Ms. Tannenbaum's Holiday Survival Tips

Greetings dear readers!

It's that time of year for spreading cheer, or at least avoiding cynicism and depression until they are over.  Personally, the holidays, well, just Christmas, depress me a bit. Celebrating in the workplace is generally awkward at best and downright miserable and wrong at worse.

So, my gift to you this year, dear reader, are my tips for getting through the holidays at work.

Bosses, I'm talking to you...

1. This is the big one. If you haven't given raises or cost of living increases to your employees all year, no one wants to go to your lavish home for a 'mandated' office party.  Honestly, they do not. One dear reader was forced to attend their boss' house party last year after a third year of no pay increases despite substantial income producing successes for the company stemming from her efforts. While at his home, his wife gleefully hosted a tour of the "House That New Money Built." The tour included a viewing of their art collection of which, as if seeking sympathy, she exasperatingly shared the price for each piece. While your staff will not be comfortable staging "Occupy My Boss' House," they'll wish they could.

2.  Again, if you haven't given raises or cost of living increases to your employees all year, taking them to a lavish lunch (or dinner) is frankly, lame. Take the $50 per plate and give them the cash. Even a token amount will be well appreciated. A bag of groceries is more meaningful than a lavish lunch.

3. If your company is actually practicing austerity measures from the top down, a BYOBFD (Booze, Food and Desserts) party or cheap lunch will only be a sad reminder of how broke the company is. Instead, give your staff an extra two days (paid) off. Christmas is on a Sunday this year, so, let your employees take Friday and Monday off.  C'mon. You know it's in the budget.  Besides, how much work really gets done on those days? Not only will your employees be grateful to you, so will their families.

4. If you know your employees will be pitching in to buy you a gift, insist, and insist LOUDLY, that they NOT do that. Tell them, preferably in writing, that the gift they bring to you is the amazing contribution of talent and hard work that they give to your company.

Employee Survival Tip

So, if you’re stuck having to do one of the above and your job doesn't require drug testing, bake some weed brownies, bring them to the party as your contribution (for your colleagues only-and let them know!) and don't drink (especially if alcohol serves as a truth serum for you). This way, you can enjoy the hypocrisy of the event, find it funny and your boss will only think you're having a great time.

So here's to hoping you get through the holidays at work!

As an alternative to holiday party hoopla, reach out to a homeless shelter* and get your office to adopt several families to purchase gifts for. Many shelters won’t have a problem allowing you to meet the families that will receive your bounty. This is not only in the holiday spirit; it builds team spirit as well. Another option is to give a shelter the gift of volunteerism-as a company, commit a number of volunteer hours for the next year and ask them how you could be useful. Or, if actual eye-eye contact with people in need is hard on the boss, organize a financial contribution to a homeless shelter on behalf of your company and get everyone to sign the card.

*Homeless shelters are Ms. Tannanbaum’s charity of choice. Choose your own. Just one that helps people in need. Not the local chamber of commerce, museums, dance companies or the boss' alma mater.

Ms. Tannanbaum's favorites charities:

The amazing work of Mark Horvath: Invisiblepeople.tv

The production of a powerful documentary about homelessness: http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1550578903/home-a-kindling-group-documentary?ref=live

The Buffalo Boy Foundation: thebuffaloboyfoundation.org

Find a shelter near you: http://www.nationalhomeless.org/

Part Two (and final chapter) of the Early Years: The Wild, the Innocent and the Cocktail Shuffle

My Grandparents in their restaurant in Wisconsin.

Waitressing Taught Me (Almost) Everything I Needed to Know About Managing

So, after returning from Colorado, Rebel Girl and I sadly parted ways. She to California and I back to a large city in the Midwest.  A friend of mine worked at a Greek steak house, The Golden Calf (TGC) on the outskirts of a nearby industrial park and suggested I give waitressing a go. 

Walking through somewhat worn ornate gold leafed grapevine motif doors you were greeted by a study in black and red. The heavy velvet blood red drapes over the windows nicely accented the tables with the thick blood red tablecloths. The chairs upholstered with gold studs in the center of puckered black pleather let you know you were home.

I worked there for the next six years.

This was before the merger of  waitressing and used car sales practices. Customers were not yet greeted with "Hello, my name is Lulu and I'll be your server today. Can I tell you about our specials?... Bleckitty blah blah..."  There were no pre-opening pep talks or tastings . The waitress had not yet become full handmaiden to the chef,  forced to describe every ingredient and technique used to prepare a meal. (My own thoughts are that food is like art. If someone needs to tell you why it's good...)

Caste was absolute.  The owner/ host, Demitri Popolonis; his wife/hostess, Mrs. Popolonis; the brother-of-the-owner/bartender, Mr. George; and the chef, Mr. Grand Pompous Asshole were to be addressed as 'Mr.' and 'Mrs.' They were royalty and to be treated with a parental level of deference and avoidance. The waitresses were the face of TGC and the busboys were the invisibles.

