Parquet Shortstop

Instructor, Caroline Bender

Nearly 30 years ago, a well-meaning (but now painfully outdated) book called Games Mother Never Taught You attempted to explain the mysteries of the male corporate world to us career gals. Among the skills we were advised to learn were "locker room talk" and the art of the sports metaphor.

Most days I think I fall back too easily on my sports metaphors, to the point of cliche. But recently I stumbled onto one which summed up for me an experience I had been trying to define and express for the past year.

I realized why I felt so crowded, so frustrated, so elbowed on the job. "I am a baseball player," I said to my Boss. "And this company... is basketball."

I enjoy the poetry of baseball -- the celebration of the individual player in the execution of a team success. Watching baseball puts me into a calm state of alertness, even as the tension builds toward the heartbreaking pop-up when the bases are loaded. But basketball is stressful to me. So much crowding under the basket -- the speed of the play from end-to-end, then back again. I've got the ball, no he does, now him! Whistles and squeaks and the thunder of giant athletes running at top speed.

Enough!

So it happened that in a project meeting where 15 people literally shouted for an hour over what should be done and how and when and by whom, I heard those sneaker squeaks and shot buzzers, and I recognized where I had felt this before.

I like to play my position when the ball comes to me, and get out of my teammate's way when the play is hers. Collision on the diamond is generally regarded as dangerous, and avoided as much as possible. The one guy who expects to take a hard mid-section hit is issued full body armor.

I want my manager to plan the line-up before the game starts. The manager and the coaches know which skills are needed from whom; they understand that the progression of skills matters. When they take care of the strategy, I can concentrate on the tactics of getting the game played.

The defense keeps control of the ball. No fumbles, no interceptions, no turnovers, no jump balls, no face-offs. Until you've had your allottment of plays, the other team has to wait. How I wish we could maintain that level of control over anything in the workday.

The rules of engagement are civilized and respectful. One of my favorite moments throughout any game is the friendly chat between the baserunner and the infielder as they wait for the next hit. Imagine man-to-man defense around that bag instead. It's enough to give you belljar.

Understand that this is not a problem I have solved. I am still out there everyday, cap on, punching a pocket into my glove with the shot clock running. I don't know the devil is going on most of the time. ("Guys...? Man off base. I'm open...?"). It was enough just to articulate the problem.

So this morning I went in search of a baseball team in need of a utility player. I'll let you know how it works out.

Watch this space. Batter Up.
~~CB

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10 Great Working Woman Movies

an occasional list of diversions from the Faculty and Staff of the BWFS&SC


1. The Best of Everything
Indeed, the best of the best. And doesn't Hope look great in those wool suits?

2. Woman of the Year
There are a lot of Kate Hepburn at work movies. This is the queen.

3. Working Girl
The movie that taught us there is no sisterhood in the workplace.

4. 9 to 5
The movie that taught us there is.

5. Private Benjamin
Can a woman find her self-identity through her work? Even if it is in the Army?

6. The Apartment
Because Shirley MacLaine is the center of the panelled universe, moral-wise.

7. Designing Woman
Peck & Bacall? You're thinking, "I've never seen this!" Now you can.

8. Baby Boom
As deliciously 80's as a Bartyles & James. And don't we all think we could just move to Vermont and start a jam business?

9. His Girl Friday
What you think work will be like when you are 14.

10. All About Eve
What it is like.

11. Flashdance
Not really.

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The Little Email Thread That Could

Instructor, Caroline Bender

This is the story as it was told to me -- with the usual changing of names, ranks, and serial numbers.


An Individual Contributrix (Trixie) was working on a high profile project for someone other than her boss. The sponsor said, "Let me know when you get into trouble," and so she did. When another department planted its feet in the way of progress, Trixie knew that she could not just plead at her own level across the hierarchy. She needed the project sponsor to do a little politicking at his tier in order to get the blockage removed. But the sponsor was not at his desk, and his calendar showed him as out for the next two days. So she expressed her need to an email to him...and only to him.

She made her points firmly, with a sense of urgency, but taking care not to name names or throw shade on a group that was only trying to take care of its own business. But her frustration was clear, and her need for the situation to be "handled" was explicitly stated. The email's exclamation point was enough to get the sponsor's attention and a phone call was made. Trixie and the Sponsor agreed that Sponsor would handle this with his fellow executive 1-on-1, and an order to cooperate would trickle down from there.

