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.

If you like the sound of your own voice-sing! But please don't join a non-profit board.

Ah, non-profit boards of directors. Have you sat on one? Worked for one? Thinking about sitting on one? I've sat on a number of national boards in my time, and I worked for them for nearly thirty years. Those experiences will undoubtedly be the subjects of posts yet to come, but for now I'll ease you into the world of boredom as I see it.

Why are there boards of directors, what do they do and how do you get on one?

Before embarking on this journey through drudgery, I want to make a significant distinction.

Many non-profits are dependent on volunteers to do much of the work of the organization. These people often put their hearts, time and money into their missions. Most of them could care less about being on a board, but out of legal necessity, they agree to serve so the organization can formally accept donations or grants. These people are quite often angels sent to humiliate the rest of us on earth. These types of boards, working boards, are given a very long hall pass out of this conversation.

So, aside from the aforementioned angels, why are there boards of directors?

For non profits, there are significant legal reasons they exist, largely having to do with guarding the public trust (e.g., public donations). At a minimum, boards are there to guard the dough, make sure no one's hand is in the till, ensure that audits occur and hire and fire the Executive Director. So, think about that job. Why in God's name would anyone want to volunteer their precious time in such a profoundly uninteresting way? Are you thinking about it? Consider this....

If you're thinking about sitting on a board because you want to be affiliated with a cause you care about, instead, get your nerve up and just volunteer directly. It'll be more fun, meaningful and truly helpful. None of those experiences are gained on a board. Don't sit on the local animal cruelty organization's board, ask to walk the shelter dogs.

If you're thinking about joining a board because you have some skill you can offer, unless your skill is printing money, your skills are probably not needed. That's what the staff are for. If you actually do have a specific skill that the organization would otherwise have to pay for, give it to them gladly and consider it a humble donation. Don't make them bring you on their board to benefit from this gift.

If you're thinking about joining a board because you and/or your chums have money, only consider joining if you plan on giving the organization significant amounts of it. If you think you'll be helpful to the organization because of your savvy business acumen, think again. Here's why--

1. No matter what your recruiter told you, they want your money.

2. Having money does not equal smart. Talk to a single parent on minimum wage and ask her how she provides shelter, food and clothes for her family. There's business acumen.

3. You may believe that you have all that money because you are the master of your destiny. Thus, as a result of all your right decisions you ended up with some well earned cash. Logically then, you must also believe that the subjects of your charity are also the masters of their destiny and thereby ended up getting raped, abused, homeless, poor, or illiterate because they didn't get it right. That belief, while a nice fairytale if it has a happy ending, is a Brothers Grimm story for others. Best to swim in your own happy pond of illusion than impose it on organizations that are truly trying to help those that destiny left behind.

Now you're probably wondering if there are any good reasons to join a board. Yes, there are.

You have money and want to make regular, sizable and mostly unrestricted donations because of your faith in the mission and the manner in which it gets carried out.

You are well connected and excited about using those connections to help the organization further it's goals.

Your best friend works for a non-profit organization (for minor friends-think hard!)and needs you to serve for a short period of time so they can meet their legal requirements.

So if you're still thinking about it after all this, before submitting your application, ask the organization what they truly and honestly need. If you truly and honestly can give it or get it for them-you will indeed be a blessing.

If not, take up singing.

For a great article on dingus board members, Check out The Exasperated CEO's Guide to Troubleshooting Bad Board Behavior

Don't tell your employees you'll decide about their vacation when you get back from vacation

Ok, so scouring the travel sights for the cheapest airfare on your IPhone has become part of your morning long "bathroom moments." If bathroom travel scouring isn't humiliating enough,  your (fill-in the blank-spouse, lover, partner, stranger you woke up with, mother) expresses concern that you'll get hemorrhoids from sitting on the toilet for so long. And, if the threat of hemorrhoids aren't sad enough- the fact that your butt-busting efforts to find an affordable airfare to get you to....where? An all-inclusive resort in Mexico where you can float up to the bar for a sunny cocktail? Your distant aunt's chalet in the French Alps? A zip line adventure in Costa Rica? 

No. 

You're trying to go see your parents in Chicago. Chicago in the summer, no less. Sure, there are all those great street festivals. But since you grew up in the city, the thought of partying in the streets with the drunk bro's home from the frats for the summer only brings up nasal memories of vomit. 

You love your parents, you talk with them constantly. They got an iPad so they can bother you incessantly with FaceTime. However, would going home be your first choice for a vacation? Probably not. But it's cheap. While you're old room is now used for eBay storage, your old bed is still in good shape after 20 years. And, even though you can't float up to your mom's breakfast bar in the morning, she does fry up Mickey Mouse shaped  pancakes with chocolate chip eyes made to order.

So, there it is. You figure you have about a week to buy that seat on the plane. You've timed it well. A big meeting that your boss has planned (ok, well, actually you planned it, he just plans on coming) will be over the day before you leave. You get two weeks of vacation a year (only one that is paid, the other is like a week you can take off without being sick or AWOL). 

With sore butt and solid plans you check the company calendar on the bus on the way in to see when your boss is available today for you to make the big ask. Nothing is on his calendar. Strange. Since his secretary makes all of his personal appointments as well, it's unusual to see a day without meetings, therapy, coaching, toastmaster classes, yoga or personal training appointments. Maybe there's a glitch in the calendar syncing. 

Entering the office, it's upbeat, people are smiling, drinking coffee, talking to one another. Oh no. This can only mean one thing. Your boss has taken one of his spontaneous vacations (which he is prone to do as he likes to keep people "on their toes"). Your fear is validated when his assistant tells you "it's a good one this time-he drove up to Sonoma, which is a two day drive, so even if he drives up there, stays for a glass of wine and turns around to come home, it's a five day reprieve."

What to do? You've emailed him while he's on vacation before. His therapist, coach and yoga teacher counsel him to "tune out the stress of work and be present in your vacation space."  Fortunately, he's a control freak, so this is just about impossible for him. You turn your computer on, and send your request out to his work and personal email. 

Day one. No response.

Day two. You try his cell phone. It goes to voice mail. You send another email.

Day three. Around 1pm, his name pops up in your inbox.

Subject: RE Vacation Request.

Body of email: Hi There! The coast is beautiful! I forgot how beautiful the ocean is! We've been meandering our way to wine country-you know what my therapist says-it's the journey, not the destination! ;)

Hey, I know you want to take that long weekend off in 6 weeks, but I think you might need to be around the day after our meeting to wrap up any loose ends. I'll get back to you when I get back from vacation.    Hugs!

By the time he gets back, the airfare has nearly doubled. He's back two days when he decides to approve your time off. It's no longer in the budget. You try to cobble frequent flyer mile donations from your Mom and Grampa, but there aren't any summer flights left on a Friday.

You start planning for the winter holidays. 

You'll ask Santa for a new job this year.