Management Lessons: That's What She Said

Fashion Friday: Backward Glances

All week, Arwen has been writing about television shows that have been remade into movies. I wish I could tell you I had seen the new A-Team movie, or had gone to the Miami Vice movie, but I had my fill of those in the 80s. Once John Taylor had played with Power Station on Miami Vice, I was finished. Shark was jumped. They were never going to be able to top that. Nothing topped John Taylor when I was 15.

You know what else I loved when I was 15? Stirrup pants. I saw a pair of designer stirrup pants in the store last week, and when Arwen told me what her theme was, I thought of them immediately. Just like the A-Team and Miami Vice had their day, so has 80s fashion. For that matter, so has 60s and 70s fashion. I defy you to show up at work looking like Marcia Brady. That wouldn't even work for Marcia Brady these days!

Retro fashion does have its place outside the office. Wear your pompadour with pride on the weekends, and get down with your disco self after hours. But on the clock? Let's be honest, okay? No one likes to be honest about this. In the corporate mothership, you want to blend to get ahead. In any profession you want to blend. Why? Because your professional reputation depends on your ability to convince your higher-ups that you are enough like them to lead their company in the direction of their choice, and if you are a maverick, your career depends on your ability to make your higher-ups feel comfortable enough with you as a person to take a chance on your ideas. To a large extent, that means costuming yourself to appeal to their subconscious minds. Working Girl, a movie that went on to be a television show (Sandra Bullock starred, can you believe it?), is an excellent case in point.

Tess McGill is able to completely remake her career by remaking her image to match her corporate brains. Is a wardrobe change all that is needed? No, but would you have taken Tess' Jersey hair seriously? Of course not. You would have been wondering how much Aqua Net went into that remarkable mass. It is much easier to read her as a trustworthy source of information once she has transitioned from the unspoken uniform of the secretarial pool, into the unspoken uniform of management.

I write all this and then feel compelled to tell you that I don't always blend perfectly into the sea of black and navy. I am professional and dress code compliant, but if you put me in a line-up, I would stand out. Oh, I wear my pencil skirts and heels, and I have my suit jackets and blouses, but I am mad about accessories, color, and retro styling. You won't catch me wearing day-glo 80s, or Pucci prints from the 70s, but I rock the 40s and 50s Girl Friday look frequently. To my point, that look is office friendly and it is appealing on a subconscious level. You can trust a peplum jacket. You can feel good about a Peter Pan collar. You know those spectator pumps are going to walk over to you with the right spreadsheet. It is different from what you see every day, but it is still clearly professional and not costumey at all. That is everything to do with the fabrics and the fit.

So while I urge you to blend in with your higher-ups, I also hope you will find ways to be creative with your look. If you love the 80s, suit up in pink and gray, but kill the shoulder pads and avoid the Capezios. Trust me. You will never be able to wear Capezios as well as a member of Duran Duran. Don't even try.

Lane Buckman has been in love with fashion since she realized that her first Easter dress came with matching gloves, shoes, and purse. Growing up in the entertainment industry this former beauty queen, model and actress turned corporate career woman understands that dressing for success is just another form of costuming. And, since she has run the size gamut from 2 to 18, Lane understands dressing a variety of shapes. She has written dress codes and conducted Business Style and How to Dress seminars for Fortune 500 and finance companies, boutique agencies, and an international non-profit organization. She gives her stylish Southern mother credit for teaching her everything she knows.

Theatrical Thursday: Management on the Run

Sam Gerard in The Fugitive is a U.S. Marshal on a mission. Inspired by Inspector Javert from Les Miserables, he spends his time chasing Richard Kimble, a man we know to be wrongly convicted. It makes for compelling viewing, watching two good guys duke it out.

And not for nothing, pitting Tommy Lee Jones against Harrison Ford was pure marketing genius.

While Kimble has the harder job of eluding the fuzz and coming up with exonerating evidence, he also only has himself to answer to. Gerard, on the other hand, leads a team of investigators who run the gamut from seasoned and no-nonsense to fairly young and impressionable. He is every inch the authoritative hardass manager.

Gerard offers us our first management lesson in his first appearance on screen: (Watch to 1:27)

Valuable tip: If you have a weakness, such as an inability to remember names, make sure your subordinates' skill sets compensate for it. Now, watch how he handles this confrontation: (Watch to 3:54)

As I said yesterday, there are very few times I recommend calling someone out in public. But if you have to do it, this is a brilliant approach. Be deferential, don't raise your voice, call the guy "sir." Give your antagonist plenty of rope to hang himself ... and then? Give him a little spin by the toe just for good measure.

Gerard also sticks to his convictions -- perhaps to the point of folly. (Watch to the end.)

Gerard saves the guy's life, and then has to justify his actions to the guy. In so doing, he manages to be a hardass while also being sympathetic to an alternate point of view, which is no mean feat. I've long wondered if there's an alternate version of that scene that has him also whisper, "And. I. Don't. Miss."

But if you are going to be this rigid in your code, you have to accept the fact that those who work for you are not always going to fall right in line. (Watch to 8:04)

Much as I sympathize with Gerard's dyspepsia on words that aren't real words, I have to confess that I'd probably react much the way Biggs does here. And I'm not sure I'd do it under my breath. Maybe, though. It is Tommy Lee Jones, after all. Carrying a firearm. And it doesn't get much more authoritative than that.

Theatrical Thursday: Bermuda, Bahama, Oh, Barf Me Out

It is safe to say that THE consummate professional on the bar scene is Rick Blaine. Unfortunately, Rick is so well-guarded (and well-regarded,) his clips can't be embedded on piker blogs such as mine, so his insights will have to be saved.

If you can't have the sublime, then go for the ridiculous. Cocktail, with Tom Cruise and Bryan Brown fits that bill quite nicely. (The flick even features a nod to Rick Blaine: In one of the more overwrought scenes -- which believe me, is saying something -- a movie marquee in the background advertises Casablanca.)

There are a couple life lessons to be picked up from this travesty. Trust your working-class relatives, but do everything you can to alienate the rich ones. Mentors can also be assholes. If you have sex with Tom Cruise under a Jamaican waterfall, you'll get knocked up.

There are also a few slightly more useful lessons, if you squint hard enough. The first, obviously, is to be smart about choosing your mentors. If someone tries to give you advice that involves working hard and using your brain occasionally, you might want to listen. (Watch through 6:47.)

A huge part of Bri-Guy's problem, in fact, is he spends too much time looking for the quick fix and not enough time using his brain. He falls in with Mentor Doug, an aging lothario who wants to be a kept man. There is supposed to be a contrasting scene wherein the college professor's ability to impart knowledge isn't a patch on what Mentor Doug has to offer. (Watch through 3:53.)

What that scene should really tell you, though, is if you don't know what a money multiplier is, go to the professor's friggin' office hours while remembering your part-time job is the means to the end, and that if Mentor Doug really had much to offer, he wouldn't be tending someone else's bar. Or, you know, go ahead and learn you have a knack for the short pour and the long pour. I gotta say, though, if I ordered a drink and I had to sit through a Cirque du Soleil bottle act for a watered-down G&T, I am not sure I'd leave much of a tip.

Anyway, this being a bartender movie and all, there has to come a breaking point with school. It is conveniently provided by a particularly obnoxious and unpleasant teacher, who starts out nasty and flies into an obnoxious and unpleasant snit when Bri-Guy challenges him. So, yes, on first viewing, here is how not to teach a class: (Watch to 1:40.)

