A short piece of railway track? Once upon a time…… Now the devious new way of using your contacts and corporate purchasing power to move on those difficult people in your team who just won’t go.

Let me explain….

Performance managing people out of a business takes time, effort, extreme persistence and lots of very uncomfortable yet honest constructive feedback. Let’s face it, most managers are appalling at this. Hence the grievance and tribunal culture that exists. Sad attempts are made to bully people out, ostracise them, or perhaps even fire them or wait for a round of redundancies. In the meantime morale suffers, performance suffers. A person who might be better elsewhere rots in a job unsuited to them, potentially blissfully unaware of their limited potential.

A sharp senior manager I met let me into her secret. Rather than putting herself through the uncomfortable and long process of managing PersonA out (after, I hasten to add, very concerted attempts often to help develop said individual), she picks up the phone to the Company’s retained recruiters and suggests they make a call to PersonA about possible new jobs, artfully chosen to appeal to their known strengths. PersonA, given the appeal to their vanity and ego and some emergent recognition of a souring current role, is lured away. Not long after, they hand in their resignation to the manager, who expresses her sadness at this news but immediately accepts it.

Four weeks later, the leaving party is held for PersonA, who leaves the Company, feeling somewhat triumphant and with their pride intact. The manager, champagne in hand, gets to toast their departure. Only she knows why she is beaming so widely.

And that my friends is Headshunting

Only 20 CEOs of the world’s Fortune 500 companies tweet according to FastCompany.com, yet a new report from the McKinseyGlobal Institute ‘The social economy: Unlocking value and productivity through social technologies’ suggests of the 4,200 companies analysed, social technologies stand to unlock between $900 billion to $1.3 trillion in value.

Being technologically savvy is pretty critical to maintaining our employability at work. I still feel like I’m 21, and thought I was quite ‘connected’, yet there have been a few instances recently that have made me question my ability to keep on top of things and therefore keep my thinking and my approach fresh. One event in question was a friend asking on Facebook how to find the hashtag on her keyboard. I said I don’t even know what a hashtag is. Another friend of hers replied (to me) #Imaybeoldbutyouareolder. A Twitter insult no less. It made me realise I am so in the dark about social media yet maybe people are tweeting critical insights in my field and I’m missing them? Even Buckingham Palace tweets. I’m not tweeting, or being tweeted at.

But should you tweet? Should you be an avid social technology user as a business person?

I’ve started asking individual clients – the very successful ones naturally – what they get up to by way of social media. You’ll be pleased to hear that, unless they work in media and entertainment, generally they’re avoiding exposing their good selves on Twitter. They lack both the time and the inclination to do the job properly on public forums and attach their names so openly to it – and frankly as with most of us lack the sharp wit and humour to do an interesting job. They’re typically on LinkedIn, the choice du jour for touting your wares and being headhunted. All however check out prospective job candidates with basic google searches. That raucous hen night kissing a policeman photo? It will come back to haunt you in the form of a withdrawn offer, confirmed by CareerBuilder’s research into 2,300 HR professionals.

It’s worth keeping in mind the variety of ways it can backfire, though even this depends on perspective. In the UK recently Waitrose, the supermarket chain, challenged shoppers to “finish the sentence: ‘I shop at Waitrose because …’ #WaitroseReasons“. Basically this opened the floodgates for ridicule of the shop’s posh image. Tweets posted included: “I shop at Waitrose because it makes me feel important and I absolutely detest being surrounded by poor people”, “I also shop at Waitrose because I was once in the Holloway Road branch and heard a dad say ‘Put the papaya down, Orlando!'”

In the end Waitrose tweeted: “Thanks for all the genuine and funny #WaitroseReasons tweets. We always like to hear what you think and enjoyed reading most of them.”

The jury is still out – a PR coup or a bit of a damp squib? At the very minimum a salutary lesson around what can happen and why you need to proceed with caution.

Gradually I amuse myself, slowly building up a list of stock phrases. The excitement builds with each utterance of a cliché. Will it be on my hastily crafted bullshit bingo? How should I reward myself? Once the game peaks how will I be able to contain myself? I pull myself together and ask a few sensible questions, staring intently at the curves of his mouth, and the way he chews occasionally on a small flap of skin on his lip.

“So Bob, what do the T and the W of your scrabble cufflinks stand for?” My mind whirrs… not surname linked. Maybe his children’s names? I have to know.

“Think win-win. One of Covey’s”.  Bingo. I must stop. Surely he can see I’m excited now? I even jumped slightly, yet this loss of self-control is so unprofessional. My inner child is doing the merengue with some salsa moves. I even want to ruffle my fingers through his decadent, untidy hair, but I’d only receive an official complaint.

