THE WHITE COLLAR WARRIOR’S ADVICE FOR CAREER DAY ONE
Jimmy made just about every mistake possible, the same exact mistakes most cube dwellers make on Day One.
Here is what you need to do on your first day as a White Collar Warrior:
1. Realize this and believe it with every ounce of your being: No one at your company gives a flying, flaming fuck about you if it’s your first day at a bottom-of-the-ladder job.
a. Everyone in Cubeland is trying to get up the ladder, and what they don’t need is someone climbing up their backs trying to get ahead of them. Your boss, co-workers, every person in your department, every person in every other department, and every one else right down to the cleaning staff resent your existence and wish you would go away. You’re either more work for them or a threat to their own little hunk of territory.
b. And that’s why you need to follow this next rule:
2. Don’t rely on anyone for help, especially those who are assigned to help you. Be aggressive in getting the supplies and information you need to work.
a. Sometimes needed info and advice will be offered on Day One, but it will likely be incomplete info and bad advice. You’ll be lucky to get accurate directions to the restroom. Most companies have some kind of orientation (complete with a stupor-inducing tour) and some form of welcomer or, in the case of one company I know of, a “day one buddy.” (One day is about all the friendship you’re going to get from this buddy, who probably volunteered for the job to get the $20 company café voucher, of which he will spend about $10 on your welcome lunch and pocket the rest.)
3. When you come into contact with your welcomer (or whatever they call it at your company) get these things before you are abandoned:
a. An up-to-date company phone directory, which you will visually confirm was printed at some point in the last 30 days.
b. Your computer passwords, which you will make sure work before your welcomer leaves your cube. If she needs to bring in some tech guys, then fine, but she doesn’t leave until you’re up and running.
c. Your welcomer’s name, location of her cube, phone extension and the name of her supervisor, so you can send a nice note on how you were treated (or how bewildered and ignorant she left you).
d. Plenty of legal pads, pens, a stapler, a tape dispenser (with plenty of tape) and a box of paper clips (no less than 100).
4. Once all that’s done, call your boss and schedule a meeting for as soon as possible.
a. Begin taking control of the relationship with your supervisor. You need to think about managing him, and not letting yourself be managed. He needs to know that you’re so efficient and hard working you don’t need supervision.
5. Begin taking stocking of your co-workers.
a. You need to know them. What are they working on? What are their likes and dislikes? What are their fears? And most importantly, what are their weaknesses?
b. Eventually, you’re going to make a list of enemies and allies. No matter which side a co-worker falls on, you need all the intelligence you can gather. You never know who you’re going to need to destroy.
c. Much more on this in Chapter Three: Know Your Enemies, Otherwise Known as Your Co-Workers.
ANALYSIS OF JIMMY’S DAY ONE
Back to Jimmy, and his sorry example. Aside from the obvious stuff, there were a couple things he could have done to give him a serious edge on Day One.
One, he should have taken note of everything in Bob’s cube. Bob, being a dick and fairly stupid, turned his back on Jimmy. At that point Jimmy should have scanned Bob’s desk, any memos or notepad with writing on them, and anything written on the white board. If Bob is controlling any territory that Jimmy wants, Jimmy lost a chance to find out.
Two, he should have taken note of Bob’s conversation, which was probably with a girlfriend or spouse. The tone of it was filled with low-level anger and frustration, a sign of relationship trouble, a serious weakness. That fact should have been filed away in Jimmy’s list of usable facts. Workers with relationship problems are extremely easy to manipulate. There is much more on this in Chapter Three: Know Your Enemies, Otherwise Known as Your Co-Workers.
And another thing Jimmy didn’t take note of, but he’ll realize it soon enough…His boss is an ass. You might think Dick is a disciple of the White Collar Warrior because he has an air of confidence and used the lame technique of “accidentally” talking shit about someone when you know they can hear you.
Let’s get something straight. A WCW is almost always subtle, almost always perceived as a nice person, almost always liked by those around him. Going out of your way to piss people off is a dumb move, especially the people who work for you because those are the people to whom you are the most vulnerable.
