Steve from Accounting might be taking the 2010 World Cup a little too seriously...
There was a mini-carnival in office this week, as the company celebrated 50 days to the start of the 2010 Soccer World Cup. Or as I like to think of it, only 81 days to the end of the 2010 Soccer World Cup. Only fifty more days to the largest sporting event in the world or as I like to think of it, the largest traffic jam Johannesburg has ever seen.
It certainly was a celebration – the marketing people went crazy. We had a concert in the park next to our offices. Well, also next to the multi-storey, concrete car park, but no matter. Local artist HHP performed. I was unaware that Double-HP (as it’s said) was a musician; I thought it was a new, improved version of HP sauce (“Now with twice the flavour!”). We had flags emblazoned all over the office. Most of them belong to the countries participating in the World Cup. Conspicuous by their inclusion were the flags of Iran, Uganda and the Ukraine. Obviously calls to check the list of flags purchased against the list of qualifying teams were dismissed as being overly ‘nit-picky’. We had students masquerading as footballers and fans, singing and chanting at the top of their voices. I admire their enthusiasm, but couldn’t they start singing after eight? It’s a bit disconcerting when you get into the office at seven, only to be greeted by hordes of people singing soccer songs. Joburgers don’t like surprises. Sudden movements and loud noises make us think we’re being hijacked, so perpetrators, even singing students, are liable to get shot.
But amongst all this merriment were a few unhappy employees, proving once again that you can’t keep all the people happy all the time, especially if they work for a bank. The reason for their consternation was the fact that our kind company will be giving each employee – that’s right, all 34,000 of them – an official South African supporter’s shirt. That’s a lot of free shirts.
The first complaint that I heard was doubts over whether it will really be an official shirt. I don’t see why the bank would go out and buy 34,000 unofficial shirts. I imagine they’re buying them from the official distributor rather than the Oriental Plaza or Matthews, the street vendor at the intersection of William Nicol and Sandton Drive. While Matthews is a savvy marketer, selling soccer shirts, perfume and super glue, I doubt he passed the bank’s stringent vendor requirements which sadly exclude a traffic light as a place of business.
Next, someone whined that that they had already bought soccer shirts. They felt that their employer needed to inform them of their goodwill earlier, thereby preventing them from spending R500 of their own money unnecessarily. I quietly took the nuisance aside and explained to him the concepts of a ‘returns policy’ and regifting.
The final straw was one party-pooper who criticised the bank for buying the shirts because he felt we would now incur an additional tax expense because the gift of the shirt could be construed as a fringe benefit. No prizes for guessing what department this Grinch works in.
Can’t people just be happy with getting a free soccer shirt? Is that too much to ask?
A friend who works for one of the Big Five, Four or Three (I can’t keep track) auditing firms also received a free soccer shirt. However, he is a little disappointed because on the back of the shirt it says ‘No. 1 KPMG’. Lucky he doesn’t work for PriceWaterhouseCoopers because you’d need two shirts to fit the name in. There might be some merit in this complaint. I remember receiving a very nice university tie when attending the Commerce Ball in my Honours year. The ladies received very nice scarves… too bad it had ‘Wits Commerce Ball 1996’ written all over it. Sort of limits your options of when to wear it a second time.
I already have a South African supporter’s soccer shirt, which I will be wearing as soon as I’ve found a tie to match… I can’t wait for the company’s ‘40 days to the World Cup’ celebration!
"You really need to work on your people skills, Fruitcake!"
A disturbing trend is beginning to creep over the business world like a giant cloud of ash from an Icelandic volcano. No, not ethics. But rather a process that involves chatting with someone, perhaps even over a cup of coffee, discussing issues that you may or may not be experiencing, with the other person then offering their advice, which you will promptly ignore. Previously, this was called ‘being in a relationship’, but in business today, we are now referring to this as ‘coaching’.
I was very suspicious when I first heard of coaching in the workplace. My previous experience of coaching was not a good one, involving my junior school sports coach, Mr. Castle. Mr. Castle’s philosophy on teaching young boys sport was very simple: if you aren’t talented to begin with, there’s nothing more I can do for you. In business we call this ‘performance management’. If you’re a poor performer, you might be called a ‘C Player’. Mr. Castle’s equivalent term was ‘Fruitcake’. That’s right, if you couldn’t swim, bat, bowl or run, you were christened Fruitcake. I was a Fruitcake for a while, but then fortunately for me, and much to my surprise, I found out that I could run fast. I ascribe this to a necessary mutation given my penchant for being a smart arse, while still being the smallest in the class.
So you can imagine my shock, confusion and scepticism when coaching became more mainstream. Let me get this straight – we’re going to pay people to ask us leading questions, listen attentively to our irrational answers, nodding their heads wisely while secretly thinking “This guy has issues”, then dispensing vague, yet self-evident advice to jaded, bored business people who just want to get back to their dysfunctional jobs.