But Sponsor did not call his peer -- at least not before forwarding Trixie's email to his Boss, a Veep with an inability to understand that "FYI" really means "reporting in, ma'am, not asking for assistance." The Veep broadcast Trixie's request for assistance to as many people under her as she could (which in this company was nearly everyone), including the staff of the Fellow Executive. This started a flurry of responses that rang In Box bells all the way down the cube rows.

The Fellow Executive, who now considered the glove thrown, responded "all-plus some" (which should be an Outlook feature) with a defensive reply about how helpful his staff can be when asked appropriately.

Fellow sends another stern reply to Veep, the Sponsor, and our Trixie about their unprofessional way of doing business -- including the broadcast of Trixie's email, which (he points out) was clearly not meant to be read by others. The Sponsor, mortified, shuts that thread down by offering to call Fellow Executive for an explanation and defending Trixie's original words. He sends a separate apology to Trixie, cc'ing the Veep, who replies-all with her version of an apology. ("I didn't see anything wrong with having other people see it.")

The live version of this workshop would have me shout, "And...FREEZE." at this point in the story. Already there are so many eye-opening lessons we must process some of them.

You Can't Block EMail Forwarding
Oh, would that it were true. But it is not. So assume that anyone could -- and will -- read your words, and write as if for the company bulletin board. This doesn't mean you can't ever complain, or call them like you see them. It means that you must stick to the facts (or obscure them completely, but that's not our point here).

Refer to Business Units, not to People
Unless you are filing a harassment complaint or an award nomination, try to stick to "The Legal Department procedures state..." or "Customer Service representatives reported..." Like, "senior White House officials." Your readers will naturally ask "Who," but answer them off the page.

Limit your Recipients
Imagine if, in the day of the inter-office email and the literal carbon copy, you would have included all these people in this discussion. Trixie took her concern to one reader, and he to one reader, but then the knotting began.

The backlash of not cc'ing the World is that others assume you didn't answer if they didn't hear about it. They will start new threads of their own, contradicting your plan or repeating your effort because they think you did not offer. So...hanged if you do...

Reprimand Privately
One action I like on the part of the Fellow Executive is that he let his peer and his peer's veep know they had offended him, and he did so outside of the large thread which included his own staff. I think he should have left Trixie out as well.

Apologize
Notice how Sponsor apologized to everyone for a turmoil that was not entirely his fault, but certainly kicked off by him. He offered to call the Fellow and resolve the whole thing the old-fashioned uncomfortable way (in person) when he really could have spun several more reply rounds. Notice how the Veep... still doesn't get it.

And what in the world did Trixie do, you ask?
Trixie stayed out of it, but not consciously so. She stayed out of it only by virtue of not being in the office that day. Trixie admits that if she had been there, she might not have made the choice to stay silent, which she now realizes was the safest position. By the time Trixie was even aware of the storm, it had passed. She looks forward to using this hard lesson learned in the future by...

Not Replying Immediately to EMail Threads
Some emails deserve a quick response. They are identifiable because a question is asked, and a "need to know by" deadline is sensed. These are not the messages we are talking about.

I mean the little threads that keep going -- up hill and down -- on their way to the circus. Challenge yourself not to play along, or at the very least to call the sender with your feedback-- thereby getting your point of view directly to the source rather than competing with the reply-plusses. If this means limiting your email checks to only 8 times a day (that's one an hour) do it.

It's very freeing to delete all but the final reply, read the thread, then call the originator and say "Do you need anything more from me on this?"

~~CB

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Be the Chicken

Instructor, Caroline Bender

I would like to comment briefly on the new business allegory that is making the rounds, and of which I am already sick to death. This is the kind of Move My Cheese story told by blustery Boss/Presenters to inspire and delight us into giving "more" (which see our earlier entry on getting a life).

The parable uses the commitment made by both the Pig and the Chicken toward the outcome of the project, in this case a bacon and egg breakfast. Presenter makes the point that while the chicken "showed up" for the endeavor, the pig "really committed."

Presenter will stick her tongue in her cheek and wiggle her eyebrows, meaning "Get it? D'ja get it?"

I would like to posit that this is a terrible analogy, makes no sense, and undermines its own point.

Yes, the pig did commit; he literally put "skin in the game." But he has committed at the sacrifice of himself. As a result, he can no longer commit again. He is a one-time resource which is all expensive fat without nutrition. The sizzle without the meat. Most of his contribution melts and is drained off, resulting in a very large expense on his part for a very small contribution to the project.

You may say the chicken only showed up, laid an egg and left. But what is the quality of her contribution? She is a renewable resource, who can give every day one of nature's perfect foods. In addition, the chicken's contribution, if fertilized and incubated, yields more chickens.

Be the chicken. And you can tell the Boss I said so.

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