Tag: young professional

Office aggression

I had printed an eighty page report for a meeting for which I was now five minutes late.

I snatched the wad of paper from the print tray and ran to the giant electric stapler. I thrust the pile into the stapler’s maw and it dutifully whirred and chomped.

I tried to pull the report out — but the stapler stayed chomped. It grit its teeth and held on.

‘It’s eaten my paper!’ I wailed.

Two startled fellow office workers came over with their mugs of tea. The stapler, unable to bear the scrutiny, let go.

Now I was eight minutes late.

The up bit before the down bit

A year ago, my team at work was 25 people. In a month, we will have fallen to 13 people. This halving has been due to redundancies,  life changes, round-the-world trips, and people moving on to other jobs.

We are all really busy right now. A number of times, potential clients have called us and said, ‘We want you to do this thing that you’re really good at and we’ve written the cheque for you. All you need to do is say yes.’

And, insanely, we’ve had to say no.

No one likes to turn away work. Because 120% of our time is tied up, we have asked for help from the wider environment and planning group in London. They’re all busy too.

So we call our colleagues in ‘the regions’.

‘Really sorry,’ they’ve said, ‘But we’re flat out too.’ (Actually, the correct corporate speak here is ‘We can’t resource it.’)

So we call our mates overseas. No joy there, either. So the client has to take the work elsewhere.

The recession is still on, though. Although we’re busy now, I’m told it could all still go belly up. This could be an up bit before a down bit.

It all makes ‘the leadership’ nervous, which is why we can’t hire those sharp and keen new grads,  or the bargain basement experienced sustainability consultants who really deserve to be snapped up.

We can’t scold the leadership for their paralysis. Although we’re doing the work, over the past year more and more clients aren’t paying. Some have gone bust, and our only option is to join the queue to see if we get our money back.

The last six months have shown a significant and sustained upturn in business. I wonder what will happen in the wake of the UK election?

In the mean time, the things I’m thinking about are:

  • How can we make an airport in Italy more sustainable?
  • What makes sports, tourism, culture and creative organisations more financially resilient to climate change?
  • What is the carbon footprint of a family of hundreds of hotels around the world?
  • How can we work with the UK construction industry to reduce its greenhouse gas emissions by 15% by 2012?
  • What are the social impacts of highways on communities that live near them?
  • How do we set up a portfolio of environmental services for small-to-medium enterprises?
  • What does sustainable event management mean for a multi-day festival in London?
  • How do we present regular energy monitoring data to the tenants of prestige office buildings?
  • Can our masterplan of a new industrial park demonstrate that it is more climate friendly than a standard development?

Bake off!

At work, they announced a baking competition. There would be four categories: cakes; biscuits; Christmas; and savoury. Home made baked goodies would be displayed and people would pay for those most enticing. All proceeds to charity, of course.

I am not a competitive person but as soon as I read the announcement email, a fire was lit inside me. BAKE OFF! I must win!

Strategy was important. I quickly decided that I would enter a savoury dish. It would surely be a less crowded category than cakes, biscuits and Christmas.

What to cook?  Damjan, I knew, had a crowd-pleasing recipe. I called him in Melbourne to get tips on baking gibanica.

Gibanica (Cheese Pie, Serbian recipe)

500g  fillo pastry
5  eggs
600mL  cream
~150g  fetta cheese
1  tub of cottage cheese
100-150g  grated cheddar cheese
milk/water

Mix the eggs, cheeses and cream in a big bowl.  Reserve 4-6 sheets of fillo pastry for the top and bottom layers.  Add the remaining sheets of fillo pastry into the mixture one by one, ensuring that each one is thoroughly covered (wetted) with the mixture.  If your mixture becomes too dry, add some milk and/or water.