Take a moment to think about this, though, and you'll see a different problem with this scene. Foremost among them: If our hero is the Class-A bartender we are supposed to believe (not to mention having spent time in the service and theoretically gone through basic training,) shouldn't he be completely immune to taking crap from jerks like this? Shouldn't he be trained in defusing volatile situations instead of pushing a bunch of buttons to make the guy go off? Are we supposed to believe Bri-Guy has weighed the consequences of his actions, or is he just mouthing off like a stupid teen-ager? A point to ponder.

So our hero runs off and has a series of bartending misadventures with Mentor Doug, who boosts him to a bigtime establishment and promptly steals his girlfriend, mocking all self-improvement efforts every step of the way. Bri-Guy reacts to this by "going to the beach" as his uncle suggested in the first clip. He spends three years there before finding Elisabeth Shue (Jordan Almond -- well, Jordan Someone,) in a highly improbable scenario wherein our hero hurdles a bar and delivers a quip about a drunkass girl on the beach instead of just, you know, handing our heroine a phone to dial 911.

So, boy meets girl, boy bones girl, boy reunites with bad influence Mentor Doug and ditches girl for richer Old Girl, who treats him like the gigolo he is until he ditches her (with the aforementioned Casablanca shoutout,) and goes back to Miz Almond. Only, surprise! She wants nothing to do with him, even though he comes on bended knee to her place of employ. And, surprise again! She too handles difficult situations like a teen-ager. Here, then, is a scene on how not to mix your work and home life if you want to keep your job and/or earn any tips:

Additionally ... where the hell is her boss? She's getting pissy at customers who apparently have been waiting an age for her to take their order, she's dumping perfectly good food that costs good money on other customers, and her boss is nowhere to be seen? Bad management!

Our hero persists ... and it turns out Miz Almond is Miz Moneybags! (Which might explain why she is such a lousy waitress, if not why she is allowed to keep her job as such.) And Daddy Moneybags tries to buy off our hero! Who tears up the check and shows how much he cares! And how little Dad thinks of bartenders! All with really, really painfully bad acting! (Watch to 2:35. No, really, all the way through to the end of the scene. You'll be howling.)

Note to would-be suitors of knocked-up rich girls: Talking to anyone's dad this way is not going to gain you any allies. Seriously, if Bri-Guy had gone in there with an ounce of preparedness or any line worth selling, Pops probably would have been a bit more sympathetic. I mean, how much could he really want his unwed daughter dealing with 3 a.m. feedings at the penthouse? And where's Almond's mom for all this drama?

Fast forward some more. We learn Mentor Doug is a loser! A failure! Bankrupt and dissipated with a slutty wife, who leaves Mentor Doug passed out drunk on his yacht while she comes on to Bri-Guy -- giving rise to Bri summing up his morals in what might be the most eloquent line in the movie (It's the first line, but the scene runs to 0:30.):

"I can't make it with my best friend's old lady." Really? Well, you sure can't make it with her now, Bri-Guy; no woman wants to be called an old lady! Another scene badly acted and another situation badly managed. Every time Bri has a chance to bow out of something gracefully, he prefers to flail around knocking things off the shelves and smashing the dishes. Maybe that makes the scenery easier to chew, what do I know? Anyway, we return our attention to Mentor Doug -- who is now Dead Mentor Doug, having opened a vein with some busted Baccarat crystal.

An interesting dilemma, no? Does leaving your despondent drunk friend alone while you wander off with his slutty wife count as bad management? Or just bad judgment? If your judgment is that off, should you be trusted to do anything right?

Dead Mentor Doug still has one last bon mot in him, though, delivered via USPS, when Slutty Widow forwards Bri the suicide note. Because, no, that's not totally weird and creepy or anything. Not at all. I suppose you could construe it as effective communication -- it's written out longhand, it's pretty concise, and if the recipient doesn't read/understand/follow the thought, well, who cares? You're dead! (Watch to 3:42)

We wrap up with another positively dreadful scene wherein Bri and Miz Almond have a passionate, albeit extremely abbreviated catching-up chat while Daddy Moneybags proceeds to demonstrate every single stereotypically bad thing a parent can do when dealing with an emotionally overwrought offspring in love with the "wrong" person -- and calls in the doorman and the butler for backup. WTF? Note to would-be rich dads of knocked-up daughters: Delivering ultimatums while her version of Benjamin Braddock is howling "Elaine! Elaine!" in her ear is not going to sway her to your side. (Watch to 6:50)

An interesting side note -- watch the facial expressions during the ass-kicking scuffle. Don't the Moneybags both have looks on their face like they're upset about the property damage? Or was that just me going, "Well, good thing you've got some money saved, Bri, cos that weird art thing you just destroyed either cost a bazillion dollars or was some lame-ass creation of your future wife, and either way you're pretty much hosed."

What is the life lesson, here? If you judge by the final scene, wherein Uncle Pat comes through with a loan and Bri gets his bar, the lesson to be derived is "save up some money, find some family member willing to give you a loan even though you blew them off over three years ago back in the first 15 minutes of the movie, get a girl knocked up and you'll get a happy ending. Oh, and you'll get to recite really bad poetry and your bar's entire clientele will love it."

Serious management fail, y'all.  I'd love to see the sequel to this -- I envision it where he's mouthing off to beer distributors, she's smashing bottles over the heads of customers who piss her off, and their kids are all, "Yeah, we don't know these people. We're gonna go find some wolves to raise us." 

But that's a different movie.

Theatrical Thursday: Campaign Managers

There are lots of Washington movies out there, and there are even more great historical biopics based on real-life Executive Branch events.

I'm not keen on using movies based on real events for management lessons. Odds are the actual situations were handled somewhat differently, and that's what history books are for.  Here, then, are five quick lessons from five classic fictional politics flicks. 

1: Don't pick fights in public. 

We've gone over this before, but this scene from the Kevin Kline vehicle Dave offers an effective strategy to shut down a fight before it begins in a crowd: Ask a question that even  the most ignorant employee realizes must be answered a certain way.

This scene is also a good example of managing up. You'll notice that the Commerce Secretary just lets it go, rather than bother trying to argue his case and waste everyone's time. What this clip (and the movie) leaves out, of course, is the real-world scene that would absolutely follow, in which the Commerce Secretary goes to the Oval Office for a private meeting and very patiently explains that cutting a $47 million dollar program is impossible because Congress has already appropriated that money to his department, that at least some of it is probably already spent, and that killing the program will probably put a bunch of people into that homeless shelter Dave is so hot to preserve.

2: When you are seeking advice or information, make sure that you understand what the person is actually saying.

Being There is a one-note movie, in many respects. Chauncey Gardener is a simpleton, with "rice pudding between his ears" as another character colorfully explains. He's really just talking about plants in this scene; it's not an allegory. And yet, only one person in the whole movie ever figures this out. This is an especially important lesson to keep in mind if you are an executive talking to people who work more than one level down from you. Employees are hesitant to complain to the big boss, lest they be labeled troublemakers.  If you're the CEO and you ask the guy in the mailroom how things are going and he says "fine" listen to how he says the word. Does he sigh? Does he smile a little too broadly? Is his jaw clenched? Don't just hear the word "fine" and assume that's the whole story. Follow up with some open-ended questions to get him talking. (Note to you mailroom guys: If you've got five minutes with a honcho, don't waste them with pointless lies! Make your case and be a hero to your colleagues in the trenches!)