In the olden days, when you went into battle with sword and shield, you held your shield toward the enemy, anticipating that’s where an attack will come from. And that left your back is exposed to whom? An ally with a sword as sharp as yours. You really want the guy behind you, with a clear shot at your unprotected backside, pissed at you?
END OF CHAPTER ONE
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Friday, February 26, 2010
Suspended Cynicism Temporarily
If you spend a decade or so in corporate life, it’s easy, perhaps even mandatory, to get cynical. I don’t know a successful long-term cube dweller who doesn’t look at everything the company does without a critical, skeptical, jaundiced eye.
Cubelanders who start hopeful and optimistic eventually get their souls crushed. Some leave for other destinies (perhaps at start ups, or as teachers, or as people in unemployment lines). Or, they get cynical, understand the rules this game is played by, and begin playing to win (or at least to not lose).
I’m as cynical as they come. And yet, every once in a while, I have moment where the optimism and pride of my youth returns, when I am reminded of what I felt when I was a new employee with a new computer in a slightly used cube working for a massive company even my parents had heard of.
Yesterday at the cold fusion meeting was one of those times. One of the upsides to giant corporations is that at almost every level, in every division, you bump into amazing, talented, intelligent and genuinely nice people. For the last two days, I had the pleasure of sitting in a room with a handful of those people, and I’m once again glad I work here.
So, here’s to you, guy who is doing something risky that could change our business forever, and other guy who is inventing something amazing with a small budget no one knows about, and gal who genuinely cares about the people who work for her, and other guy who calls bullshit on bullshit with seemingly no fear. Nicely done. Nice working with you.
Cubelanders who start hopeful and optimistic eventually get their souls crushed. Some leave for other destinies (perhaps at start ups, or as teachers, or as people in unemployment lines). Or, they get cynical, understand the rules this game is played by, and begin playing to win (or at least to not lose).
I’m as cynical as they come. And yet, every once in a while, I have moment where the optimism and pride of my youth returns, when I am reminded of what I felt when I was a new employee with a new computer in a slightly used cube working for a massive company even my parents had heard of.
Yesterday at the cold fusion meeting was one of those times. One of the upsides to giant corporations is that at almost every level, in every division, you bump into amazing, talented, intelligent and genuinely nice people. For the last two days, I had the pleasure of sitting in a room with a handful of those people, and I’m once again glad I work here.
So, here’s to you, guy who is doing something risky that could change our business forever, and other guy who is inventing something amazing with a small budget no one knows about, and gal who genuinely cares about the people who work for her, and other guy who calls bullshit on bullshit with seemingly no fear. Nicely done. Nice working with you.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Seems We Don't Need Cold Fusion
Most of yesterday we spent talking a lot about cold fusion and the cure for AIDS, why we need them, what was in the way of getting them, how great life would be if we could have them, and some potential ideas about where unicorns with their life saving farts might be hiding.
At the end of the day, our CEO walks in for a chat, and eventualy let's us know that cold fusion is no longer needed, as the fusion we have is just fine, just perfect, couldn't be better, best fusion ever, why would we even bother with cold fusion? But maybe, if we can find a unicorn somewhere, and if maybe we we can capture some of the wind it might have passed, then perhaps he would take a whiff. Maybe.
Where did I put that unicorn net?
At the end of the day, our CEO walks in for a chat, and eventualy let's us know that cold fusion is no longer needed, as the fusion we have is just fine, just perfect, couldn't be better, best fusion ever, why would we even bother with cold fusion? But maybe, if we can find a unicorn somewhere, and if maybe we we can capture some of the wind it might have passed, then perhaps he would take a whiff. Maybe.
Where did I put that unicorn net?
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Inventing Cold Fusion
There are times when company officers are tormented by the recession devils, poked by declining revenues, prodded by financial analysts, and terrified of a market place that's changing so fast you can barely keep up with the buzz words.
Sometimes when times like that happen, a high-up Ivory Tower dweller will decided to pull together a group of his best and brightest. This action team or strike team or blue ribbon panel will be given the task to figure out how to make everything better, how to sell more stuff, how to make the stock price go back up, how make those recession devils go away.