I consider using this opportunity to share his psychometric scores. Nothing else is working. I sit on my seat and gingerly extract the results from my folder, turning it over and over in my hands. The atmosphere changes. He knows something is not right yet retains a glint of superiority. Only I know he has scored in the low average in his reasoning test. Yet it makes sense. The bravado, the swagger, the cliché but the lack of rich thinking and insight.

“If you had to compare yourself to your peers and senior managers, how quick do you think you are on the uptake? Quick, incisive, maybe too fast for others? Somewhere in the middle? Or reliant on instinct, experience but a little cautious perhaps even slow with the unfamiliar”. My inner child is beside herself, hopping from foot to foot. Will he admit to needing to reflect? To being functionally siloed in approach? To needing his newly hired exMckinsey strategist to do the thinking and create the models for him? The evidence is there – we’ve discussed as much.

“Much faster. I have no problems”.

Oh my.. I didn’t know it would feel like this… didn’t know it could feel as good as this… My thoughts are scattering …. There’s only schadenfreude….  only him…. only me….  oh please… I stiffen. I must help him.

His lips are parted. He’s waiting, coiled to strike. Hunger  – acute, liquid and smouldering, combusts deep in my belly. There is a loud rumble. Holy hell this is embarrassing, and to think we are on the cusp of some insight.

“You’ve got a real taste for this, haven’t you, Miss Smith? You’ve become unappeasable in your questioning” he mutters

“I’ve only got a taste for getting to the nub of issues Bob. I need to share your actual result with you.”

He visibly sinks as the score is revealed. My inner child skulks into the corner, no more inner salsa moves.

“I’m tired today – I’m sure this is wrong.”

“But didn’t you say you failed your maths GCSE ? It’s not an inconsistent score with your academics. The important part is knowing where you sit and how you use your intellect, not the score.”

“Never mind me, I want to know about you. I think that’s only fair.” His eyes are alight with the potential distraction. Double crap. Where’s he going with this?

“Really the focus here needs to be on you Bob.”

“What other services do you offer? I have a few team members I could use some help with. They’d enjoy this.”

I squirm, thrown by the offer that would clearly help me hit my sales target. But this is off piste. It’s not the time to do business development.

“I think that’s another conversation, Bob. I just need to focus on you right now.”

“I have a budget of £50,000,” he says quietly. I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Is this a bribe?

“Oh. I’ll bear that in mind,” I mutter, annoyed.

His gaze is intense, all humour gone, and strange muscles deep in my belly clench suddenly. I tear my eyes away from his scrutiny and stare blindly down at my knotted fingers. What’s going on? I have to go—now.

“I think it’s time we finished. I need you to reflect on the questions I’ve asked to day ahead of our next session and what they indicate about your self-insight”.

We leave the room. My PA leaps up and retrieves his jacket, which Bob takes from her before she can help him with it. The finger he’s been using to rub his spot presses the button summoning the elevator, and we stand waiting—awkwardly on my part given I’ve just seen the biro on my cheek, coolly self-possessed on his. The doors open, and I hurry in, desperate to get out for some food. I really need to get out of here. We collide and become wedged in the door. When I turn to look at him, he’s laughing. I get out and let my client leave. He really has very, very bad taste in shirts. It’s unnerving.

“Miss Smith,” he says as a farewell.

“Bob,” I reply. And mercifully, the doors close.

“Mr. Green is for you at reception, Miss Smith.” Receptionist Number Three says. Is it even legal to make executive assistants cover reception I muse to myself. Gathering up my notebook, I abandon my mug of coffee, a fine triple shot latte, and make my way to the ground floor. I wipe my mouth to make sure there are no biscuit crumbs remaining.

I ask him to come to my office. As I open the door I trip over the bin. Such a clutz! Why did I leave it there? Suddenly two large hands are round my waist helping me to stand. I am so embarrassed. He must have felt the ribs of my support underwear. I look up and see a snigger cross his face. To be fair it looks bad.

“Miss Smith.” He extends his hand to me once I’m upright, knowing that in this power struggle he is already ahead of the game. “I’m Mr Green. Call me Bob please. I’m hoping you can shed more light on today’s session” I don’t know why but I shudder. Maybe it’s the cold room, or the effect of the coffee suddenly gripping me.

So middle aged – and yet his CV says he did GCSEs. He’s of medium height, with pointed Europhile shoes and a stripy shirt. I lose myself in his scrabble cufflinks. It takes a moment for me to compose my thoughts.

“Um. Of course—” I mutter. This is what living in the suburbs does to you. Gathering myself, we shake. As our fingers touch, I feel myself recoil as I feel his moist palms. I withdraw mine hastily, slightly disgusted. Must remain open-minded. There is so much more to a person than their handshake and shoes.