I’ve always compared coaching to those mumbo-jumbo, la-la land, alternative healing therapies. A little thought and you’ll see that they’re actually very similar. Coaching, like aromatherapy, reflexology and crystal therapy, is expensive, lacks credible empirical evidence of its veracity, does not necessarily require a qualification of any sort (if you have a qualification, you’re a business or executive coach; if you don’t, you’re a life coach), it may involve a lot of hugging and doesn’t work if you have a tumour.
Thus, you might be surprised to find out that I actually had a very positive coaching experience! Yes, despite my deeply rooted cynicism, I found my coach to be attentive, enthusiastic and genuinely interested in helping me. I even received some practical, implementable advice which really did benefit me! As with estate agents and lawyers, 99% of coaches give the other 1% a bad name.
There are however, quite a few fruitcake coaches out there. So, to keep the fruitcakes out, here are my guidelines:
Coaches must have some sort of previous corporate working experience. Former school teachers, lecturers, mountaineers and circumnavigating sailors don’t count.
A professional qualification of some sort would be nice. It may not help your coaching practice, but it is marginally reassuring. An old South African Minister of Finance only had a teaching qualification. It didn’t help when it came to managing our economy, but his spelling was very good. Our current Minister of Finance is a qualified pharmacist. No, really!
Being able to demonstrate how you will have a positive impact on employee’s lives would be handy. Hugs may be free, but coaching isn’t.
If you tell more than one war story per hour, you’re fired. It’s not all about you!
Let’s keep it business-related. So, no trying to find the ambiguous image of the old woman and the young women, no more trying to find your centre and no more being guided round the office blindfolded to try and gain a sense of what it’s like to be a ‘follower’. It’s dark and confusing… well, maybe there’s some merit in this exercise…
"No, thanks Richard, I'd be happy to stay on hold for another hour."
A week ago I was mentally preparing to call my internet service provider (see last week’s post for Part I), knowing full well what a painful process that would be. Well, dear reader, I’m afraid that my fears were justified, because I did call Inefficiency Central and yes, the experience was as bad as I thought it would be, perhaps even worse…
In Romeo and Juliet, William Shakespeare wrote “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose / By any other name would smell as sweet.” At least ‘rose’ is easy to pronounce! No such luck with my name and any call centre agent I speak to. The master communicator I got last week mispronounced my name regularly. Now, in fairness it is a difficult one, but is it unfair to ask for name to at least be mispronounced consistently? Hell, I’ll even settle for someone butchering my name as long they get the first letter correct. Start with a ‘J’, even try saying it with a ‘G’; that’s close enough. Pronouncing my name with a ‘V’ is a little bit of a stretch. I got his name right on the first try… Richard.
Who are they employing at call centres? And where are they finding people with such an abundant lack of skill? I thought all the people of this calibre worked at the Department of Home Affairs or the Marlboro Traffic Department, but clearly there are more of them and call centres are snapping them up before the Ministry of Cooperative Governance & Traditional Affairs gets their hands on them.
Do you need any qualifications to work as a call centre agent? Conversational English is a luxury, an academic qualification is superfluous and common sense is a rarity. Some might say that even these criteria are far too demanding – I would be more than happy to work with a call centre agent if he/she were at least polite, informed, enthusiastic and willing to solve my problem. Instead we get rude, ignorant and apathetic agents that are reluctant to help… and these are the supervisors that you speak to when your call gets “escalated”. The only enthusiasm demonstrated is to re-direct your call, take a message or cut you off.
I don’t like restaurants with long menus. This has less to do with them and the endless variety they offer and more to do with my short attention span. By the time I get to the end of a lengthy, wordy menu, I’ve changed my mind five times and am now paralysed with indecision. And that’s before the waiter’s even explained the specials! Now, the same principle applies to IVRs (Interactive Voice Response). I can’t stand that monotone robot reading you a never-ending list of options that all sound the same, only to hear fourteen options later that you can press ‘nine’ to get a human. Press one for Sales, two for Product Information, three for Orders, four for Order Information, five for Returns, six for Information About Returned Orders, ad infinitum.
This is why I’m planning on introducing my own IVR. Soon, if you call me, it will go something like this: “Unfortunately, Jeetesh can’t come to the phone right now even though it’s a mobile. To create the impression of importance and caring, please feel free to follow the voice prompts. If you’re selling a mobile phone contract, a credit card or insurance, press one, after which you will be disconnected. If you are Jeetesh’s bank, internet service provider or the Johannesburg Shared Services Call Centre, press two, after which your call will be diverted to the Johannesburg Shared Services Call Centre for a taste of your own medicine. If you’d like to speak to Jeetesh, press the value of Pi to six decimal places and we’d be happy to connect you!