Today, I will be a part of such a group. And our task, as I see it, is do the equivilant of inventing cold fusion while curing AIDS with unicorn farts. Good luck to us.
Sometimes when times like that happen, a high-up Ivory Tower dweller will decided to pull together a group of his best and brightest. This action team or strike team or blue ribbon panel will be given the task to figure out how to make everything better, how to sell more stuff, how to make the stock price go back up, how make those recession devils go away.
Today, I will be a part of such a group. And our task, as I see it, is do the equivilant of inventing cold fusion while curing AIDS with unicorn farts. Good luck to us.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Can You Make That Meeting?
Please attend the next meeting, the meeting-meeting.
Not that one. The other one. The new one. It's a new meeting. Not the other one from yesterday, or this morning, or the conference call on Saturday morning, or the one Tuesday night where we missed American Idol, or the lunch meeting where whatshisname ate like a pound of potato salad.
I’m talking about the next meeting-meeting, where we need to talk about meetings, the planning of meetings, the scheduling of meetings, the timing of meetings, how many meetings we need, and when food, and what food, is allowed at meetings.
If the meeting-meeting conflicts with a meeting, let me know when you are free, because right now, your schedule looks completely blocked out. Are those all real meetings or fake meetings you scheduled in order to have some meeting-free time?
If you could free up one of your meeting-free hours, I’d appreciate it.
Thanks!
Not that one. The other one. The new one. It's a new meeting. Not the other one from yesterday, or this morning, or the conference call on Saturday morning, or the one Tuesday night where we missed American Idol, or the lunch meeting where whatshisname ate like a pound of potato salad.
I’m talking about the next meeting-meeting, where we need to talk about meetings, the planning of meetings, the scheduling of meetings, the timing of meetings, how many meetings we need, and when food, and what food, is allowed at meetings.
If the meeting-meeting conflicts with a meeting, let me know when you are free, because right now, your schedule looks completely blocked out. Are those all real meetings or fake meetings you scheduled in order to have some meeting-free time?
If you could free up one of your meeting-free hours, I’d appreciate it.
Thanks!
Monday, February 22, 2010
Tip For Managers #3256
If you have a meeting starting at, say, 9 a.m. Try and send the agenda out, say, at least by 8:50 a.m.
If you didn't send out an agenda before the meeting start, then don't send it at 9:01 a.m. and then show up at the meeting at 9:05 and say, "Did anyone have a chance to print out the agenda?"
And especially don't feign surprise and mild dissappointment that no one printed out the agenda that was so important that you couldn't be bothered to send it before the start of the meeting.
First off, you might not have noticed but emails have time stamps. It is possible to tell exactly when you sent a document. People check that kind of thing.
Second, it is really, really hard to be in a meeting room waiting for you to show up and also be at the printer making copies. Duel existence sometimes does seem to be a job requirement, but it remains an impossibility, except perhaps for the writers of Lost.
If you didn't send out an agenda before the meeting start, then don't send it at 9:01 a.m. and then show up at the meeting at 9:05 and say, "Did anyone have a chance to print out the agenda?"
And especially don't feign surprise and mild dissappointment that no one printed out the agenda that was so important that you couldn't be bothered to send it before the start of the meeting.
First off, you might not have noticed but emails have time stamps. It is possible to tell exactly when you sent a document. People check that kind of thing.
Second, it is really, really hard to be in a meeting room waiting for you to show up and also be at the printer making copies. Duel existence sometimes does seem to be a job requirement, but it remains an impossibility, except perhaps for the writers of Lost.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
CHAPTER 1, PART 1 -- A Journey of a Thousand Miles Starts With No One Caring That You Are About To Start a Journey Of A Thousand Miles
JIMMY’S DAY ONE -- Welcome To The Cube
Poor Jimmy, all alone in his cube, his first day at work, one worker in a building filled with a thousand, in a company of ten thousand, in a professional world of millions, as insignificant as one tiny ant in a colony, the smallest ant, the weakest ant, the ant least likely to succeed.
Pathetic, isn’t he? His white dress shirt too big in the shoulders, his tie poorly tied, his ill-fitting khaki pants sporting a logo with an anchor above the back pocket. Does he really expect anyone to take him seriously?