3: Know the fundamentals of your fricking job before you show up.

Mr. Smith apparently went to Washington by way of the lobotomy lab.

Now, yes, I realize that this whole scene is a device to help the audience understand what Fresh-Faced Jeff is up against, but ... seriously? I know Mr. Smith predated Schoolhouse Rock (and the statehood of Alaska and Hawaii, for a charmingly dated reference to 96 men) and all, but I'm betting high school civics classes covered the basics even way back in the era of black and white. If this guy really knows this little about how government operates, he shouldn't be offering a bill at all; he should shut his trap and get an education before he starts messing around with the process. On the other hand, Smith does get points for enthusiasm. And for eating at his desk.

4: Don't lose sight of your overall mission in pursuit of short-term goals.

Where Being There punches its one thought repeatedly, The Candidate slowly builds to this one line at the end that sums up the whole issue. You go to all this trouble, you struggle to get through each day, each pay period, each quarter .... and find yourself staring down the barrel of the next short-term goal. Bill McKay willingly abandons his hard-left platform and values in pursuit of a seat in the Senate, and then has no idea what he's supposed to do with it, given all the false promises and loss of self.  It reminds me of a quote from Heathers (another favorite movie of mine): "Now that you're dead, what are you gonna do with your life?"

5: Think very carefully before you agree to join your family's business.

Working for Mom poses a seriously dangerous risk. (If The Manchurian Candidate doesn't convince you, I present Exhibit B: Norman Bates.)  On the positive side, brainwashing sleeper agents is a highly effective method of getting things done the way you want. But I cannot really recommend it in good conscience, even as a last resort.

Theatrical Thursday: Managing Editors

Every time I watch The Paper, I thank God that real life isn't like that, even on the worst days, even in modern times where the Internet makes every story's arrival a deadline.

So it is a lovely little escapist frolic. It is also a lovely study of three managers and their priorities, and of how their styles work, don't work, clash and complement.

Henry Hackett is the metro editor of the New York Sun, a fictional New York City tabloid. A workaholic who loves his job, Henry starts his day with a job offer at the Sentinel, a fictional version of the New York Times, on the line and a very pregnant wife (who is also a reporter on leave) anxious for him to accept. Once he gets to work a hot story confronts him with tough decisions, deadlines and personal crises and reluctant help from his star columnist, McDougal.

Part of the reason my life isn't like this movie is because I'm a very different manager from Henry. Or at least, I like to think I am.

Henry: What's the matter with Phil? It looks like he sat on something sharp.
Henry's Secretary: Well, you told him he could have Richard's old desk, right?
Henry: Right.
Secretary: And now you promised it to Carmen. Are you completely psychotic?
Henry: I have episodes. Nothing serious.
Secretary: Phil is still pissed you wouldn't approve his $600 orthopedic chair. And now with this desk thing, he's convinced it's a conspiracy to prevent him from sitting down.

Henry is frantic and disorganized. He's the only metro editor I've ever seen who has a secretary -- and an unflappable one, at that -- yet he still loses things, misses deadlines and can't keep his desk organized. 

Wilder: I struck out with the cops. There's something definitely going on. None of those sons of bitches are talking.
Henry: Where did you go?
Wilder: Police headquarters.
Henry: You gotta go to the precinct for this! Of course nobody's talking at headquarters!

Henry also spends a lot of time reacting when he could simply strategize better and do a better job prepping his staff to do their jobs. Presumably Henry knows Wilder is a stiff who will do the obvious yet incorrect thing. How hard would it have been for Henry to direct the guy to the precinct in the first place rather than wasting precious hours getting the runaround? Ultimately, Henry runs off to the precinct to get the quote himself with McDougal, who might benefit some from the experience, but if we accept that McDougal is operating at 80 or 90 percent, it should be Henry's job to bring the 30-percenters up to at least 50.

On the other hand, Henry does love his job and the industry, and he is beloved by most of his staff. He lets people try, and then, in his finer moments, helps them improve.

Ray: (for the fifteenth time in as many minutes) You got another word for ...
Henry: I got another word for all of them. Get out of the chair.
Ray: No, don't change that! (Reads over Henry's shoulder.) Oh. That's pretty good.

In the middle of all this, he steals the lead off the desk of his potential new employer. Needless to say, the job offer is rescinded, and the exchange turns toxic.

Sentinel editor: Well, I hope you're satisfied, asshole! You just blew your chance to cover the world!
Henry: Really? Well guess fucking what? I don't really fucking care. You wanna know fucking why? Because I don't fucking live in the fucking world! I live in fucking New York City! So go fuck yourself! (Henry slams down telephone back on the receiver.)
Henry's Secretary: You handled that well.
Henry: Thank you.

I rather get the feeling that Henry's secretary might be better at Henry's job than he is.

As the above exchange indicates, one of Henry's biggest problems is that he can't manage up at all. His issues with authority and inability to respond to the needs of others are sprinkled through the movie. Most detrimental to the current situation, he can't handle his boss, managing editor Alicia Clark, at all. Alicia is very good at a thankless job, but she hates her position and she resents Henry for making it harder on her.

Alicia: You son of a bitch. You promised me.
Henry: For God's sakes, Alicia. We're not gonna ask some news reporter to wait until after 5 to make out-of-state phone calls. It's ridiculous. I'm not gonna do it.
Alicia: Oh, fine! Let's let them make free phone sex calls too.
Henry: You mean as a kind of bonus? That's not a bad idea. Why don't you start with Phil?
Phil: Start what with Phil?
Alicia: You think my job's easy? You think it's fun firing people?
Phil: "Firing people"? Is that what you're gonna start with me?

Editor in Chief Bernie White does his best to give Alicia a pep talk when she comes in sniffing after a raise, but she is intractable.

Bernie: I know you loved running Features. I know Keighley shoved you into this administrative job you didn't want.
Alicia: I never knew how isolating it was gonna be. There are not exactly a lot of laughs around my office these days.
Bernie: You're in management. If everybody loved you, you'd be doing something wrong. But the fact is, I think you're working miracles with the job . . .  Thank you. But there's no more money for you. There's a ceiling in this business, and you're hitting your head on it.
Alicia: Okay. Fine. My contract's up in 8 months. I'd like permission to start interviewing now. You leave me no choice. That contract leaves me no choice.
Bernie: Pardon me saying this, and I know I'm no one to talk ... but the problem isn't with your contract.  ... Talk to Bruno about the decoration, renovation, whatever. Ask him to be reasonable. Your husband's a reasonable guy. Or give up the nights in town Bruno doesn't know about.
Alicia: What?
Bernie: It won't lead anywhere good. I know what I'm talking about.
Alicia: I'm gonna see Keighley tonight at the benefit. It's obvious that I'm gonna have to take this up with him directly.
Bernie: If you go over my head on this, you'll only make it worse for yourself.

Alicia, predictably, ignores Bernie's completely on-point advice and winds up confronting the publisher, Graham Keighley, at a social event and subsequently embarrassing herself when he brushes her off. She then goes on to round out her evening by firing Henry. Her priority: keeping down publishing costs. His priority: Getting the story right. 

