Warning - self indulgent whinge ahead.Now that The Sandman has left to follow The Godfather to Rottweiller Broadband it's all change in my area of The Company. Change is good. Change is necessary. Change makes us all better people.
Yeah, like fuck.
Actually The Godfather has been replaced by BeachBabe, a rather young and pretty blonde, of English nationality but having spent the last 9 years in New Zealand. About 35 at the most. Similarly The Sandman has been replaced by The Shepherd, a rather strange northerner who speaks in staccato diktats in Management bible terms. Maybe he sees himself as The Biblical shepherd. Not spontaneous or warm and certainly not someone to inspire me. It seems my days are numbered. Stuck at my middle management level, delivering more they asked me to , turning problem staff into high flyers, singing the company song etc ...ad infinitum. The Stumbler tries to build my morale and set me "challenges" but he's a bit ineffectual and uninspiring. A kind of Tim Nice But NotDim. Clever, but a bit of a stereotypical boffin. 4 years ago I managed a team of 25 hairy-arsed engineers, a rumbumptious lot, but the team had spirit and camaraderie and virtually every one of those guys felt more like amate than a colleague. I explained my decisions, I bollocked them in private if they fucked up. I did a good job , they liked me, I liked them. I mistakenly believed that I could bask in the reflected glory of a high performing, high delivering, well liked and respected team. I thought that achievement would be recognized and rewarded. I was wrong of course. Led by my own stupid naivety I fooled myself into believing my rejection of captain/crew team dynamics and the "lets all pretend to be mates and be nice" styles in favour of a kind of Glory in the face of adversity team building style would bring its own rewards. But in these new days of" touchy feely soundbite management delivering fuck all mentality" so superbly espoused by New Labour's Nanny Government my policy failed. Results don't matter. Bad is the New Good. Reward for failure. Anonymity for the likes of me.
Don't get me wrong. It's not that I'm lined up for redundancy (as far as I know), more the fact that it's obvious I can only sit at the Big Table when asked to deputise for the Stumbler. A patronizing task because apparently I'm not good enough to do such a role full time, but a tophole substitute when The Stumbler is off. They call it acting as DoA. It means Delegation of Authority. When I was an engineer it meant Dead on Arrival. I know which one suits me best these days.
I remember a Schools programme called Picture Box, introduced by a guy called Alan Rothwell, an episode of which could have been a vision of my life. It was so sad that even as a kid it made me cry. Way before I understood concepts of socialism, hierarchies in the workplace etc the story was of a young lad who is offered an apprenticeship and starts work under the tutelage of the well respected Senior Engineer in a fictional company. The story follows the development of the young lad as he learns the trade and becomes an engineer himself. The Senior Engineer was also a shop steward, a sensible one ensuring basic rights were protected for the employees of the firm. Over time the young lad moves up the chain as the older man is left in his safe position, caring for his fellow workmates, coaching and teaching the new interns. Eventually the story ends with the young lad eventually becoming a Senior Manager and becoming more at odds with his teacher. One day the older man gets called into the office to be told that the firm is "letting him go". His heartbreak, confusion and disbelief were obvious to all. Yes, even back in the 70's they dressed it up to mask the cowardice of those too scared to tell the man to his face he was no longer viable. Why did it affect me so much then and why has that episode stayed with me? Because I couldn't believe that someone could be treated this way for just standing by their beliefs and values. I couldn't belive there wasn't a different way to treat this man. Baby has a similar view of the world. Nastiness does not exist in her world. It does of course but she chooses to blot it out as if by doing that it doesn't really happen.
Today a dear friend of mine has been promoted. Deservedly so. A friend I recruited and help to develop. I gave them their first role as a Team Leader, on pure merit. It was obvious a bright future lay ahead. A friend that I've always considered friend first, colleague second. And still do. But inside it tells me that the Picture Box episode is starting to happen to me. My friend isn't my boss, it's just that they have overtaken me in the career stakes. And they have age on their side. As a 44 year old I have joined the ranks of the "safe bets". The non movers. The people thought too old to adapt. The targets for when the next round of rationalization and efficiency drives arrives. I'm not bitter, just sad. Sad that I allowed this to happen. Sad that I didn't push myself into people faces more. Sad that I didn't feel the need to blow my own trumpet. Sad that I trusted others to have the same values and morals as me. Sad that the inevitability of passing time has crept behind me and spat in my face.
It's time for some Floyd for a few weeks methinks. Music to sulk by. Music to capture the mood and inherent injustice of life. Music to inpsire and stir the soul. Music to eventually turn the glass from half empty to half full. Cathartic music. Perhaps I'll start with Time from the imperious Dark Side of the Moon.
Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way.
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way.
Tired of lying in the sunshine staying home to watch the rain.
You are young and life is long and there is time to kill today.
And then one day you find ten years have got behind you.
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun.
So you run and you run to catch up with the sun but it's sinking
Racing around to come up behind you again.
The sun is the same in a relative way but you're older,
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death.
Every year is getting shorter never seem to find the time.
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way
The time is gone, the song is over,
Thought I'd something more to say.
Later, Deadon ArrivalJack
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