He’s fresh from business school, carrying a copy of his MBA in his leatherette briefcase. He got the job because of the degree, which happens to be from an Ivy League school. The company recruiter almost always hires the Ivy Leaguers, no matter how disappointing they look in person. Besides, as an assistant to the assistant account coordinator, the lowest rung on the corporate ladder, Jimmy couldn’t cause much harm.
Also, the recruiter gets a bonus when an open slot is filled within a week, so when she sees a candidate that seems to shower regularly and is smart enough to turn on his computer, she hires him. And thus, Jimmy is in his cube, staring at his computer screen, waiting for the blue loading screen to go away so he can start his first day.
He stands. He looks over the gray wall of his cube. He’s in the middle of a field of cubes, stretching to the horizon in every direction. His “welcomer” (a tired-looking woman from Human Resources who rattled off the company rules and regulations with an android’s monotone) said that more than 300 people work on his floor. He can hear them clacking on keyboards, occasionally coughing, sometimes mumbling, sometimes whispering, sometimes their phones ringing, but he can’t actually see one other living soul. He sits back down. The blue loading screen is still loading.
He exhales. He doesn’t know what to do. He looks at his phone, but it doesn’t ring, doesn’t offer a friendly voice telling him where to go or what to do. He doesn’t know where his boss, Dick, sits, or what his number might be. There isn’t a company directory in his cube. He should ask for one.
Yes, good, he thinks. He now has a reason to talk to one of his cube mates, break the ice a little by asking for some minor help. He straightens his tie, stands, adjusts his pants, tucks in his shirt. He glances at his computer. The blue loading screen still blinks at him.
He walks out of his cube, walks around its outside wall, and arrives at another opening where he does indeed find a human-like life form. The name tag outside the cube’s opening reads, “Bob.”
Inside, a plump man in a white shirt, khakis and poorly tied tie is whispering into a phone intently. His cube his filled with framed pictures of sports cars, sometimes on beaches, sometimes on race tracks, sometimes with bikini clad models sitting on the hoods.
“Bob likes cars,” Jimmy thinks. “That will give us something to talk about, maybe.”
Bob glances at Jimmy and doesn’t stop whispering into the phone. He says: “No. I said no. Not at all. No. I have to go. I said I have to go. No.”
Jimmy waves and smiles. Bob turns his back to Jimmy and stares at the framed picture of a red BMW M3 that’s next to his computer monitor. He continues into the phone: “Maybe. Well, no. Probably not. No. I really have to go.”
Jimmy breathes deep, in, then out, then he walks on.
Before he can get to the next cube and try again to make human contact, he hears a phone ring. Could it be his phone? It does seem to be coming from that direction. He trots around to his cube and sure enough, his phone his ringing, signaling the start of his workday, his new job and his new career.
He answers the phone as quick as he can grab it, just after the fourth ring, and hears nothing but a dial tone. He missed the call. The voice mail light lights, a dim red glow next to the caller ID window, which reads, “Dick Wadde.” His boss just called and he missed it, his new boss with the truly unfortunate name. He reminds himself not to even smile about it.
The computer’s blue loading screen has gone away, replaced by a box that wants a User ID and Password. No one gave Jimmy a user ID and password. Maybe that’s what his boss wanted, to give him his password, and maybe some direction on what he should be doing.
No one gave him instructions on how to get voice mail, so he can’t actually listen to the message his boss left him.
Jimmy sits. He looks at the empty gray walls of cube. He wishes he had pictures of cars to hang. He wishes someone would talk to him, tell him what to do, let him prove himself to be smart and capable and worthy of his paycheck.
He hears Dick’s voice, floating over the top of his cubes. He recognizes it from the job interview. Dick’s voice always seems to be booming, like his volume is turned up two notches higher than everyone else’s. He’s an assistant account representative, but he carries himself like a CEO who just got a pay raise.
“First day on the job and already I can’t find him,” Dick says. “Why is it not possible for us to hire good people?”
Dick appears in the doorway to Jimmy’s cube. Dick’s in a blue suit, well-tailored, with a bright red tie over a crisp white shirt. Dick looks like he’s running for president.