Alicia: Given the information we had, it's right.
Henry: Yeah, but it's not right. I got a cop. I got a quote. It's wrong.
Alicia: Not today. Tomorrow it's wrong. We only have to be right for a day.
Henry: This shouldn't be semantics or money. People will read this, and they'll believe us.
Alicia: People take the "Sun" with a grain of salt. We'll run yours tomorrow.
Henry: No! Not tomorrow! Right fucking now today!
Alicia: I bet you thought it would never catch up with you-- that I don't know the shit you guys say about me. You think I don't get the bean counter jokes or understand your snide shit? You don't even have a college degree. You couldn't take the shit I put up with! You assholes think I don't know that you wait until I leave before you sneak off to the Bear's Head? Can't invite me for a lousy drink.
Henry: You jerk, it's not about you or me!
Alicia: Never thought it'd catch up with you. Well, fuck you. It catches up today. We run what we've got.

So many things wrong here.  Alicia's been in news long enough to know this merits blowing the budget. Henry's been in news long enough to know that union pressmen and truck drivers are fricking expensive. If there were any sort of reasonable employee-boss relationship here all this would have been figured out much earlier.  Newspapers push deadlines for big stories. If Alicia is as good at her job as is implied, she'd have budgeted for this sort of thing -- and she probably has, but she's pissed off at Henry not doing what he was told. Her resentment takes over, she has the upper hand and she uses it. Later, however, in trying to defend herself to McDougal, she realizes she's gotten it wrong.

McDougal: What do you want me to say? "Good job. You struck a blow for journalistic integrity today"? I can't do it. You abused your position to settle a personal score. It is what it is. Live with it. Henry was right.
Alicia: Henry was glib, that's all. I've become "everything I used to hate." What does that even mean? Henry wouldn't have a newspaper to work on if I hadn't saved it.
McDougal; Henry doesn't have a newspaper to work on. You fired him, remember?
Alicia: Oh, please! I'm ODing on righteous indignation tonight. We're not exactly the Washington Post, okay?
McDougal: No, we're not. We run stupid headlines because we think they're funny. We run maimings on the front page because we got good art. And I spend three weeks bitching about my car because it sells papers. But at least it's the truth. As far as I can remember we never, ever, ever knowingly got a story wrong. Until tonight.

Of course, while Alicia is on the phone trying to get Henry's story back on the press, she gets shot. So no good deed goes unpunished, I guess.

(And what about that press run? The presses are running with the wrong story plated when Henry shows up. They keep running through the fight, through the aftermath, through the time it takes to get to a bar and sit down and have a conversation, plus they run through the time it takes Alicia to be shot, get in an ambulance, get to a hospital - IN NEW YORK! -- and fight with a bunch of doctors over getting a phone. Surely the press run would be nearly over by the time she finally made the call, wouldn't it?)

The pater familias of the picture, of course, is Bernie, though he denies it. He is at a point in his career where he can take the long view. He acknowledges his screwups, he accepts his place, and he refuses to be pushed into roles he doesn't want. 

Henry: Look, Bernie. I know you know about the Sentinel interview. It's an assistant managing editor thing. It's really more sideways than up. You can jump in here anytime.
Bernie: What are you looking for? You want me to make it easy for you to go to another paper? You want a ride uptown? You want me to wait outside and think positive thoughts? That's not my job. My job is to keep your ass downstairs.
Henry: What am I supposed to do?
Bernie: I don't know.
Henry: It's nine to five. It's more money. It's less hours. Martha-- We're having the baby, and she gave up her job. So it's for her. That's ... OK. Not just for her. It's for me too. Bernie, you've got kids. How'd you keep doing the job?
Bernie: Don't ask marital advice from a guy with two ex-wives  and a daughter that won't speak to him. The problem with being my age is everybody thinks you're a father figure. But you're really just the same asshole you always were. You do have a problem, Henry, but it's your problem.
Henry: Thanks, Bernie. You've been a big help.

Bernie is old, he's tired, he's sick, he's a sage. He uses stories to make his points, though Alicia won't listen.

Bernie: Let me tell you a story. Sit down. Sit down. It won't take long. Very interesting. You'll like it. In '68, a bunch of us were covering the Olympics in Grenoble decided to go to the best restaurant in town. Now, the menu didn't have any prices but we were on expense account, so we figured, "Fuck it," got drunk. Somehow there ended up being a bunch of us at the table and when the cheque came. it was $5,000.
Alicia: Jesus!
Bernie: Exactly. So now we're all starting to point fingers. We're trying to remember who invited who. We're talking about going to Western Union to get money cabled. And just when it was getting really embarrassing, this funny-looking old guy at the next table called the maitre d' over. Old guy. He drew a couple of squiggly lines on a napkin signed his name, winked at us, and that was that. The old guy was Pablo Picasso, and that napkin paid our bill.
Alicia: So? I'm not sure I caught the segue here.
Bernie: The people we cover, we move in their world, but it is their world. You can't live like them. You'll never keep up. If you try to make this job about the money, you'll be nothing but miserable, because we don't get the money.Never have, never will.

On the other hand, he is still a boss.

Alicia: If we miss them, the subway is page one.
Henry: The subway is bullshit!
Bernie: You don't have it, you know it. You wanna run the story? You got five hours. Get the story. Do your job! Do your job! Don't just take a position because it's the opposite of what she says! It's like watching a bunch of sixth graders, for Christ's sake! You make damn sure Photo's at the perp walk. I mean damn sure.

But in the end, the story all comes back to Henry.  The right story hits newstands, he has a new baby, his wife forgives him, presumably he still has a job, he got his way on all of it -- and odds are he hasn't learned a damn thing. He is a journalist, after all, and we are stubborn creatures.

News Anchor: Because your whole world can change in 24 hours. 

Or, you know, not.

Theatrical Thursday: Inherit the Windbags

It would be very easy for me to have gone the obvious route for legal movies and explored everyone's paragon of honor, justice and virtue, Atticus Finch.

Maybe someday. But not today.

Instead, I'm going to look at another famous courtroom movie, but from the view of an understated and secondary character: Judge Mel Coffey in Inherit the Wind.

See? I bet you didn't even know that guy had a name, did you?

This is a trial, not a dog and pony show. You reporters keep your voices down or I'll ban you from the court.

The judge in this movie -- played by my old favorite, Harry Morgan -- has a tough job, when you think about it. He's got to maintain standards and decorum in a high-profile case getting a lot of publicity and a huge audience. Worse than that, he's got two celebrity lawyers -- Matthew Brady, played by Frederic March, and Henry Drummond, played by Spencer Tracy -- whom he has to keep in check while they rail against each other with ever increasing eloquence and vehemence.

It isn't easy to manage rock stars. The underling version of an impossiboss, their egos fill the room before their bodies are in the front door. And it isn't as if that ego is unwarranted -- I mean, we're talking about a rock star. They had to be doing something right for some extended period of time to attain that status. And they'll take every opportunity to flaunt it and challenge you. And if you let them get away with it, odds are their lesser counterparts will go for it too.

Prosecutor Tom Davenport: Objection! Jactitation.
Coffey: Errrr, counsel uses a word with which the bench is not familiar.
Prosecutor: Jactitation -- a specious or false premise, in this instance as to the murder of known or unknown persons.
Coffey: Objection sustained.

Coffey does his best with what he has been handed, and frankly, he is to be emulated in many regards. The crux of the matter is that the defense wants to put the law on trial instead of the man. Coffey tries to adhere to the fact that the law is not on trial, a man is on trial for breaking that law. And he doesn't let the defense do any end-runs around that fact. But he also understands both attorneys' need to pontificate and lets them go on at length.  In fact, while it makes for a great and highly quotable movie, the truth is he probably lets both attorneys go on for too long. It's highly unlikely that such grandstanding would be tolerated in a real courtroom.