“I have some questions, Mr. Green…. Sorry .. Bob.” I smooth a stray lock of hair behind my ear, drawing down the left side of my cheek with my biro, a mistake I am not to pick up on until later. “I thought you might,” he says, defensively. I sit up and square my shoulders in an attempt to look taller and more intimidating, though realise my skirt has ridden up past mid thigh and is probably ruining it all by flashing my knickers. I start taking notes and try to look professional. Why does he stare so intently at my face?

“Have you done much development in the past, and if so what would you like to get out of today?” I look up at him. He looks vaguely confused. First basic question and he’s stumped.

“Success is all about developing yourself, Miss Smith, and I’m very good at judging myself and others. I know what makes me tick, how to engage and motivate others. My team think I’m a great leader.” He pauses triumphantly.

“How do you know? Have you asked.” This isn’t on my list—but he’s so arrogant. His nostrils flare momentarily in anger.

“I don’t need to ask, Miss Smith. I can tell. I think it was Zig Ziglar who said, “People often say that motivation doesn’t last. Well, neither does bathing – that’s why we recommend it daily”.

“You sound like a narcissist.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Anyway, what would you like to get out of today?”

“Of course it’s always interesting spending time on one’s own development needs,” he says without missing a beat. I look at him, bored already as he wheels out more predictable bland commentary and only in the first five minutes. My heartbeat quickens, and my face flushes again. Damn that coffee.

Why is this so difficult? The way he stares at my cheek? The way he strokes his index finger against a ripening spot on his jaw? I wish he’d stop doing that. God it’s annoying.

“So what do you think you need to develop?”

“Everyone needs to develop yet we all need to align that with a healthy self-concept. I focus on managing my strengths,” he continues, his voice slightly high-pitched. The pressure is on.

“Do you feel you have many over-played strengths?” Narcissist.

“I have a team of over 12 people, Miss Smith. That gives me a certain sense of responsibility—power, if you will. If I were to decide to go on holiday that’s 12 people who would struggle for two weeks not knowing what to do.”

My mouth drops open. I am staggered by his lack of basic delegation skills.

Next week: Part 2, in which Miss Smith starts to realise there is more to Mr Green than poor managerial skills

Executive presence remains associated with hard edge – to be seen to be dealing with issues and people in an often harsh and cutthroat way, sometimes resulting in public humiliation or metaphorical blood on the walls. Organisations regularly allow sharp, tough people who bully and cajole to remain in positions of power. They unwittingly condone a toxic behaviour with negative longer term consequences. In the end, the press coverage on the ‘Fred the Shreds’ of this world (Fred Goodwin, former RBS CEO’s moniker)far outweighs that of anyone upstanding.

It is easy to feel hopeless in this context. Yet, as John D. Rockefeller has been quoted as saying “Good leadership consists of showing average people how to do the work of superior people”. Effectively to lift people and get the most out of them you can’t belittle them – you need to convince them they can fly.

I find it curious when early career people say they just couldn’t stomach being at the top because of the behaviours they witness from their own leaders. Actually, the true emerging executives are persistent, and find ways to credibly crusade against the behaviours they want to change. They don’t say cop out things like ‘I don’t believe in politics’ as if the realities of relationships are equivalent to the tooth fairy. They engage their intellect to argue the case. They use their social skills and strong sense of what is right to bring people with them. They are courageous and willing to take a stand without ranting foolishly. And their time is now.

Several years ago I profiled an emerging executive. Next step group board and press exposure. Loved by his team, with a strong reputation for handling people respectfully and growing people from within, commercially strong, and esteemed in industry. He was the epitomy of the behaviours Rockefeller mentioned. This man was nonetheless viewed as insufficiently spiky, and too honest to have political guile. I pleaded his case with passion but he was overlooked.

Fast forward a few years. The economic down turn, the scandals, all mean the spotlight turned on his ‘gorilla’ managers and exposed their behaviours. Some are under investigation and have had various other very public sanctions applied. The good news however is my man’s time has come – he has made the board given his strength of morality, clean record, his courage and his ability to make the right calls.

For an uplifting article on great leadership and morale raising read D. Michael Abrashoff’s 2001 Harvard Business Review article Retention Through Redemption http://hbr.org/2001/02/retention-through-redemption/ar/1

Good guys and gals do get to the top. Let’s drink to that.

Sometimes things happen at work that make you realise that, whatever the good and clean lives people profess to lead, they often leave their morals and their manners at home. Every day I come into an office largely populated by high earning consultants, PAs definitely earning above the national average, and our corporate clients – the senior executives in the form of Managing, HR, IT, Finance, Strategy etc Directors of our noble FTSE100 companies. We’re mostly rather good at our jobs. We have shiny homes and large mortgages (or none). We have corian and granite works tops in our kitchens at home, and probably Villeroy and Boch bathrooms. We wear designer labels or clothes that look that way.