“There you are,” he says to Jimmy. “I thought you were all ready AWOL on me. You have everything you need?”
Jimmy stands.
“Well, not really,” Jimmy says. “I don’t have a password for the computer, or the voice mail. But I’m looking forward to starting work and I was wondering what projects you want me to start on. I’m really anxious to get going.”
“Yeah, we really need to talk about all that. Thing is, I have a meeting right now. What I want you to do is go back to Human Resources, find your welcomer, tell her she’s an idiot and she’s wasting your time and my time, and then tell her to get your computer and phone set up, and also, you’re going to need lots of legal pads and lots of pens. I hope you’re good at taking notes. I talk really fast.”
“Got it. I can do that. Thanks again for this opportunity.”
“Yeah. I gotta go. Glad to have you on board.”
Jimmy is about to extend his hand for a friendly and professional shake, but Dick has disappeared. Jimmy breathes, in, then out. He wonders who Dick was talking to before he reached his cube.
He realizes he has no idea where Human Resources is or how to find his welcomer. He feels helpless, abandoned, and that it’s his fault for not knowing what to do, what to ask, who to ask or how to ask.
He looks around his barren cube. There are still thumbtacks in the walls, where someone had posters or something pinned up. There is a coffee mug cast aside in one corner. It reads “Caffeine, alcohol, killing my boss…I’ll choose caffeine…for now.”
The pencil drawer in his desk is slightly ajar. He opens it and finds the items that seem to be in every pencil drawer everywhere in the universe, five paperclips, 36 cents in change, two rubber bands (one broken), two pencils, and an old business card.
He picks up the business card. It reads: “White Collar Warrior – In today’s corporate battlefield, you can be a general, with my help. Call…”
“Who was in this cube before me?” he wonders. “And where did he, or she, end up?”
END OF CHAPTER ONE, PART ONE
Poor Jimmy, all alone in his cube, his first day at work, one worker in a building filled with a thousand, in a company of ten thousand, in a professional world of millions, as insignificant as one tiny ant in a colony, the smallest ant, the weakest ant, the ant least likely to succeed.
Pathetic, isn’t he? His white dress shirt too big in the shoulders, his tie poorly tied, his ill-fitting khaki pants sporting a logo with an anchor above the back pocket. Does he really expect anyone to take him seriously?
He’s fresh from business school, carrying a copy of his MBA in his leatherette briefcase. He got the job because of the degree, which happens to be from an Ivy League school. The company recruiter almost always hires the Ivy Leaguers, no matter how disappointing they look in person. Besides, as an assistant to the assistant account coordinator, the lowest rung on the corporate ladder, Jimmy couldn’t cause much harm.
Also, the recruiter gets a bonus when an open slot is filled within a week, so when she sees a candidate that seems to shower regularly and is smart enough to turn on his computer, she hires him. And thus, Jimmy is in his cube, staring at his computer screen, waiting for the blue loading screen to go away so he can start his first day.
He stands. He looks over the gray wall of his cube. He’s in the middle of a field of cubes, stretching to the horizon in every direction. His “welcomer” (a tired-looking woman from Human Resources who rattled off the company rules and regulations with an android’s monotone) said that more than 300 people work on his floor. He can hear them clacking on keyboards, occasionally coughing, sometimes mumbling, sometimes whispering, sometimes their phones ringing, but he can’t actually see one other living soul. He sits back down. The blue loading screen is still loading.
He exhales. He doesn’t know what to do. He looks at his phone, but it doesn’t ring, doesn’t offer a friendly voice telling him where to go or what to do. He doesn’t know where his boss, Dick, sits, or what his number might be. There isn’t a company directory in his cube. He should ask for one.
Yes, good, he thinks. He now has a reason to talk to one of his cube mates, break the ice a little by asking for some minor help. He straightens his tie, stands, adjusts his pants, tucks in his shirt. He glances at his computer. The blue loading screen still blinks at him.
He walks out of his cube, walks around its outside wall, and arrives at another opening where he does indeed find a human-like life form. The name tag outside the cube’s opening reads, “Bob.”