But Coffey does slip occasionally. When Brady becomes too fierce in his questioning of Rachel Brown, the defendant's girlfriend, Coffey doesn't intervene. Not only is this needlessly cruel, it also puts the defense at a disadvantage as she is clearly too distraught to be a useful witness. In a work situation, allowing such abuse is even more inhumane and dangerous. You can have the most amazingly talented wunderkind on earth in your employ, but the fact is, if you let him get away with acting like the company owes him everything for being that wunderkind, it is likely to cost you. At best, your crew will lose respect for you, and at worst, they'll walk out on you. No matter how good one guy is, chances are slim he can do the work of an entire team. If he could, you would have downsized ages ago, right? 

And even Coffey has his limits in dealing with attitude.

Coffey: I hope counsel does not mean to imply that this court is bigoted.
Drummond: Well, your honor has the right to hope.
Coffey: I have the right to do more than that.
Drummond: You have the power to do more than that.
Coffey: And I exercise that power. Col. Drummond, I order you to show cause tomorrow morning at 10 o'clock why you should not be be held in contempt of this court. And in the meantime I order you held in custody of the bailiff. Bail set at $2,000.
Drummond: $2,000? Why don't you make it $4,000?
Coffey: It's 4, Col. Drummond.

While Coffey clearly has some sympathy for the prosecution, and while the end of the movie shows his motives are not entirely pure, (he hands down a light sentence after being reminded that elections are looming,) he nonetheless manages to keep things in check, taking a no-nonsense approach to rendering a fair trial. And at the end of the trial, Brady offends Coffey to the point that he cuts off indulgence and becomes more even-handed, adjourning court rather than allowing Brady to deliver his closing remarks to a national radio audience.

Col. Drummond's point of procedure is well taken. I'm sure everyone here will wish to remain after the court is adjourned to hear your address.

In the long run, that may be one of the best things you can do for a rock star -- remind them that entire constellations eventually burn out, and they would do well to keep their wits about them for when their turn comes. But in the meantime, it's up to you to decide where  you are going to balance their insufferable and invaluable aspects. 

Theatrical Thursday: Management Goes Up to Eleven

Mockumentary week would not be complete without the granddaddy of them all, would it? This Is Spinal Tap satirizes the pretension and juvenile delinquency of rock bands while skewering the deifying -- nay, ass-kissing -- tone of rockumentaries of the time.

Band members  David St. Hubbins, Derek Smalls and Nigel Tufnel are the core of the group Spinal Tap, which is being followed by cameras on a 1982 U.S. tour. David and Nigel are able musicians trapped in the brains of immature morons. But they are pure genius compared with their manager, Ian Faith.

Ian: The Boston gig has been canceled...
David: What?
Ian: Yeah. I wouldn't worry about it though, it's not a big college town.

Again, this is satire, so to make to big a deal of it is to risk appearing as if I don't get the joke. I do, believe me. But the sad truth is there are people like Ian out there, flailing away in a position that is clearly beyond their abilities and understanding.

Artist Relations' Bobbi Flekman: You put a greased naked woman on all fours with a dog collar around her neck, and a leash, and a man's arm extended out up to here, holding onto the leash, and pushing a black glove in her face to sniff it. You don't find that offensive? You don't find that sexist?
Ian: This is 1982, Bobbi, c'mon!
Bobbi: That's right, it's 1982! Get out of the '60s. We don't have this mentality anymore.
Ian: Well, you should have seen the cover they wanted to do! It wasn't a glove, believe me.

Not that he has much to work with in the way of reasonable employers.

Nigel: There's a problem here, I don't even know where to start.
Ian: Sound check?
Nigel: No no no no, look. Look, this ... this miniature bread. It's like, I've been working with this for about a half an hour now. I can't figure out ... You've got this ...
Ian: You'd like bigger bread?
Nigel: Exactly! I don't understand how...
Ian: You could just fold it though...
Nigel: Well no, then it's half the size
Ian: Fold the meat.
Nigel: Yeah then it breaks apart like this.
Ian:  Well, no put it on the bread like this...see?
Nigel: But then if you keep folding it it keeps breaking.
Ian: Why would you keep folding it?
Nigel: Everything has to be folded. And then it's this, and I don't want this, I want large bread so that I can put this, so then it's like this, but then this doesn't work, cuz then its all ...
Ian:  Cuz it hangs out like that.
Nigel: Look, would you be holding this?
Ian: No I wouldn't want to eat that.
Nigel: Alright. Exhibit A. Then we move onto this... Look, look who's in here, no one, and then in here there's a little guy. It's a complete catastrophe!
Ian:  No, no, you're right.
Nigel: No really, it's no big deal, it's a joke, it's a joke.
Ian: I really don't want it to affect your performance.
Nigel: It's not going to affect my performance, don't worry about it, alright? It does disturb me, but I rise above it, I'm a professional.

The final straw with Ian, of course, is the famous Stonehenge scene, when Nigel suggests staging a performance of their epic song complete with a lavish stage show, and Ian provides a set that is 18 inches high.

David: I do not, for one, think that the problem was that the band was down. I think that the problem may have been, that there was a Stonehenge monument on the stage that was in danger of being crushed by a dwarf. Alright? That tended to understate the hugeness of the object.
Ian: I really think you're just making much too big a thing out of it.
Derek: Making a big thing out of it would have been a good idea.

When David suggests his girlfriend, Jeanine, should co-manage the group, Ian quits.

Jeanine: If it got solved, that would be alright, but it doesn't get solved. I mean what do you think happened out there? What got solved tonight?
Ian: For one thing that goes wrong... one... one single thing that goes wrong, a hundred things go right. Do you know what I spend my time doing? I sleep two or three hours a night. There's no sex and drugs for Ian, David. Do you know what I do? I find lost luggage. I locate mandolin strings in the middle of Austin!

(The whole scene with Ian quitting is pretty spectacular, but I couldn't find a clip and didn't want to transcribe three pages. If you're interested, you can read it here, starting on page 29.)

Things continue to go downhill for the band: Jeanine is better at some things than Ian, but completely marginalizes Nigel until he quits. Finally, as what is left of the band considers doing a musical on Jack the Ripper, Nigel pops up and announces the group is big in Japan and that Ian wants to do a tour. So off they go ... and that's the end.

So there you have it. You can't be a competent manager unless you know your field and have some idea of what you're trying to accomplish -- and having some strong babysitting skills never hurts.  End of lecture. Up until the reasonably optimistic ending, the whole existence of Ian and the band reminds me of a management parable that is rather in keeping with the spirit of Spinal Tap -- except the moral actually winds up making sense:

A turkey is chatting with a bull. "I would love to be able to get to the top of that tree," sighs the turkey. "But I haven't got the energy."
"Well, why don't you nibble on some of my droppings?" asks the bull. "They are packed with nutrients."
The turkey pecks at a lump of dung, and finds it actually gives him enough strength to reach the lowest branch of the tree. The next day, after eating some more dung, he reaches the second branch. Finally after a fourth night, the turkey is proudly perched at the top of the tree -- whereupon a farmer spots him, shoots him, and takes him home as dinner.
Moral of the story? Bullshit might get you to the top, but it won't keep you there.

