“But not this time, this is our time. This time you gonna hand them a business card that says I’m a CEO, bitch. That’s what I want from you.” – The Social Network
Your Dogma caught my Karma . . .
My first month on the job (when I graduated from college with a Masters) I travelled around to several of the company’s remote offices. They had offices across the country, and at that time I think they had some sort of operation in 35 of the 50 states (57 if you count Texas as many times as they think they should be counted). One of my first trips was to Central Midwestia – the rustbelt. And our facility was right in the middle of the rust belt. Across the street there was a stamping plant that continually (and very audibly) stamped auto parts out of glowing steel. To the north there was a sausage plant. To the west was a manufacturer of household cleansers. Many of the factory buildings looked to have been built prior to World War I, and some of them looked like they had been through World War II or even the Great Sitcom wars of the early 2000’s. Still bits of Futurama® on some of the walls.
The facility there was . . . everything packed into the size of a postage stamp. There were areas of the facility that if you had a sandwich for lunch you couldn’t gotten through because your belly would have been too big. And the electrical system? It looked like it had been thrown together on a Hollywood set so you could channel lightning into a monster to have it live . . . again.
What an experience!
The next month, I had the opposite experience at another one of “our” (I don’t work there anymore) facilities. Even though the facility had been open (in one form or another) since the Civil War, this facility, though old, was spacious, with plenty of room for moving around. The primary purpose of my visit was to work on a problem that the facility manager was having, so, after talking about the issue and looking over the beautiful Atlantic bay that was right next to the facility, we decided to go to lunch. The Salesguy, sensing a free lunch (I think they have radar) tagged along.
During lunch we talked about lots of different things, like how lobster stew there was cheaper than a hamburger. Also, as a new guy to the company they each had really interesting stories to tell the new guy (me). The conversation drifted to the places I’d visited with the company so far.
Wee John Wilder: “Well, I did see our facility in Central Midwestia.”
Salesguy: “What did you think of that?”
Wee John Wilder: (Pause) “I think that whoever set up that facility had one of the biggest challenges of a career. I have no idea how they fit all of that stuff into that space. My hat is off to them.”
Sure, I could have called the place a mess, but it really wasn’t – I’m not sure anyone could have done better putting all the parts into place.
The next morning when I got to the facility, Salesguy wasn’t there, but he had left me two boxes of golf balls (good ones) with the company logo on them, along with other swag he normally gave to customers.
“Wow! This was nice of him!”
The facility manager then explained that Salesguy had been the person who had put that facility in Central Midwestia together – and he’d spent months of his life making it work, but most people had called it a mess. Karma . . . doesn’t always mean that bad things happen.
Fast forward to last year:
I was on the phone talking to a friend that works at another company about a year ago. The CEO (at my friend’s company) had just announced his “retirement”. He hadn’t been talking about retirement, so the corporate world knows that “going to spend time with family” also means . . . “got fired”.
There had been some other recent changes as well at that company – the Chief Sales Guy (I don’t remember his actual title) had recently quit. That was fairly surprising, since Chief Sales Guy had been at the company since it was founded. The Chief Sales Guy was friends with the owner of the company, and had even suggested a possible replacement for his position as Chief Sales Guy to the owner.
Since The Mrs. had met the now fired CEO at a party some years ago, when I got home I mentioned the news to her. Her response was immediate: “Oh, the Secretary got him fired.”
The Mrs. is a writer of novels, so I asked her to explain this particular plot.
“Well, you remember that you told me about secretary, right?”
And then I remembered. The Chief Sales Guy had an executive Secretary that been with him for over a decade. After he left, that Secretary was blended into the pool of lesser secretaries on the floor. One Thursday afternoon, she had tickets unexpectedly fall into her lap for a literally “once in a lifetime” adventure (it was Elton John© performing the “Best of” Metallica™ with backing vocals by Katie Perry® and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir©). The Secretary was supposed to work until 5pm, but would have preferred to leave about 15 minutes early to get ready. This would have been fine with her old boss, so she found another lesser secretary who could cover for her.
But the person who could cover for her went to the “Jabba The Hutt®” of secretaries (her new boss), who didn’t like this impertinence. So, even before the Secretary could go and ask Jabba© for permission, Jabba™ had gone to complain to the CEO. The CEO fired the Secretary on the spot.
Fired. On the spot. For wanting to leave 15 minutes early. Yeah, true story.
The Mrs. reasoned that the Secretary had mentioned her woes to the former Chief Sales Guy.
The Chief Sales Guy went to the owner and told him the story. The owner, in the narrative favored by The Mrs., fired the CEO a week later, after he’d found a replacement.
I have no idea if this is true or not, but it really makes sense.
Everybody answers to someone, even the CEO. Oh, sure the CEO retired with $100 million or so, but I bet the Secretary enjoyed the afternoon she found out that karma had scored just a little revenge for her. Me? I’d have smoked a cigar and had a nice scotch. Bet she had a Margarita on her deck with copious middle fingers for the CEO.
Your career will likely be a long one – 40 to 50 years for most people. You will meet people on the way up, and you will meet people on the way down. You alone control how you act and how you treat people. Being nice is a choice. Being a jerk is a choice. Why would you ever choose being a jerk? Why would you, as CEO, choose to fire a secretary for wanting to leave 15 minutes early on a Friday?
I’ll note that being a jerk isn’t the same as being honest. Don’t lie. Why does The Mrs. never ask me “does this outfit make my butt look big?” Because if honesty counts against my karma scores . . . oh my.
But Texas will be fine when it comes to karma. They have no idea that when hurricanes hit them it might be karma. Texans? They just want to put a saddle on the hurricane and ride it on up into Iowa so they can take that over, too.