Inside, a plump man in a white shirt, khakis and poorly tied tie is whispering into a phone intently. His cube his filled with framed pictures of sports cars, sometimes on beaches, sometimes on race tracks, sometimes with bikini clad models sitting on the hoods.
“Bob likes cars,” Jimmy thinks. “That will give us something to talk about, maybe.”
Bob glances at Jimmy and doesn’t stop whispering into the phone. He says: “No. I said no. Not at all. No. I have to go. I said I have to go. No.”
Jimmy waves and smiles. Bob turns his back to Jimmy and stares at the framed picture of a red BMW M3 that’s next to his computer monitor. He continues into the phone: “Maybe. Well, no. Probably not. No. I really have to go.”
Jimmy breathes deep, in, then out, then he walks on.
Before he can get to the next cube and try again to make human contact, he hears a phone ring. Could it be his phone? It does seem to be coming from that direction. He trots around to his cube and sure enough, his phone his ringing, signaling the start of his workday, his new job and his new career.
He answers the phone as quick as he can grab it, just after the fourth ring, and hears nothing but a dial tone. He missed the call. The voice mail light lights, a dim red glow next to the caller ID window, which reads, “Dick Wadde.” His boss just called and he missed it, his new boss with the truly unfortunate name. He reminds himself not to even smile about it.
The computer’s blue loading screen has gone away, replaced by a box that wants a User ID and Password. No one gave Jimmy a user ID and password. Maybe that’s what his boss wanted, to give him his password, and maybe some direction on what he should be doing.
No one gave him instructions on how to get voice mail, so he can’t actually listen to the message his boss left him.
Jimmy sits. He looks at the empty gray walls of cube. He wishes he had pictures of cars to hang. He wishes someone would talk to him, tell him what to do, let him prove himself to be smart and capable and worthy of his paycheck.
He hears Dick’s voice, floating over the top of his cubes. He recognizes it from the job interview. Dick’s voice always seems to be booming, like his volume is turned up two notches higher than everyone else’s. He’s an assistant account representative, but he carries himself like a CEO who just got a pay raise.
“First day on the job and already I can’t find him,” Dick says. “Why is it not possible for us to hire good people?”
Dick appears in the doorway to Jimmy’s cube. Dick’s in a blue suit, well-tailored, with a bright red tie over a crisp white shirt. Dick looks like he’s running for president.
“There you are,” he says to Jimmy. “I thought you were all ready AWOL on me. You have everything you need?”
Jimmy stands.
“Well, not really,” Jimmy says. “I don’t have a password for the computer, or the voice mail. But I’m looking forward to starting work and I was wondering what projects you want me to start on. I’m really anxious to get going.”
“Yeah, we really need to talk about all that. Thing is, I have a meeting right now. What I want you to do is go back to Human Resources, find your welcomer, tell her she’s an idiot and she’s wasting your time and my time, and then tell her to get your computer and phone set up, and also, you’re going to need lots of legal pads and lots of pens. I hope you’re good at taking notes. I talk really fast.”
“Got it. I can do that. Thanks again for this opportunity.”
“Yeah. I gotta go. Glad to have you on board.”
Jimmy is about to extend his hand for a friendly and professional shake, but Dick has disappeared. Jimmy breathes, in, then out. He wonders who Dick was talking to before he reached his cube.
He realizes he has no idea where Human Resources is or how to find his welcomer. He feels helpless, abandoned, and that it’s his fault for not knowing what to do, what to ask, who to ask or how to ask.
He looks around his barren cube. There are still thumbtacks in the walls, where someone had posters or something pinned up. There is a coffee mug cast aside in one corner. It reads “Caffeine, alcohol, killing my boss…I’ll choose caffeine…for now.”
The pencil drawer in his desk is slightly ajar. He opens it and finds the items that seem to be in every pencil drawer everywhere in the universe, five paperclips, 36 cents in change, two rubber bands (one broken), two pencils, and an old business card.
He picks up the business card. It reads: “White Collar Warrior – In today’s corporate battlefield, you can be a general, with my help. Call…”
“Who was in this cube before me?” he wonders. “And where did he, or she, end up?”
END OF CHAPTER ONE, PART ONE
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