Apparently though we don’t know how to use a loo brush.

I thought maybe this was just a trading floor thing. A close friend found a turd neatly laid on the loo seat in the bathrooms off a top investment bank many years ago. This was in the heavy days of non-electronic futures trading when rumours also circulated about a LIFFE trader eating a sh*t sandwich for a £5 bet (he won). My friend had a mouse living in his desk drawer – it had chewed a hole through a series of research reports and built a nest. It then lived on food left around the place. Brokers sent in meals each day to the FX traders. There was always a ready supply of broken poppadums around the place. It was all generally a bit disgusting.

So the good and the great pass through our revolving doors each morning, ready to be put under the microscope. Yet the fear of the task ahead, and perhaps the simple time constraints of getting out of the house then getting here on time, mean that clearly morning ablutions are saved for arrival. This makes sense. The worst thing about morning commuting by tube, contrary to popular belief, is neither the crowding nor the body odour, but the vile stench of cologne mixed with a leaked peeping turtle fart. Heads firmly and deeply ensconced in the Metro. No dog to blame.

On arrival people head straight to the loos. They leave the stripes, the splatters, the slides. The sludgy whirl of half flushed paper.

I hope to god they wash their hands before they shake mine.

They definitely don’t look behind themselves and use the brush.

And here the metaphor shapes up. Roger Steare http://www.ethicability.org/ (sorry to mention you here Roger) has done extensive research on morals in the corporate world. One of the most interesting findings I think from his work is that even seemingly highly moral people from the perspective of their home lives often leave that part of them behind. Behaviour – from petty theft, ill manners, dubious decision-making – is fair game at work where it isn’t at home. And that is a worrying thing. We all need to challenge ourselves, our standards and when we let them go. Everyone deserves the best of each of us, even the poor buggers about to put you through the mill on the corporate couch.

Recent research by Kahneman and Deaton at Princeton demonstrates that happiness levels out at salary levels of circa $75k per annum. I think the normal among us can relate to a figure that doesn’t leave you scratching your head or indeed tearing your hair out, as to how you will on earth manage to pay a sudden [delete from following; obscene electricity / gas bill; sudden dental treatment; car breakdown etc] bill. Yes, it would be nice to be able to afford that random purchase of an Aston Martin, or to rent Mick Jagger’s Mustique property for a week in high season without a lurch in one’s stomach. But it’s nice to be able to pay the bills. And more is better for the frills.

But not my guy. Let’s call him Richard. Richard is a highflying city executive. He woke up at 3 am the morning of our executive profiling session to attend to a non-urgent client need – because that’s the way he is. Of course by the time he reached me he was ratty and hyper in that way toddlers are when they are overtired but don’t know quite how to manage themselves. Gabbling away like Jeremy Paxman on speed it soon becomes apparent Richard (1) has a large ego and lacks related humility (2) is neurotic and obsessive in a way that any client would love but his colleagues and family may be irked by and (3) has lost all perspective on life.

He reminded me of a colleague way back when whom no one had known to take a holiday in the previous 10 years of his employment. He took pride in sleeping under his desk during large deals. But he was a nightmare to work with – controlling, micromanaging, emotionally on the edge. He was forced to take a permanent break as even clients eventually spot crazy. His role was filled the next week. We didn’t mourn his loss and neither did the clients who apparently might have self-imploded without his permanent and ever ready presence.

In the course of our conversation Richard revealed to me that he earned £900k per annum (yes £900,000, not £90,000), owned three large houses all with fully paid off mortgages, and his wife was a partner in a GP practise (code speak for creaming it in). He offered this information gratis and as an aside to other questions. As I always do, I asked him: why he worked? what was his purpose in life? If he was passionate about his job? The bold and immediate reply, “oh, if someone offered me a pot of cash today I wouldn’t be doing this….. I would be gardening all day and enjoying my family life”. Of course this begged the following question, “Given you’ve just told me you earn £900k, you have 3 houses with paid off mortgages, exactly how much cash do you need to be given?”. He fumbled, he hoed and hummed but wasn’t really sure. Then he swiftly went off at some other tangent. He wasn’t prepared to go down this path so the magic number remains unexplored.

So folks here’s the thing…

–          Rule number one in life: you are dispensable – to clients, your organisation, and to nature most of all

–          If you have 3 houses you probably have enough by way of assets to redirect your energies towards some of the relationships that should actually matter (see http://www.inspirationandchai.com/Regrets-of-the-Dying.html for top 5 deathbed regrets – profound yet simple stuff)

–          If you are a total nob and lack humility at least try to hide it… a little