The consciousness raising of civil rights and women's liberation had not hit TGC yet. Regardless of age, all the waitresses were "girls"  and all the table bussers were "boys."  Like,  "Your girl will be with you in a minute" or  "Just a minute while the boy cleans off your table." 

Our mission was simple. 

1. Take drink/appetizer order. 

2. Take lunch order. 

3. Ask about dessert or another drink. 

4. Collect payment. 

If you were lucky, your table turned over, thus allowing for a mission repeat.

The soup and lunch specials followed a weekly schedule. Mondays: lentil soup and chicken livers. Tuesday: chicken rosemary soup and lemon chicken. Wednesday: tomato bisque and spaghetti and meatballs. Thursday: split pea soup and liver and onions. Friday: Italian wedding soup (basically a melange of the weeks leftovers) and chicken and beef potpies (another melange of the weeks leftovers in a tasty, flaky crust). 

Men+Alcohol=Pathetic Sexual Advances

While we were expected to be clean and keep our hair off our face and out of the food, we weren't expected to smile, wear make-up, happy pins or name tags. We weren't expected to be chatty, vivacious, or sexy.  Despite the utility of our uniforms (polyester red -to match the tablecloths and drapes) and practical white nursing shoes, the 3 martini lunch clientele required some oversight. 

Typical Romeo at the Restaurant moves:

1. Telling really filthy jokes.
2. Lifting our dresses up when we walked by.
3. Offering to pay for sex in their car.
4. If they deemed you hard to get, offer to pay for sex at the motel down the street.
5. Telling you their tale of woe and then repeating 3 or 4.

So, this job should have been pure misery, forced submission and endless soul-crushing sexual harassment, right? 

Well, it wasn't and here's why...

1. While unenlightened by today's standards, the paternalistic atmosphere worked both ways.  If customers pushed too hard, the bosses stepped in. If the customers crossed the line into scary drunken weirdness, the bosses asked the them to leave. In other words, we felt protected.
2. The waitresses were like sisters. We were allowed to congregate by the soups and salads. The older waitresses yelled back at the chef when he was out of control. 
3. If generous with the busboys, they made sure your uncollected tips weren't stolen and they cleared your table quicker, resulting in catching those end of shift customers.
4. Everyday was different.
5. Tips were good.

So, in the end, waitressing not only helped me afford to get through college, it provided hardline training for my future management pursuits. 

The Big Teach:

1. It's helpful to learn how to simultaneously carry and balance multiple plates.
2. People appreciate getting things on time and beautifully presented.
3. Be generous with the 'invisibles.' Generosity leads to loyalty. They watch your back.  My best allies throughout the years have been secretaries, office managers, building engineers, security guards and drivers. Take care of  and nurture these folks. They are often the backbone of any organization and often very, very invisible to everyone else. Also, if you can score an invite-they have the best parties. 
4. The more booze, the bigger tips (and donations and access to information). 
5. Learning to take shit with humor is not a bad thing.
6. Flirting and provocative sweetness (with men and women) results in bigger tips (and contracts, fundraising dollars and clout).
7. Sisterhood must be encouraged and allowed to flourish. It's a survival mechanism for all of the above.

Part One of The Early Years: My First Dingus Boss

So, over dinner the other night (cocktails, guacamole and these great pickles I get every week from the farmer’s market Pickle Guy) Lover Man and I were reminiscing about the jobs we had while on the way to something else.  For Lover Man, these were the jobs prior to his punk band management days. For me, it was everything I did prior to becoming an Executive Director at a smallish organization.

Except for the year I worked for a crooked lawyer, (who, before carted off to jail, remains the nicest boss I ever had), all the paid jobs I held prior to becoming a boss myself were physically demanding. 

My early jobs fell into two categories-jobs I hated and jobs I despised.

What moved the job hate/despise needle was the manager.

Our first job out of high school, my roommate, Rebel Girl and I worked at a record packing factory. (L.P. records, and yes, there was an entire factory devoted to this. Today it's done out of some guys basement).

We worked on the conveyer line where we pulled records and placed them vertically in a cardboard box.  Besides leg and foot cramps caused by standing on a concrete floor for hours, the job was simple.

What tipped this job into the despised camp was our manager, Fran (name not changed). Even today, my chest tightens just thinking about “FFFurAnnnn,” the Bitch of Highest Proportion (BoHP).

She seemed about 60 at the time but in hindsight she was probably in her 30's. Her shellacked black hair was teased into a high Diana Ross (Surpremes era) beehive. Her heavy black Cleopatra inspired eyeliner, her blue powder eyeshadow and bright pink no-fade Covergirl lipstick made Amy Winehouse (R.I.P., troubled child) seem demure. To complete her look, she wore nothing but pink. Typically this meant pink polyester pants, pink button up blouses and white vinyl boots.

