The buck never stops anywhere
Some people are never wrong, even when they are, writes David Slack.
I didn’t ask for a reference when I finished at Kentucky Fried Chicken because in my three weeks there I managed to break an expensive set of scales and they thought I was a spy.
I wasn’t a spy. But I was still working for Homestead Chicken on the side, after I’d promised not to. And what normal person reads the staff noticeboard on their tea break? Open and shut case, no doubt about it.
Also – and here they had a point – how unbelievably stupid do you have to be to let an expensive set of scales get shaken off the edge of a twenty foot bench by the vibrating flour bin?
I didn’t ask for a reference as I pulled on my helmet, and they didn’t offer me one.
But most people earn it, and when they finish up, the boss hands them a nice letter. At least that’s how it used to work. A young man I know has had a job for the past nine years making spectacle lenses. But a couple of months ago, the company shut down that part of their business.
Not a huge surprise. Happens all the time these days. One minute you think you’re making steel for a world-class state-of-the-art iconic bleeding-edge Auckland international convention centre, the next thing they’ve ordered it from Thailand. Kia ora.
But get this: after nine years of being punctual and hardworking and making lenses all day long, he’s not getting a reference. No one is. Off you go. They say they can’t provide one. Why not? ‘‘Legal reasons.’’
That’s the totality of their answer. ‘‘Legal reasons.’’
But they did their job perfectly well! What’s the problem? ‘‘Something something liability something,’’ apparently.
Perhaps we could blame the lawyers, being all supercautious about everything all the time.
But should we? There’s a business frame of mind that only hears the part of their lawyers’ advice they want to hear, then tells the world ‘‘My lawyer said I can’t’’ when in fact the lawyer only told them ‘‘be careful’’.
This is how, for example, the phrase ‘‘Privacy Act’’ becomes a mantra. ‘‘We can’t issue you a refund, sir.’’ Why not? ‘‘It’s our policy. Privacy Act.’’
‘‘We can’t tell you the name of our driver who just backed over your dog.’’
Why not? ‘‘It’s our policy. Privacy Act.’’
‘‘We can’t tell you where your car is, sir.’’ Why not? You guessed it. If you ask them to explain this ‘policy’ they may say: ‘‘Our lawyer told us to.’’ If you ask their lawyer, she’ll sigh and say: ‘‘That’s not what I told them. Not at all.’’
Many businesses today come in two unpleasant flavours – full of swaggering pride about their vital importance to the world and/or lawyered up to a fault. Both of those flavours seem to make them incapable
Stronger controls and greater accountability might make some people behave a little more carefully.
of ever admitting they’re wrong about anything. Ever.
Company directors have been grumbling lately about law changes that make them more accountable. Big personal liability! Huge fines! Jail! Stuff that for a game of soldiers, eh?
But if you’ve read Rebecca Macfie’s astonishing account of the mismanagement that preceded the Pike River disaster (Tragedy at Pike River Mine – Awa Press) you may see things differently. You may think some stronger controls and greater accountability might make some people behave a little more carefully, a little more wisely, a little better.
Novopay. Stuttering, chokedup, unwatchable online sport. Trying to pay your account on the Vodafone website. Trying to do anything on the AT Hop website. The stock management system at your favourite hardware store. Derivatives. The GFC. Everywhere you go, a carnival of ineptitude and dunces.
But try telling them that. ‘‘No, I think you’ll find it wasn’t our fault. We’re perfect. Have you tried turning it off and turning it back on again?’’
Everyone gets things wrong, but this sharp-elbowed world is full of people who struggle to accept that. They have names like ‘‘Nick Smith’’ and ‘‘Donald Trump’’, and they’re always right and you’re always wrong.
When I worked in PR my boss told me you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. So I’m making them a very special offer. Gentlemen: if you will just say the words ‘‘I was wrong’’, even just once, I have a magnificent gift for you. How would you like your very own copy of the colonel’s secret recipe?