Theatrical Thursday: Toying With Success

Fifteen years after the original Toy Story was released, this month sees the third installment coming to theaters near you.  Andy is off to college (which would make him 20 in real time, but let's not quibble,) and the toys are in a state of anxiety about what their future holds.

Change is hard. Change is scary.  But a good leader makes change much easier to bear, where a bad leader will succumb.  This theme has been explored to one degree or another in the previous films, and it isn't surprising to find it pop up again here.

In Toy Story -- where we first meet the platoon of playthings -- Woody the cowboy is the de facto leader of Andy's toys. He's an amiable, laid back leader: The atmosphere is comfortable, there is got job security, he is respected and his colleagues are happy. He is a good manager. He keeps things running smoothly, there are staff meetings to keep everyone apprised of new developments, he nurtures his staff and shows enthusiasm and encouragement.

Woody: Hey, Etch... Draw!
[Etch draws a picture of a gun]
Woody: D'oh! Got me again! Etch, you've been working on that draw. Fastest knobs in the west.

And then things change. The spiffy new Buzz Lightyear Space Ranger comes on the scene. Woody's status as most favored is endangered. And he does not take it well. He gets jealous, he gets angry, he resents that the toys gravitate toward something fresh and new. While he is seething and feeling neglected, Buzz is making friends and helping the toys improve themselves.  Buzz is a charismatic leader with lots of flash -- the "women want to do him, men want to be him" guy.

Woody makes some crucial errors here. First of all, fostering an unnecessary competition with the new guy is just asking for trouble. You never pick a fight you don't know for sure you can win.  Secondly, he lets the problem consume him. Losing self-confidence in the face of someone younger/faster/smarter is completely natural, but allowing everyone else to see how much it bugs you means you lose more than confidence, you lose credibility. It's hard to lead when your followers see you are losing your edge.

Woody: He's not a space ran-*ger*! He doesn't fight evil or, or... shoot lasers or fly.
Buzz: Excuse me.(deploys his wings.)
Hamm: Wow. Impressive wingspan. Very good.
Woody: Oh, what? What? These are plastic. He can't fly.
Buzz: They are a terillium-carbonic alloy, and I CAN fly.

Sure enough, Woody has no reserves of good faith left when he attempts to trap Buzz behind a desk but winds up accidentally knocking him out of the window. The other toys immediately jump to a logical conclusion based on Woody's behavior and accuse him of attempting to murder Buzz out of jealousy.

But it wouldn't be a Disney movie if there weren't redemption and a happy ending. For all his insecurity and worry, Woody is still a natural leader and his skills and abilities come to the fore time and again.  He can rally a team of mutant toys to his side within hours of meeting them. He orchestrates a mission to rescue Buzz from being launched on a bottle rocket. And most important, when Buzz is at his lowest and ready to hang it up, Woody sacrifices his own esteem and admits his secondary status is understandable, despite how much he has railed against it.

You've got wings! You glow in the dark! You talk! Your helmet does that-- that-- that "whoosh" thing. You are a cool toy. As a matter of fact, you're too cool. I mean -- I mean, what chance does a toy like me have against a Buzz Lightyear action figure?

There are a couple management lessons to be derived here -- both of them pat and cliche.

The first is to keep your mind on the mission. Woody is at his best when he remembers the purpose of his existence.

Being a toy is a lot better than being a, a Space Ranger ... Look, over in that house is a kid who thinks you are the greatest, and it's not because you're a Space Ranger, pal. It's because you're a toy. You are his toy.

The second is, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. Better yet, embrace them from the outset. For one thing, you just might learn something new, and that is never bad. Being able to face the future, no matter how big a threat it seems, will make you a better manager. And if that isn't enough, taking the new recruit under your wing will make them less inclined to bigfoot you -- and if they do, you'll be older and smarter and know more about them than they will about you. Plus, such benevolence will help you maintain crucial alliances in case competition does wind up being inevitable.

In Toy Story 2, the roles are reversed. We again start with a fairly stable situation, but things quickly go awry when Woody is again faced with change -- this time the realization that his future may be nothing more than sitting forgotten on a shelf collecting dust, or being hauled curbside for a yard sale. Woody does show better leadership skills this time and makes a valiant effort to save another shelved toy, but in so doing winds up kidnapped by a mercenary toy collector and faces an alternative option: spending eternity in a Tokyo toy museum.

But the management story this time isn't really Woody's story. While he has learned to listen and be open to new ideas, and while he still generally comes up with the best solutions, this is more about Buzz and his leadership style, which is markedly different, though the components are the same. There's still belief in the mission, there's still enthusiasm and encouragement. But Buzz is about energy and motion, where Woody is about planning and organizing.

Woody: Here's your list of things to do while I'm gone: batteries need to be changed. Toys at the bottom of the chest need to be rotated. Oh, and make sure everyone attends Mr. Spell's seminar on what to do if you or part of you is swallowed. Okay?

Compared with:

Buzz Lightyear: Woody once risked his life to save mine, and I couldn't call myself his friend if I wasn't willing to do the same. Now who's with me?

Buzz's challenges are also different. His reputation is already established, his charisma and executive position is a given. His job is to take a bunch of greenies out onto the mean streets to save their friend. He has to adapt, improvise and overcome, and he has to keep his team inspired and on course. Buzz's best moments as a manager come when he is confronted with an obstacle that he has to puzzle out. Crossing the street is probably his biggest challenge: Not only is there a problem to solve, but his team is ready to quit. It would be pretty easy for him to capitulate and head home -- or at least, for him to lose his team as they capitulate and head home -- but he keeps his team together and the task is accomplished safely (for them, at least,) complete with praise and renewed sense of purpose.

(Note -- I know this clip is in mirror frame, but it was the only one I could find with all the dialog I was looking for. Sorr about that.)

And then, of course, there is the role reversal, wherein it is now Buzz's job to remind Woody why being a toy is so important. An important managerial cue here -- institutional knowledge counts. While the other toys are all attracted to Buzz in the first movie because of his novelty and exciting new ideas, he became a much more valuable member of the team when he absorbed and understood the mission.

Buzz: Woody, you're not a collector's item, you're a child's plaything. You are a toy!
Woody: For how much longer? One more rip, and Andy's done with me. And what do I do then, Buzz? Huh? You tell me.
Buzz: Somewhere in that pad of stuffing is a toy who taught me that life's only worth living if you're being loved by a kid. And I traveled all this way to rescue that toy because I believed him.

In the end, as we see, these are two styles that can complement each other quite well -- assuming they can get over the initial competition.

Theatrical Thursday: ImpossiBoss

One of the hardest parts of being a boss can be having a boss. (Note: My own boss reads this on occasion, so I feel obliged to disclose that I am not talking about my own current situation. I have had bad bosses. I know how good I've got it! Please don't fire me.) It can be tough to be empowered with responsibility and authority to run a project, a team, a department, whatever -- and then have to justify your decisions and actions to the guy who handed you the reins. Even in the best of worlds, this can generate some stiff necks and friction at times.

If you Google "bad boss" you'll get close to 46 million hits. Think about that. Forty. Six. MILLION. Think about the implications of that. How invested we are in our jobs, how much time we spend at work, to have that be such a consuming issue. How many bad bosses must there be out there -- and how many different varieties of bad boss. How toxic the workplace must be.  By comparison, "good boss" gets 44 million hits. And a lot of those posts are how-to guides along the lines of yours truly here to help you avoid the bad boss label.

But let's face it. Bad bosses make good copy because they are miserable bedfellows. Horror stories about irrational bosses grow better in the retelling, in much the same way they do about idiot-brained employees. 