You’ll need a large baking tray.  Grease the tray with a little oil or butter.  Place 2-3 sheets of fillo pastry (depending on thickness) on the bottom.  Pour the mixture into the try, on top of the bottom layers of fillo pastry, and spread evently.  Place the remaining 2-3 sheets of fillo pastry on top of the mixture, this is the top layer. Pour and spread a little water over this top layer until it is thoroughly wet — this is very important!  If the top layer of pastry is dry, it will burn in the oven.  Don’t worry if it seems too wet, just make sure every millimetre is wet.

Bake in the oven on high heat (I think this means 190-200 C, I think I always use something around there).  Baking can take up to an hour, but check it regularly to make sure it doesn’t burn.

I made the pie in time for my weekend dinner party guests to try some for entrée. My efforts had not turned out as nicely as Damjan’s pies. The layers were packed too densely and there was distinct pastry taste. Perhaps it was undercooked?

My guests loved it, though. ‘You’re going to win, we know it!’ They were emphatic.

After they left, I put the rest of the pie back in the oven for another 15 minutes. Better safe than sorry.

On the day of judgement, all the closet cooks came out. We were astounded by how many entries there were. Orange cakes, cup cakes, rocky road, Olly’s hangover recovery chocolate slice, mince pies, German cookies, chocolate chip cookies, dark chocolate brownies, white chocolate brownies, truffles, ginger biscuits, Christmas tree cookies… The long bench full of baked goods was beautiful to behold.

In the savoury category, I was up against sausage rolls and steak-and-ale pasties.

In the end, my strategy worked. I was declared the winner of the savouries!

Paul won the Grand Baker of them All. He must have spent all weekend cooking because he arrived on the scene with five dishes, including the most impressive iced cupcakes I have ever seen. A worthy winner!

Battery consultants

When I walk through the office, I look at the rows of people. My colleagues are spaced around long desks about two metres apart. Each one has a computer and a filing cabinet.

Often, I’ll see people chatting and having impromptu meetings around the communal tables. Occasionally, though, there is no chatter. Everyone is quietly tapping at their keyboards.

Even when it’s quiet, there’s still a lot going on. The activity is all mental.

Still, seeing rows of consultants working hard in their virtual cubicles reminds me of battery hens hard at work.

Bombardment

Today, I sent 54 emails. This is on a day with 3.5 hours of meetings, which means I sent an email once every 5.5 minutes.

I received 52 emails addressed to me. I’m not counting meeting acceptances, forum postings, mass mails or room booking notices.

I think that’s a pretty normal day. Is it the same for you?

Appraisal time

It’s appraisal time again.

In my last job, it was called PDP — professional development something. Appraisal, PDP, performance review — those of us in corporate jobs will all know what these words mean.

Once a year, you sit with your manager to talk about your performance last year. You set objectives for next year. These objectives then become the criteria against which you are appraised the following year. This is also the opportunity to bring up your aspirations for further training, overseas postings, and career path.

I think this is my fifth performance appraisal. I usually enjoy doing it. I am naturally self-reflective and I have been lucky to always have had managers who have trusted me with responsibility. It is then easy to demonstrate my competence when appraisal time comes around.

This weekend, I began preparing my appraisal report. I found that I am not enjoying it like I used to.

I have not completely met last year’s performance objectives. Partly, it’s because my job took a different turn this year. Partly, also, I was in the middle of three initiatives that were disrupted (permanently?) by the redundancies of my collaborators.

It’s also becoming difficult to think of what I want to achieve next year. My role has moved beyond my job description. I suspect that my career will be whatever I decide to make it. There is no longer a defined path and as I look around me, there isn’t an obvious person that I should be modelling.

This freedom (and murkiness) should be exciting and ultimately rewarding.

Well, I believe it will be. However, first I need to get through the brain-hurting exercise of thinking through and spelling out my career development goals for next year.

Goodbye, cheerio

I have been signing off my emails with ‘cheerio’ since long before I arrived in the UK. According to my email archive, I first used ‘cheerio’ on 18 May 2003. I use it to sign off personal email, and at work with people I’ve met or talked to more than a couple of times.