The BoHP could have have been a beloved boss based on her strong fashion statement alone.

But no.

She had to go and ruin her admirable 1950‘s slut allure with her psychotic prison guard management techniques.

A stopwatch affixed to a pink lanyard around her neck, the BoHP was clearly proud of her ability to count to sixty. As in sixty seconds to a minute. Sixty minutes to an hour.

The BoHP’s expectation was that we would pack one record per second.  To ensure this, the BoHP  stood at the top of the line pounding a fist on her steel rolling desk. Like a loud and angry metronome, she counted out the seconds. “60! 59! 58! 57...”  If we missed more than three beats, she'd scream, "DOCUMENTED!!!!!"

We were allowed two 5-minute  bathroom breaks. Stepping back from the line announcing “Bathroom!,” the BoHP escorted you to the locked bathroom.  Standing outside the door, the BoHP counted down from from 5-minutes announcing each minute that passed. If you were still there at 04:30 minutes, the door opened as she screamed out the final thirty seconds.

At noon, punching out for our unpaid 30-minute lunch, the BoHP left us alone. If it was nice out, we ate at the old picnic tables in front of the factory.  Afraid of snitches, no one talked, complained or commiserated. Most of us didn’t even know each others names. Best to just look at the table.


We worked there for 6 months when on a Friday night, Rebel Girl
had an epiphany. “Let’s ‘borrow’ (her boyfriend) Rebel Guy’s convertible and drive to Colorado!!” Once during a visit with her Colorado Rebel Cousin, she was persuaded to try mushrooms. As a result, her psychedelic memory of Colorado is of candy-colored mountains, talking birds and stars that came down from the sky and hugged her. Ever since that visit she wanted to go back. “We can live in campsites ‘til the money runs out!” After about 5 seconds of deep thought, I agreed to skip out on our rent and head west with her.

The following day, we left a little before noon.  Rebel Girl decided we should drive past the Record Factory.  We slowed wayyyy down. It was a nice day so some of the employees were sitting silently at the picnic tables. Suddenly, Rebel Girl blasted the horn and like a punk rock prom queen, I stood and waved my longest finger in the air screaming "FFF-UCCCKKKK YOU, FFFFURANNNN!"

A few people looked up and smiled. Two guys that worked on my line tapped their chests with their fist. I like to think that the BoHP was watching and her stopwatch skipped a second.

Then, with the wind in our hair and Dark Side of the Moon blaring on the 8-track (an ancient portable machine used for music playback), we moved to Colorado and lived in the Rocky Mountain National Park for nearly six months.

Lest I further indulge in memories that often feel like they belong to someone I don't much know, here are the nuggets of management wisdom that I gleaned.

1. Mean bosses suck. Don't be one because actually, they more than suck. They are psychologically damaging. The impact of a temperament of someone like the BoHP could  be devastating-either internally (validating an already insecure employee's sense of worthlessness) or externally (exercising their right to bear arms and use them).

2. Work environments that feel like jail create employees that act like inmates.

As in prison, some of the personalities that emerge are:

•  "Fish" who are newcomers and targets for the prior newcomers
• "Rats" who seek preferential treatment from the guards by providing information to the  guards.
• "Gorillas" who seek respect from their peers through their unpredictability and general meanness.
• "Swag Men" who steal inexpensive items.
•  "Sheep" who are filled with fear.

3. Just because someone has an amazing sense of style doesn't mean they're cool.

4. Finally, sometimes running away is the best thing. Clears the mind. Gives you a new perspective. Keeps you from killing someone. Things like that.

For more information on inmate behavior check out:

Answering the Call with Barry Evert at  http://www.correctionsone.com/correctional-psychology/articles/3261117-The-4-inmate-personality-types/

Prisons: Prisoners - Inmate Subcultures And Informal Organizations - Inmates, Gang, and Roles

<a href="http://law.jrank.org/pages/1796/Prisons-Prisoners-Inmate-subcultures-informal-organizations.html">Prisons: Prisoners - Inmate Subcultures And Informal Organizations</a>

Criminogenic Effect of the Prison Environment on Inmate Behavior: Some Experiential Evidence by Scott D. Camp, PhD and Gerald G. Gaes, PhD for the National Institute of Justice http://www.bop.gov/news/research_projects/published_reports/cond_envir/camp_gaes_c&d.pdf

The Society of Captives by Gresham M. Sykes  https://www.msu.edu/~huebner2/CJ365/May%2030,%202001.PDF

Stay tuned because Part Two and Part Three of "The Early Years"will discuss what I learned as a waitress, which was my career of choice after I returned from Colorado and the effect Punk Rock had on my later career as a boss.

A SHOUT OUT to Lover Man for telling me my first version of this post sucked.

Let me know what YOU think...click in one of the "So, whadaya think?" circles below. No personal information required.