I braced myself for what I knew was going to be an awkward conversation. My former company, despite having an HR department, didn’t conduct exit interviews (which, by the way, is a red flag). And so, being the second person in a staff of four to resign in the span of a week, I wanted to explain myself to my manager.
“I don’t like the way people are treated here,” I said, navigating my way around the elephant in the room. In this case, it was the fact that the editorial and production staffs were the company’s redheaded stepchild, getting all the blame when a deadline was missed, but none of the recognition when awards came in and sponsorship packages were sold.
And it wasn’t something that happened overnight — rather, it was a series of events that built a base of resentment among the worker bees. There was the introduction of “salesperson of the quarter,” an honor that came with a gift card — but no equivalent for the creative side. There were countless times when publications were held due to a pending ad sale, meaning production had to shift around pages and stay late into the night, without so much as a thank you or a Starbucks card. There was the time our publication hit 10,000 likes on Facebook, thanks to my coworker Laura’s hard work and innovative thinking — and it didn’t even get a company-wide “way to go” email, prompting us to make several “if a tree falls” jokes.
Only it wasn’t funny, especially when it came time for my annual review, and I was told that because I had been transferred from one publication to another (a move that resulted in added responsibilities), I wasn’t eligible for a review, or a raise.
I was furious, and when I approached my manager, I thought I’d see the same frustration. But when I expressed my concern, it was met with a “what can you do?” expression, and an explanation that it was out of her hands.
“But you know this isn’t right,” I said, willing her to show a little emotion, and perhaps, some initiative.
“Yeah, but that’s just the way things go here.”
I could tell it wasn’t worth the fight. She wasn’t going to go to bat for me. Not now, and not ever. As I sulked at my desk, I thought about Terry Francona, who managed the Red Sox for 8 years. Not just because I’m obsessed with the Sox (I am — check Facebook), but because I’ve always admired his managerial style. A former player, he knew his team needed to know he had their back, and so every time one of his guys was the victim of a questionable call, he’d be up the dugout stairs in the blink of an eye, ready to argue their case.
Francona had his players’ backs, and they knew it. And in fact, when he was cut loose by the Red Sox after the team’s epic collapse late in the 2011 season, his players rallied around him, expressing their displeasure with the organization — a move that can be extremely risky in professional sports. Dustin Pedroia, the team’s second baseman and unofficial leader, was particularly upset to see Francona go, saying, “From day one, he’s had my back and he’s had everyone’s back. He’s protected every single guy in that clubhouse, and that’s why I respect him like you can’t believe.” Pedroia even said he’d play for him “for free,” which may have been a bit of a reach, but it goes to show how much of an impact a strong leader can have.
And so, while I believe no manager can be held to the standards of a baseball lifer with two World Series rings, I also believe that a good player — a good staff member — deserves someone who’s willing to argue a call on their behalf, even if it clearly won’t be overturned. Every player needs a manager who always believes that if it’s right, it’s worth the fight.
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