I can’t remember why I started using it. I like ‘cheerio’ a lot. It sounds friendly — a bit cute, a bit cheerful. I imagine myself doing a little wave, as I hit ‘send’.

Two weekends ago, I read an article that said that the email sign off ‘cheers’ is too casual.

Then ‘cheerio’ must be even more so. I’ve always supposed some people think it’s overly cute but I never worried about it until now. (The article also said that ‘cheers’ is faux British, which is a criticism we here can ignore.)

So I started thinking about other email closing options. While I like the balance of formality and friendliness in ‘best’, I can’t use it because I have a thing about grammar. Closing with an adjective is just a bit strange to me.

I use ‘best regards’ for my professional correspondence. It is too formal to replace ‘cheerio’. By that same token, ‘sincerely’, ‘kind regards’, ‘faithfully’ and ‘cordially’ are similarly discounted.

‘Yours’ and ‘warmly’ is too intimate.

No sign off is sometimes too abrupt.

Perhaps my correspondents haven’t noticed, but I haven’t used ‘cheerio’ since 10 August, except for a single slip up on the 17th.

Instead I’ve been rotating, as appropriate, the following pool of closing salutations:

  • Nothing — good for short emails as part of a longer discussion
  • ‘Thanks’ and ‘thanks again’ — always works for emails in which you ask for a favour
  • ‘Hope that helps’ — responding to other people’s emails that end in ‘thanks’.
  • ‘See you soon’, ‘talk soon’ — especially when you’re arranging a meeting or follow up call
  • ‘Hope the rest of your day is less frantic’ — or some other set of well wishes that reflect a person’s current state
  • ‘Hope you’re well’ — good for people you haven’t been in contact with for a while
  • ‘Bye’ — this is, of course, quirky because it is so classic so I use it only occasionally

So many options, which were once swept up in the single phrase of ‘cheerio’!

What it means is that I have to spend more time thinking now when I close my email.

LinkedIn recommendations

I am informed that my LinkedIn profile is ‘70% complete’. To finish it off, I need two recommendations. This means I should ask two people to write a testimonial about their experience of working with me.

I haven’t bothered with this. I don’t mean to make use of LinkedIn.

However, something has made me revisit this decision. Last week I was spammed by James from a recruitment agency.

The way LinkedIn works is that if you’re not directly connected to somebody, you can only message them directly if you pay for a premium account. However, recruitment agent James has found a way around this. He requested to be my contact and in the field for putting in a personal message, he wrote:

Dear Joan

Apologies for the direct approach but I wanted to introduce myself to you and I am hoping you may be able to help me.

I work for a company called […], a recruitment consultancy that focuses on the sustainability space. I am currently working with a company that specialise in the provision of sustainability solutions, looking to grow their team in the built environment…

I would really value the opportunity to talk to you about this role and find out if you know anyone who could be interested, or indeed if you might be interested yourself! My contact details are: […]

Thanks and Best Wishes

James

I thought, ‘The nerve!’ Of course I won’t respond to this kind of spam, this abuse of LinkedIn.

Just before I deleted his message, I clicked on his name and found out that we have three degrees of separation (one of my contacts knows someone who knows him). He also has a glowing recommendation from one of his clients.

‘…James has exacting standards and is a fantastic communicator which are really appreciated both in terms of the search and selection process as well as the negotiation of final contracts. James acts with the integrity of both client and candidate ensure that the final deal is one which sets both parties off on the correct footing.’

This testimonial starts to make me think differently about James. Maybe, instead of being merely rude and untargeted, he is actually working hard and is using social networks innovatively to get results during difficult economic times.

Hmm. These recommendation things could be very powerful.

Self-promotion

We were a couple of drinks in at the pub last week * and a colleague I had met for the first time that evening was getting angry.

One of the things he was angry about was a girl in his group, who worked only exactly the hours required of us (9am to 5:30pm), and yet she is well thought of by most people.

‘People like her, they’re good at self-promotion and talking themselves up,’ he complained. ‘But she doesn’t put in the hours.’