You already know not to be that guy. But what do you do when you work for him? Or her? 

Katherine Parker: Never burn bridges. Today's junior prick, tomorrow's senior partner. So, how do you think the party's going?
Tess McGill: Pretty well, I think. Should I stop serving now?
Katherine Parker: Better make one more round.
Tess McGill: Right.
Katherine Parker: I'd love to help you but... we can't busy the quarterback with passing out the Gatorade.

What makes it harder? Having an ImpossiBoss who is a narcissist, a bipolar, a batshit insane looly. Who comes in all flavors and forms of unpredictability -- they might just tear your head off, or they might steal your ideas and get you fired, like Sigourney Weaver tries to do to Melanie Griffith in Working Girl. What do you do then?

Save yourself. Run away.

I kid.  Melanie Griffith lucks out in the movie, and you probably won't get that kind of chance, but running away is never the answer. It is entirely possible that marching out with your chin high and your eyes blazing is the answer, but tucking your tail and scurrying is unacceptable -- especially if your leaving means you are removing a layer of protection from your staff.  Leaving, by definition, should always be the last recourse.

That watch costs more than you car. I made $970,000 last year. How much you make? You see pal, that's who I am, and you're nothing. Nice guy? I don't give a shit. Good father? Fuck you! Go home and play with your kids. You wanna work here - close! You think this is abuse? You think this is abuse, you cocksucker? You can't take this, how can you take the abuse you get on a sit? You don't like it, leave.

People tend to point to Blake's monologue in Glengarry Glen Ross as bullying, and bad management. I'm not entirely sure I agree. It's definitely not how you greet someone on their first day of work, but there is a valid time and place to lay it all on the line and tell people exactly where they stand. And believe me, I've met employees who NEEDED this speech. So the first thing you need to do when confronted with insanity from ImpossiBoss is to take a stark naked, fluorescent lights, full-length mirror assessment of your performance. Don't get mad, don't get defensive. Be clinical. Be scientific. Ask for an honest outside opinion from someone you can trust. (Not your spouse, not your best friend, not your loyal and supportive echo chamber. Someone who KNOWS, and has nothing to lose by telling you.) Are you an angerball? An Eeyore? A loudmouth? An incompetent fuckup? Deep down in your heart, do you know that actually, ImpossiBoss has a couple legs to stand on regarding his or her low opinion of you? If you can pinpoint any flaws, fix them. Don't fuss, don't grovel, just fix it. You don't need to tell your boss, you need to show them. In fact, the less attention you call to your self-improvement efforts, the better.  For one thing, it de-emphasizes the fact improvement is needed. For another, your performance should speak for itself.

So, no. Blake's OK in my book. In fact, Blake's a good tool to have, because if Corporate is willing to come in and kick ass, you can come off as the good cop. The much, MUCH worse manager in this movie is Kevin Spacey's character Williamson. The argument can be made that he is a good employee -- that Mitch and Murray have appointed him to thin the herd and weed out the weak performers. That might make him a model employee and a company man. You can be those things and still be the world's suckiest boss. Would you set up your employee to go on a fool's errand, put him into a state of utter desperation, and then turn him over to the cops?

Shelley Levene: Why?
Williamson: Because I don't like you.
Shelley Levene: [in tears] My daughter.
Williamson: Fuck you.

There really isn't anything to do with a boss who hates you. Honestly, the best thing you can do is figure it out and escape as quickly as possible, with minimal scarring.

Spacey gets less credit, but is every bit as effective, playing a different kind of impossible boss in Fred  Claus -- a grinchy efficiency expert just revving to kill Christmas.

You see, the board is seriously considering shutting you down. Streamlining, consolidating, outsourcing an entirely new operation based at -- and I know this is gonna be tough for you to hear --  based at the South Pole. It's not just you. We're putting the tooth fairy on a one child, one tooth system.You lose your first tooth, get a buck, put it under the pillow. But then get on with your life. It's getting a bit much, don't you think? Also, we're gonna dump the Easter bunny. It just doesn't make any sense anymore. I mean, Easter and bunnies and eggs and all that. Where's the synergy? Don't get it. Now, let's move on to the next item on the list, shall we? How much are you actually feeding those elves?

This is a different case. This is what happens when an unhappy person is handed responsibility for other people's livelihoods. Sometimes, bosses just want to be loved.  All it took for Clyde was an apology and a Superman cape.

And this gets to the heart of the matter. What do you do with a bad and impossible boss? First, you try. You talk to them. Not just about the job and not just when you screw up. Try to figure out what makes them insane and try to figure out where their ticklespot is. In some cases (definitely not all, but some, maybe just a few) people don't realize that what they view as eccentricities or reasonable demands are, in fact, absurd bordering on lunatic. So the first step is to gingerly poke around and see if they don't know, or if they do know but don't care. Try to determine if you should be dishing up an apology and some sympathy or a tougher skin and a way to work around a troublemaker. 

Miranda Priestly: Something funny?
Andy Sachs: No, no, nothing. Y'know, it's just that both those belts look exactly the same to me. Y'know, I'm still learning about all this stuff.
Miranda Priestly: This... 'stuff'? Oh... ok. I see, you think this has nothing to do with you. You go to your closet and you select out, oh I don't know, that lumpy blue sweater, for instance, because you're trying to tell the world that you take yourself too seriously to care about what you put on your back. But what you don't know is that that sweater is not just blue, it's not turquoise, it's not lapis, it's actually cerulean. You're also blithely unaware of the fact that in 2002, Oscar De La Renta did a collection of cerulean gowns. And then I think it was Yves St Laurent, wasn't it, who showed cerulean military jackets? I think we need a jacket here. And then cerulean quickly showed up in the collections of 8 different designers. Then it filtered down through the department stores and then trickled on down into some tragic casual corner where you, no doubt, fished it out of some clearance bin. However, that blue represents millions of dollars and countless jobs and so it's sort of comical how you think that you've made a choice that exempts you from the fashion industry when, in fact, you're wearing the sweater that was selected for you by the people in this room. From a pile of stuff.

Another point: You might know they're crazy. You might know they're impossible. But obviously someone farther up the chain thinks they've got it going on, and odds are if push comes to shove, they'll win and you'll lose. So when you are wondering what you stand to gain by sticking around and putting up with that nonsense, remember why they are the boss. Are they the best at what they do? Do you still have things to learn? Are they testing you? If any of those answers even might be yes, then once again, you should appraise your own performance and see if there's a way to communicate with your boss without either of you sacrificing too much health or well-being.

Andy, be serious. You are not trying. You are whining. What is it that you want me to say to you, huh? Do you want me to say, "Poor you. Miranda's picking on you. Poor you. Poor Andy"? Hmm? Wake up, six. She's just doing her job. Don't you know that you are working at the place that published some of the greatest artists of the century? Halston, Lagerfeld, de la Renta. And what they did, what they created was greater than art because you live your life in it. Well, not you, obviously, but some people. You think this is just a magazine, hmm? This is not just a magazine. This is a shining beacon of hope for... oh, I don't know... let's say a young boy growing up in Rhode Island with six brothers pretending to go to soccer practice when he was really going to sewing class and reading Runway under the covers at night with a flashlight. You have no idea how many legends have walked these halls. And what's worse, you don't care. Because this place, where so many people would die to work you only deign to work. And you want to know why she doesn't kiss you on the forehead and give you a gold star on your homework at the end of the day. Wake up, sweetheart.

