Three envelopes left by my predecessor
I COME from a distant time before management truly cared, before bosses were hot on political correctness, before they offered extensive leave and counselling to employees.
Newsrooms reeked of stale tobacco and every “ism” under the sun.
Sick Building Syndrome existed, but in a more tangible form. To be a sufferer, you had to be physically overcome by the stench in an abattoir. That apart, you were a lead-swinger.
Stress was given similar short shrift. It was dismissed as merely a socially acceptable form of mental illness. Forty years ago, a work colleague who complained of the condition was told: “Nonsense, you’re not stressed until you fall down and wet yourself.” Eventually, he did.
No, back in the day, the approach to an unhappy workforce was best summed up by a joke poster that hung in a previous editor’s office: “The floggings will continue until morale improves.”
Not so now. Companies, aware of the financial penalties involved in snubbing employees’ welfare, walk the extra mile to maintain a happy, healthy workforce.
I know. I once complained about a lack of Spicy Nik-Naks in the office vending machine and was offered counselling.
Of course, corporations are not acting solely out of the goodness of their hearts: they hope the tender approach will reduce days lost through sickness. And the number is truly staggering.
My uncle, who lost his Civil Service job of 35 years standing just two months ago, confided: “You know what I really miss? Calling in sick.”
He has, thankfully, found voluntary work with a hypochondriac support group where users have to ring in well.
In my case, the caring approach has not worked. I have used up my allotted sick leave and will, therefore, have to ring in dead on Monday.
Sadly, my boss learned long ago to see through my shallow excuses. It’s like a sicks sense.
He is a man who has pledged to attend my funeral – simply to check that I’m there.
Even in these enlightened times, however, I’m surprised by the perks some firms have unveiled to ensure staff are content, loyal and industrious.
My dad worked in a real sweatshop until the bottom fell out of the sweat market. He wasn’t allowed to take home his own sweat.
My grandfather was a lollipop man – he had an incredibly red, sticky and bulbous head – and was reprimanded for using a giant lolly to scrape snow off his driveway.
And an uncle lost his bank job for stealing a pen. Actually, I think it was more the polished mahogany desk the Biro was chained to.
Yet workers at some establishments are positively pampered, an online list reveals.
Cash transfer service Moneywise has built a sauna for workers; Winton Capital Management employs a “Food Evangelist”; Money.co.uk moved staff to a renovated castle with a built-in Star Wars themed cinema room.
Those at craft beer company BrewDog can partake of Puppy Parental Leave, a week of paid holiday to help their dogs settle in.
Daily paper Metro explained the rationale behind the bizarre move: “Owning a new dog is very much like being a full-time parent.”
No it’s not. Try breast-feeding a rottweiler.
It adds: “You’re rudely awoken every night by anxious baby barks. They demand to be constantly fed. And yet, that pup is the king of your heart and the thought of going back to work just days after acquiring your new canine baby can be too much to bear.”
Sports betting exchange Smarkets similarly walks the extra mile.
It operates a unique “self-management structure”, which allows workers effectively to come in when they want, and do what they want. “Why would you need a manager to tell you what to do, when you and your team are the best qualified to make those decisions?” the company website asks.
“At Smarkets we use a self-management structure where trust is the driving force. We believe that people are more motivated when given the freedom to work on what they like as part of a driven neural network.”
There are two major flaws. I like to work on my tan and can’t be trusted. I don’t know what a “driven neural network” is either.
But, as a former manager, I broadly agree that ambition and rank are no substitute for experience.
Before I took the hot seat, the old boss – someone the firm felt had lost his dynamism – pulled me to one side and offered a nugget of advice. “I have placed three envelopes in my old desk,” he whispered. “During times of crisis, open them.”
I hit my first major obstacle three months down the line.
The first envelope contained a note which said: “Blame your predecessor.” This I did – and it worked.
Just three weeks later, I reached for the second envelope. Again, the message – “reorganise” – helped avoid disaster.
One year into the stressful job, the company hit very choppy waters. I grasped the final envelope and devoured its contents: “Prepare three envelopes.”