I was surprised to hear this. I know of this girl and have chatted to her a few times. I haven’t worked with her so I don’t know how ‘good’ she is. However, she does have an interesting personal and academic background and she seems to have a lot of initiative.

I started thinking, ‘Maybe… maybe there are people in my company who are upset about me too.’

Compared to other junior people, I am well known around the company. I hope this is because I do good work. In addition, I do try to meet people, keep in touch, make presentations and answer questions on the online company forums.

While I’m good at raising my profile, I hope I back this up by showing I have something worthwhile to contribute.

I am sure that there are people in the company who have something equally worthwhile to contribute, yet they aren’t getting the same attention because they’re not as comfortable at networking and self-promotion.

I’m sorry if people like me crowd them out. I do try very hard to direct questions and work to the right people and this means passing on leads to those who know more about a subject than me.

Despite this, though, it is conceivable that there are people who resent me the way this work colleague resents that girl.

I can’t do much about this except I am now reminded that I must be genuine and thoughtful: to speak when I am sure that what I say could be useful (not simply grandstanding), and give the quieter ones in the group the space to contribute.

* Not me, I don’t often drink at pubs. I don’t like the taste of alcohol and friends/colleagues are happy for me to have water and chips instead of beer.

Microwave refugees

At work, they’re refurbishing the office one floor at a time. I used to work on level 5. They moved me up to level 6 to refurbish level 5. Now I’ve moved back to level 5 while they do up level 6. When level 6 is finished, I’ll move back up.

The company’s done its best to minimise disruption. For each move, we pack our things into boxes, then over a weekend they move the boxes and our computers to our new desks.

However, a rumble of discontent has been growing louder. An unexpected trade-off has revealed itself. With refurbishment, we gain shiny new desks and decor — but we lose the microwave.

After a few days in our new digs, it became clear that no one would be reinstalling the absent microwave in the kitchen. People became very upset. I was upset too. I love cooking and bringing my food in. I look forward to my tasty hot lunches.

‘Why?’ we cried. ‘Why no microwave?’

Estate management emailed a company wide reply, saying that some people ‘misused’ the microwave. With further probing, we found out that two of the board directors had decided that the smell of hot food in the office was ‘unprofessional’.

Cue widespread fury. My team mate, Juhi, is spearheading the campaign. She opened up a survey and within the first day, half of the group has responded with comments like:

  • ‘It’s them versus us now. Unlike board directors, some of us can’t afford to buy hot lunches.’
  • ‘So, I guess they’ll be giving us lunch vouchers for shops around the office, right?”
  • ‘If they don’t sort it out by winter, there will be riots.’
  • ‘I don’t come from a culture that eats sandwiches and salads. If you provide prayer rooms for some people, then why don’t you give us a microwave?’
  • ‘I don’t want to work for a fascist company!’

There is still a microwave on level 3, which is next to be refurbished. At lunch time, microwave refugees from level 4 and 5, as well as our office across the road (which had microwaves taken away last year) line up in front of the level 3 microwave.

‘Your microwave will be taken away too,’ I warned the level 3 natives.

They seemed bemused, not realising the seriousness of the situation. ‘Maybe we can charge a pound for people to use the microwave,’ they joke.

Now, you might be wondering what happens if people buy hot food from outside and bring it in. Wouldn’t that cause smells anyway? Well (and this is rather shocking), they’ve banned this exact practice in the new office across the road. I once bought a pie and sat in the company cafe in the new office. One of the serving staff immediately came over and told me to take the food outside.

‘No hot food in this building,’ she said.

Juhi reports that she has met with estate management, who seem genuinely surprised at the depth outrage. Supposedly, something will be ‘sorted’ by September.

In the mean time, I’m experimenting with sandwiches. This week, I’m making pumpkin and sunflower seed batch slices with hommous, caramelised onion, roast aubergine (eggplant), red pepper (capsicum) and courgette (zucchini). It’s very yummy, but I’m looking forward to going back to hot lunches.