“How about a pair of earrings instead?” the man behind the counter at Balzani’s jewelry store asked for the second time.
“No. I really wanted to get a necklace. I know I found something here last time,” I said, getting frustrated.
“Yes, well, we just don’t have that much in your price range,” he said.
I started to feel like the gal in Pretty Woman who — when asking about the price of a dress — was condescendingly told, “It’s very expensive.”
But it was worse than that. Not only did this guy not seem interested in dealing with such a low-value customer, he didn’t seem interested in being there at all. I mean, I made a few jokes during our encounter to lighten the mood, and he nary cracked a smile. God, I thought, this guy’s a gem (beaming at my new joke).
“I guess I was just born in the wrong generation,” we heard another salesperson tell his customer, as both of them laughed.
As I looked over trying to hear why he was the victim of such cosmic bad luck, I let out a chuckle.
“Oh, my brother,” the guy who was helping me (let’s call him Stan) said, shaking his head.
“Wait,” I asked, “is that really your brother?”
“Yup,” he said.
After a few minutes crunching the information, I asked, “So, you’re a Balzani?”
“Yup,” he said, still with that expressionless face I’d been treated to throughout our encounter.
And in that second, I read his entire mind (or so I imagined) and here is what it said:
Listen pal, do you think I want to be here peddling jewelry every day of my life? No, I don’t. I never did. But do you know what? I never had a choice. None of us ever had a choice. Sure, we weren’t forced into it, but that depends on your definition of the word ‘force.’ I had enough guilt spooned down my through not to have a real choice. My parents told me family had to take care of family, and we would never be able to find someone else we could trust like we can you. I mean, this is the jewelry business. We could be wiped out in a heartbeat. And so I’m here. Every day of my life, for the rest of my life. That’s why I don’t smile. Got a problem with that?
Nope, not me.
After scouring the store we finally found a nice bracelet for me to give Marie on Mother’s Day. But I’ll tell you, I left that store feeling down. Stan had such a cloud about him that the whole encounter effected my mood, and that is not good for business, because I am certainly not itching to go back to Balzani’s.
Fast forward to Sunday and (hold the laugh), I’m trying to fix my new bird nest box camera which, by the way, is just about the coolest thing in the world for any amateur naturalist. I’d gotten it all set up on Saturday morning and it was working fine, but after an afternoon downpour, the inadequately wrapped AC/DC adapter had gotten fried. I stopped in at Radio Shack to see if they had a replacement.
“8 volt output … that’s an odd number. Is this for a baby monitor or something?” asked Pedro (his real name).
“Um, yeah,” I said, sheepishly. “Something like that.” I was being coy because when you tell people you are installing a camera in a bird’s nest box, they either think it’s really cool or really dumb.
Finally, I decided to come clean. “Listen Pedro, it’s not exactly for a baby monitor.” After explaining what I was really up to, his eyes lit up.
“That’s awesome,” he said, then commenced telling me how much he enjoyed watching birds, nature, etc. In that moment, we became a team dedicated to getting the camera working.
After two trips back to the store. I finally had everything in front of Pedro — the broken AC adapter and the actual camera (still affixed to the top panel of the nest box).
“I know how we can test this,” I said. “I watched the video on how to set this up and they said that you can test if the camera is getting power by looking at it through some type of video camera, even the one on your phone. If it’s working, these little bulbs along the side will glow.”
“Let’s do it,” he said enthusiastically, taking out his phone, switching it to camera mode and holding it between us and the bird cam.
Right away, we saw the tiny bulbs glow.
“Yes!” we both yelled, and then, I have to be honest, actually high fived (nobody else was in the store). It was so over the top, but genuine, I laughed.
After I got home, the fruits of our struggle weren’t long in coming.
Since the two shopping incidents were within days of each other, it was inevitable I felt the contrast. In the first, a person who seemingly had everything invested in performing well left me extremely underwhelmed. In the second, someone who held a job that many treat with nonchalance took tremendous pride in his work. Pedro was happy to be there, and that made dealing with him very pleasant. Not only do I plan to go to go back, but I’ve already written an email to his manager.
As far as writing an email to Stan’s manager, I don’t think that would be advisable, as it’s probably his father.
The lesson here for you, the CIO? Whether or not your people are happy — really happy — matters a lot, so do whatever it takes to get them there. And if you’ve got some sour apples ruining the bunch, get rid of those folks fast. Each one of your folks radiates positive or negative energy, so be careful about who is representing you.
I do feel sorry for Stan. I wish he was as happy as his brother (though apparently born in the wrong generation), and Pedro. I wish his father had realized what I hope you realize — that if you have someone functioning in a capacity they either don’t like or aren’t suited for, nobody wins.
jbormel says
Anthony,
Another great post.
It reminds me of the advice of Suzette Haden Elgin, from the outstanding book, [Mastering] The Gentle Art of Verbal Self-Defense. Her personal advice for CIOs would be “Your body language will betray you”. The lesson for Stan is that he needs to get in touch with his own feelings and deal with it, because he should not expect to be able to keep it a secret.
The lesson for all of us as managers as we put subordinates into Stan’s position is to pay attention to SCARF (google that with “David Rock” for the details.
-J