Rage Against the Machine: Part II
This is the second in a four-part series of buzzes that recounts my experiences as a maverick manager working within the constraints of corporate America. You'll laugh, you'll cry and, perhaps, get an idea of how the country ended up with throngs of voters backing Donald Trump for president.
After learning that my new team was going to be less than supportive of my assignment to help turn around an ailing facility, I had to find a way to earn their respect, which was something they weren't accustomed to giving to management. I couldn't blame them.
I found out they'd been managed by corporate threats and intimidation. I've always believed that you can catch more of everything with honey than vinegar. Pun intended. That would be the foundation of my platform, but it suffered some cracks along the way.
Corporate America thrives on demanding that nearly unattainable objectives be met, reflected by numbers. Numbers that appear to be pulled out of somebody's top-level ass, with nothing to justify them except the need to increase profits over the previous fiscal year. There are numbers for everything, from sales and business-retention quotas, to the number of toilet paper rolls and light bulbs that are allowed to be purchased within a given time period.
Before I resigned from the company, I was responsible for keeping the bathrooms stocked with toilet paper and changing light bulbs throughout the office. As far as I know, no one ever faced running out of toilet paper in the dark. Thank God, we had a janitorial service. At least I didn't have to clean toilets. We provided the janitorial service with toilet paper, soaps, and air fresheners, which were all our products. I had to order the light bulbs. It wasn't as demeaning as it sounds.
It's extremely difficult to meet every number at the same time, but stating that in staff meeting will put you at the top of the list of malcontents. More on that later. I had been with the company for nearly 10 years and I had learned how to successfully "play the game." After all, that's what it was -- a game. That's how I explained it to my new team and, being the devious bunch they were, they were ready to play.
The importance of certain numbers changes, one week it's this number, the next it's that number. Therefore, in order to appear successful, I told my team which numbers to focus on from week-to-week and let the others slide. We'd probably have to focus on the others the following week. It was a vicious circle.
I wasn't breaking the rules. I was simply bending them a bit. As I said earlier, it was frowned upon. Corporate likes to keep stress levels as high as possible, thinking that's the best way to keep its hamsters from jumping off the wheel. There would be no rest for the wicked if they were faced with multiple targets.
Therefore, I trained them like they were policeman, learning how to shoot only the bad guys and not the little old lady crossing the street. They loved it. It was our little secret. Shortly before I resigned, my team, as well as those from other teams, made it known that I was the only manager to be trusted. Most would do anything I asked of them. I had achieved mutual respect, which pissed off the cronies.
In fact, they asked me to start a fantasy football league and be the commissioner. The league continues to exist.
Time to Rage
The numbers were steadily improving, right up until I'd had about as much as I could take from the general manager. He had remained busy making sure everyone knew he was still the boss, despising me, and continuing to manage by threats and intimidation -- the sign of a weak manager. Because he was a weak manager, he ruled like a tyrant, cutting slack only for his cronies. They despised me, too, and held back information that could have made my job easier. I found out later, that they were spying on me and reporting my activities to the general manager. Some true, some fabricated. Their day would come, but not until I was out of the picture.
The day I channeled my Irish mother's temper was one for the ages. We were in one our weekly staff meetings, where the general manager would go around the room and bash us for one failure or another. His catch phrase was, "If you can't do the job, I'll find someone who can." That was his inspirational message. He was a horse's ass with teeth.
So, when it came time for my weekly bashing, I stood up, faced him, and told him flat out that what he expected us to achieve was virtually impossible and would never happen, which is something you're taught to keep to yourself. All corporate wants to hear you say is "Yes, sir." He knew it, too, but he was also being threatened and intimidated by his superiors. That's apparently the first lesson taught in top-level management class. As one of my counterparts put it, "The fish stinks from the head down."
The only sound that could be heard was the jaws of my counterparts hitting the table in front of them. No one had ever had the balls to challenge him on anything. This was history in the making. Instead of receiving a tongue lashing and a request for my immediate resignation, he paused for a moment, looked around the room, and simply said, "Well, just do the best you can." The silence was deafening until I said, "You got it, chief." I sat down and the meeting resumed like nothing had ever happened.
Afterward, I was hailed as the conquering hero by the majority of my counterparts. His cronies were dumbfounded. I had exposed one of the chinks in his armor and gotten off scot-free. He was nothing more than a schoolyard bully. However, that was not his fatal flaw. It was much, much worse than being a bully and, surprisingly, I had absolutely nothing to do with his impending demise.
I should have know it, but he had already begun to discredit me to his superiors, with assistance from his cronies. That's what led to my next rage against the machine. By this point in time, I'd resigned myself to the fact that throwing a wrench into his sputtering machine was the only way to affect positive change. Unlike my counterparts, I didn't live from paycheck to paycheck, so, if my maverick attitude got me canned, at least I wouldn't end up homeless.
I kind of spread that fact around the office, striking fear into the black hearts of his cronies. They now figured I was capable of anything, including pulling the rug out from underneath their sorry asses. I was beginning to enjoy messing with them. They were sissies.
The End is Near
I had remained in contact with my former general manager. He was a real leader. He showed respect for his employees and never failed to defend them to corporate when necessary. He would dole out discipline as needed, too, but it was fair and well deserved. If he terminated someone it stuck, even against the union. He knew how to present an airtight case, backed up by indisputable evidence collected and placed in employee files. The union rarely challenged him.
His facility ranked in the top three in the country during his tenure and he shared the glory. He is set to retire in October. We respected him and he respected us.
One stressful afternoon, I called him from my company-issued Blackberry, while sitting in my company car, which came with a corporate-issued fuel card. I did enjoy a few of the perks that came with the position. Anyway, I was venting, telling him all about the toxic environment. He told me to hold on just a little while longer, that change was coming. Boy, did it. The very next day, my new general manager was told to clean out his desk before being unceremoniously escorted out the door. He had been terminated, for reasons unknown.
Most of us breathed a sigh of relief. His cronies were sick to their stomach.
I soon found out what had happened, though. A key-account salesperson, who had transferred from my previous facility to my current facility, confided in me. We had become friends while working together. What she told me infuriates me to this very day. She had charged him with sexual harassment and won. Not only was he the worst general manager I have ever encountered, he was a total slime ball on top of it. I told her how much I admired her strength and conviction. My maverick actions paled in comparison.
To find out what led to my next rage at the machine, please read the third buzz in this series.
"
Comments
Graham🐝 Edwards
7 years ago #3
Randy Keho
7 years ago #2
It gets better. We're only half way there. The next episode stars a male version of Samantha and Serena from "Bewitched."
Kevin Pashuk
7 years ago #1