As Andy found in Nigel, sometimes what you need is an ally. One option is to get a mentor. (Getting a mentor who isn't your boss is generally a good idea anyway -- it boosts your visibility in the company, it gives you some different perspectives, and this person is almost certain to be invaluable as the cool appraiser of your abilities when you are struggling with "Is it ME?" situations.)

Douglas C. Neidermeyer - Shot by his own troops in Vietnam, 1969

Other times, an intervention is more appropriate, if not an Animal House ending. If the entire staff is feeling the strain of ImpossiBoss, it might be possible to go en masse to a trusted third party -- one of her colleagues who has demonstrated understanding of the situation, a human resources rep, some other authority figure with some ability to effect change. This is a tricky maneuver, of course. You have to be sure the person you go to is your ally, not hers. You have to be sure you come across as eager to solve a problem, not sabotage a career. And you have to be ready for anything -- or, more likely, nothing -- to come of the effort. Best case, you'll see improvements. Worst case, you get a reputation for insubordination. You have to be ready for all outcomes.

But in the end, you will quit. Honestly, 99 times out of 100, the ImpossiBoss is not going to change. Lack of interest, lack of ability, lack of necessity -- for whatever reason, the way they are has worked for them this long, and your odds of fixing them are about as good as of fixing an abusive boyfriend. Whether the problem is bad biochemistry or bad mutual chemistry, it's just not going to work.  So when you find yourself in that situation, start looking for a way out. The job may be great, the pickings may be slim. Doesn't matter. You don't need to quit until you've got something else lined up, but you do need to bear in mind that crazy people fire for capricious reasons. Get. Out. 

George Wade: Before you came into my life I could make all kinds of decisions now I'm addicted I have to know what you think. What do you think?
Lucy Kelson: I think you're the most selfish human being on the planet.
George Wade: Well that's just silly. Have you met everybody on the planet?

Or ... hey. You could wind up falling madly in love and your narcissist boss could become your loving soulmate. Yeah, I know. But with a total downer column like this, I feel obligated to end upbeat. Who better than Hugh Grant and Sandra Bullock in Two Weeks' Notice?

Theatrical Thursday: Fix Your Bedside Manner

"Get in, fix it, get out."

Building on yesterday's post about what to do when the going gets rough, there's a medical movie out there that is reasonably inspirational in its exploration of how people can learn from their misfortunes and times of crisis.

I will admit that "The Doctor" trends a bit maudlin for my own tastes, and that there are yooooge chunks wherein I roll my eyes and feel a snark attack coming on. But if you can hold that in check -- or, hey, if you truly dig melodramatic chick flicks -- the film does a pretty good job in showing the evolution of a bedside manner. 

In it, William Hurt plays Jack MacKee (or maybe McKee, I couldn't really get a ruling on this and the credits just list him as Jack) a hotshot heart surgeon who's charming and breezy, but not very involved with anyone, including his patients, including his family.

"Caring's all about time. When you've got 30 seconds before some guy bleeds out, I'd rather cut more and care less."

And then it all goes south. Jack's driving with his wife one night when he hacks up a bunch of blood on his shirt. Surprise! You've got cancer! And there he is, on the other side of the fence, getting -- yeah, yeah -- a taste of his own medicine (which also happens to be the title of the book upon which this movie is based.) His doctor's manner is every bit as briskly detached as his own. He gets pissed off at being at the mercy of the experts.

It is here we learn that breezy distance is not just a persona, it has infected his personality. He treats his illness as he treats his patients, just another job to work through and attain success. He continues practicing though colleagues suggest he take off and rest. He shuts out his wife's attempts to be there for him.

Essentially, then, we have a person here who is all business, and has little regard for the human condition. A bad trait in doctors, and a bad trait in managers. You have to remember your employees have lives, even if you might not. Sometimes they want to go home and watch the game, or play with their kid, or take an afternoon off to decompress from snarky co-workers and automaton managers.

Eventually, Jack gets weaker. In his time of need he winds up turning to June Ellis, a fellow cancer patient who has an inoperable brain tumour. Formulaically, the dying woman is granted a sort of special wisdom and connection with MacKee. On the one hand, you can buy this, because she's been a patient a lot longer than he has and thus her expertise is earned, and they both have cancer, so on and so forth. And hey, at least they don't have an affair. On the other hand ... why dying? Can't someone with a future have some deep insight and understanding? Can't he see a shrink? Can't his wife break through? Can't he figure it out when his kid smiles at him? Blargh.

The other bothersome thing is that while MacKee does undergo difficulties - accessing his files, being patronized, filling out forms, etc. - there are some aspects that don't really translate. For one thing, he can march right in and demand the surgeon of his choice, and that choice can be an informed one.  Any of you got that option? I certainly don't. We are supposed to ignore that part, though, and focus on how he chose the nice guy over the uber-talented shark. On the plus side, this does make way for a very nice scene that shows the best way to apologize to a colleague -- and the best way to receive an apology:

Jack: I've been pretty ... no, very ... insulting about you in the past, which I'm ashamed of.
Dr. Blumfield: Well, that's OK. I've always wanted to slit your throat, now I'm gonna get a chance to do that.

For another, he doesn't seem to worry about the expense, or of missing that much work. He doesn't freak out that the insurance companies have screwed up and double-charged for anesthesia. There are a lot of aspects missing here that really put him on a level with the rest of us rabble. Instead, he focuses on his family, and his recovery, and the meaning of June's life. Ultimately, of course, we have the happy ending wherein Dr. Jack is a changed man, more sympathetic, more empathetic, more in tune with humanity and his family and la la la. It's smarmy, but it's still a valuable lesson. 

"If I ever hear you describe a patient as 'terminal' again, that's how you'll describe your career!"

He goes so far as to insist his interns spend 72 hours as patients in the hospital, undergoing the same indignities, confusions and procedures their patients will, in an attempt to make them better doctors. (Though the movie doesn't mention who's footing the bill for this exorbitant educational expense, I feel I should point out.)

"You are no longer doctors, you are hospital patients."

It is surprising, but this is apparently an incredibly enlightened managerial perspective. Trying to walk a mile in another's shoes may be cliche advice, but -- more's the pity -- not enough people in positions of power tend to follow it, nor do they make their employees follow it. As a manager, you have to make sure your staff understands that although it might feel like they are the center of an unjust and unappreciative universe, the fact is, there are half a billion other people roaming around who feel exactly the same way.

A million years ago, I attended a staff training session where we were exhorted to view all our interactions as customer service -- not just with paying customers, but also everyone with whom we interacted in our workplace. If you promise to deliver a file by 9 a.m. Thursday, you treat that promise with every bit as much respect and importance as you would treat a person handing you their money -- or their vocal cords. First of all, it's common courtesy. If you say you'll do something, follow up and do it. Think about what happens if you don't turn over that file on time. You screw over the person expecting it, and you screw up whatever they need it for. This in turn probably screws up some other project, and the domino effect goes from there. Furthermore, it's just good sense. It's a safe bet that someday you'll need something from that same person, and do you really want them to remember you as the guy who screwed them over with the 9 a.m .file?

If up to now you've been a bit of a dragon lady, a drill sergeant, an ice queen or tyrant -- take a look at what you're doing and think of how you'd feel having it done to you. There's time to change, assuming you don't have an inoperable brain tumor. And apparently, even then you can take a shot.