A Boss Lady writes:
Dear Uncle Colin,
Please help me, I’m desperate.
I head up a multi-disciplinary team in an organisation of world-wide renown. I pride myself on my professionalism as a manager and as a “can do” type, and I have a robust reputation as someone who delivers on time, within budget, and often without moaning.
I am immensely proud of my team and their contribution to the success of the organisation. They are a reasonably well-rounded bunch, with an amazing span of talents (give or take), able to mesh together and stump up the goods as a unit even with heavy delivery requirements and against the tightest deadlines. (Although obviously I need to crack the whip every now and then.) Every single one of them is worth more than their weight in gold, and each one will tell you they deserve to earn more than they can ever expect to be paid.
Except one.
I inherited him from my predecessor who was, shall we say, rather less disciplined than myself on appointing minions.
I have absolutely no idea what he does all day, other than stroke his stylus over his diminutive organ, and phone up women. He seems to have a remarkable social life, but no job description of any sort. He breezes in and out like he owns the place and as if he is without a care in the world.
I have regular meetings with him to review work and development, and after the meeting I can remember not a jot of what was discussed, and have merely a vague recollection of him staring into my eyes, after which I go all warm and fuzzy. It's a complete blank after that, except I always find a note in his handwriting reminding me about giving him a more impressive job title.
There seems little I can do as he is adored and protected by my own manager. It seems as if he has a map showing the location of some of the corpses for which she is rumoured to be responsible.
Is there anything at all I can do? I am tearing my hair out!
Uncle Colin advises thus and suchlike:
No. Except maybe buy a wig.
Dear Uncle Colin,
Please help me, I’m desperate.
I head up a multi-disciplinary team in an organisation of world-wide renown. I pride myself on my professionalism as a manager and as a “can do” type, and I have a robust reputation as someone who delivers on time, within budget, and often without moaning.
I am immensely proud of my team and their contribution to the success of the organisation. They are a reasonably well-rounded bunch, with an amazing span of talents (give or take), able to mesh together and stump up the goods as a unit even with heavy delivery requirements and against the tightest deadlines. (Although obviously I need to crack the whip every now and then.) Every single one of them is worth more than their weight in gold, and each one will tell you they deserve to earn more than they can ever expect to be paid.
Except one.
I inherited him from my predecessor who was, shall we say, rather less disciplined than myself on appointing minions.
I have absolutely no idea what he does all day, other than stroke his stylus over his diminutive organ, and phone up women. He seems to have a remarkable social life, but no job description of any sort. He breezes in and out like he owns the place and as if he is without a care in the world.
I have regular meetings with him to review work and development, and after the meeting I can remember not a jot of what was discussed, and have merely a vague recollection of him staring into my eyes, after which I go all warm and fuzzy. It's a complete blank after that, except I always find a note in his handwriting reminding me about giving him a more impressive job title.
There seems little I can do as he is adored and protected by my own manager. It seems as if he has a map showing the location of some of the corpses for which she is rumoured to be responsible.
Is there anything at all I can do? I am tearing my hair out!
Uncle Colin advises thus and suchlike:
No. Except maybe buy a wig.
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