produce what I think was a stellar product (although I will never tell them about the three errors that I found — I’m sure they will find them with their little fine-toothed comb anyway). But nobody’s impressing me enough to make me want to stay.
I received a wonderful e-mail from My Hero, my former boss at Two Strikes. Just to show how much he thinks of me, he wrote, “So, are you showing them how to run the place yet?” I wanted to show them that e-mail.
What if this had happened at Two Strikes (my previous workplace)?
When I replied to his message, I thought, “What would HRP do in this situation?” As you know, I have my bitch fits about her style of management (i.e., her tactic of intimidation). But there are some things that the girl gets a lot of credit for, and one of those things is her ability to spot hard work and ambition and talent. Granted, she seems to see those qualities in anybody who is related to her, so let’s talk about the non-relatives in this scenario.
HRP, as CEO of Two Strikes, wields the real power of promotion. When she sees somebody picking up the slack (usually for one of her relatives, but I digress), she takes note of that person. She publicly acknowledges them at staff meetings. She meets with them privately to assess their interest in their newfound responsibilities. She suggests additional training and gives feedback (and yes, sometimes it’s negative) on the person’s progress. And whether or not they completed the project or filled someone’s absence perfectly, she evaluates their commitment. And then she oftentimes gives them a better title, a salary bonus, something. Or, at the very least, she doesn’t ridicule them at that month’s leadership retreat — an honor that’s better than a paycheck anyday.
So, what if HRP were here? She would’ve promoted me and given me a fair salary. She would have instead put a job posting in the WaPo for someone to help me, someone who can complement my strengths yet who can compensate for my weak areas. She would’ve noted my strong commitment to the editorial content yet my intermediate graphic design skills, and she would’ve gotten me a graphic designer instead of advertising for an editor. In her own twisted way, she’s a decent woman.
Out of the dream world
This leads me to a bigger question — what if the Veggie Patch managers were competent? LOL. I don’t know. I’m sure they’re talented at something. Leadership, however, is not quite their forte. And judging from the fact that they have such shining talent like Shan and me absolutely blinding them from below, they never will be able to stare into the face of the possibilities that they could encounter.
It took me six months to get as fed up as it took my former supervisor to get in four years. Am I that more advanced, or have the leaders just gotten worse over the years? Perhaps I’ve played the game so hard, so often, that I can see through a smokescreen the second it goes up.
Fuck ‘Who Moved My Cheese’ — here’s a real lesson in teamwork
I feel like an Alaskan Huskie — i.e., a sled dog. I feel like, with Shan and me in particular, those managers keep yelling, “Mush, Mush!!!” and they keep cracking the whip, and then we keep jumping and performing and out-performing everyone around us. But then we never get a Scooby Snack — we keep getting yelled at and beaten. And well, it’s making our asses hurt. A lot. Especially when everyone else is on vacation without using vacation days (i.e., they cruise around the building). At any rate, like I found with HRP — you can’t beat the passion into me, but you can sure beat it out of me.
Shan’s dad says that employers get the behavior they incentivize. For the Veggie Patch, they reward apathy by continuing to pay people long after they’ve quit. The rest of us who refuse to lower our own personal standards, well, are punished as an example — it’s like, what? You refuse to let projects slip through the cracks? Well, fuck you, because you’re going to hear every detail about what you did that didn’t please them. No wonder people turn into vegetables there. It’s just easier, to cope. Hence, that’s how the Veggie Patch — and the mentality of a “lifer” — begins. And ends.
Where is our place, then, on the team? The sled dogs. We run ahead of everyone and see opportunities. We bark to tell them about opportunities — for instance, maybe we should rush toward them, maybe we should stop and plan our route, maybe we should investigate slowly, or maybe we should change course.
But our role doesn’t end there. The sled dogs are also cursed with pulling along the dead weight. While we can look at the sled dogs as the initiators (forerunners), we are also the ones beaten when dumbass executives don’t appreciate our unique vision (point of view) and force us to tread the path that oftentimes makes the least sense to us. That’s not to say that they aren’t making a good decision once in awhile, but a true team takes into account the unique perspective of each member of the Search and Rescue Party.
Now we pause for a Commercial Break — Otherwise known as, Dawn goes off the subject
Okay, so we were sitting in this ridiculous meeting today, and someone handed out a Tote Bag Policy.
A Tote Bag Policy? Jesus Mary and Joseph. What the FUCK?!!?
We don’t even have a Fire Evacuation Policy, nor do we have an emergency first-aid kit on site, but we have a policy regarding tote bags? Christ!!!
We now return you to our regularly scheduled tirade.
Where was I? Oh, fuck it. Hell if I remember. I’ll have to hash out that search party/sled dog analogy a bit more. I think I might be on to something.
At any rate, I have a little more work to do on my resume, but I can’t wait to blast it around the globe. Then again, do I want to work in another company that’s not mine? When you’ve held as many jobs as I have, you learn that the same people are in every organization. They just have different names or hairstyles or genders, but there are always managers who can’t see past the dirt on their glasses, the peons working too damn hard for minimum wage, the gabbers, the Solitaire-players, the idea hamsters, the money-grubbers and the oxygen thieves. Can I REALLY deal with yet another cast of characters in yet another play that ends on the same tragic note?