Fisher's Fables Read online

  Or maybe councillors and directors were too busy looking inwards to notice us.

  As the turmoil and arguments over cuts and changes continued, it became clear that the Corporate Management Team needed to show the public and media that it could make a difference. When this failed it fell to others to take up the challenge. People like Liz Smith – rising management star or over-optimistic underachiever?

  In a breath taking feat of leading by example, Liz, the newly appointed ‘Restructure and Rationalisation Manager’ immediately deleted her own job to make savings. As this threatened to set the whole restructure process back another year, she was persuaded to change her job title to ‘Efficiency Support Coordinator’ to keep up the good work she’d started. Naturally, she began coordinating with local pressure groups and recommended removing the chief executive, and three new directors created by the previous restructure. The £1 million saving could then be used to offset council tax rises.

  While the local media welcomed these bold proposals, the directors quickly appointed a Business Process Improvement Consultant to examine all areas of the council for waste and inefficiency. By a curious twist of fate, the Efficiency Support Coordinator post was deemed highly wasteful and placed in the corporate shredder. With their existence preserved, Corporate Management Team generously redeployed Liz into community fund raising, where she was last seen issuing spot fines to illegally parked motorists.

  Still, some changes have been a little more welcome than others. I’m no longer manager of the team. I’m now Team Leader, an unexpected promotion that fails to change my terms and conditions, salary or prospects. My first task is to write a job description for my new role and then make a business case to justify it. If I fail the post and I will be deleted.

  Nothing changes, does it?

  Transformed

  My father, the local MP for Downland, is delighted. The Conservatives are back in power, with a little help from the Liberal Democrats, of course. His joy at being back in power is dampened only by the knowledge that the public finances are in a bit of a state.

  “Of course everyone will have to tighten their belts,” he says, climbing out of the new Jaguar he bought to celebrate the election win. “I’m going to order my cigars online to save postage.”

  Bless him. He’s never quite got to grips with internet shopping, or economising.

  Neither have Downland District Council’s corporate management team. On learning that local authorities would have to cut millions from their budgets, the Chief Executive instructs a firm of consultants to advise the council on how best to save money. This is soon followed by the announcement that a new post of Director of Economies has been created.

  “But we’re saving money by promoting someone internally,” the Chief Executive tells to the local press. “Once in post the new director will appoint a team to start work on how and where we can save money.”

  It comes as no surprise to those of us who’ve been at Downland for many years when the team change their boss’s title to Director of Transformation. Within days a new job appears on the notice boards and council website.

  Nigel frowns as he reads the job description. “What exactly does a Transformation Support Manager do?”

  “Support the transformation process,” Danni replies, appearing as she always does at moments of great consternation. “We are not economising, we’re transforming. Change is opportunity. Remember that when it comes to your annual performance appraisal.”

  Lucy smirks. “Annual waste of paper, you mean.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” I say, giving Danni a smile to show I can also change. “We’re saving a fortune on annual appraisals by holding them every three years.”

  Nigel looks surprised. “Are we?”

  “Of course,” I reply. “Danni changed the rules when she started, didn’t you, boss?”

  She gives me a look that suggests she would happily transform me into an ex-employee. “Your father may be the local MP, Kent, but that won’t protect you when the transformation process begins. No one is safe, nothing is sacred.”

  I doubt if the Director of Transformation will ever lose his job. He only has to start transforming again after each transformation concludes to show how invaluable he is.

  “So, Kent,” she continues, perching on the edge of my desk, “you’re going to TAG.”

  I’m guessing she doesn’t mean the game I played at primary school. So, it must be another TLA. Sorry, Three-Letter Acronym. “TAG? You want me To Appraise Generically?”

  “You’re joining the Transformation Action Group as the representative from Environmental Health. Your role will be to contribute ideas to a new feasibility study.”

  Sometimes it pays to act dumb. “What feasibility study?”

  She shakes her head at me. “You’ll never be an effective manager unless you read your emails, will you? We’re talking about the feasibility study to consider what can be transformed.”

  “Oh, you mean the Possibilities Think Shower, don’t you? It sounded so much more exciting than a feasibility study, so they transformed it. Didn’t you get the transformation email bulletin?”

  Coping With Priorities

  It’s time for my monthly one to one meeting with Danni.

  “It’s been eight weeks since our last monthly one to one,” she remarks, looking up from her notes. She expects me to comment but I remain silent. “And the interval to the one before that was six weeks and three days. Would you like to comment on that?”

  I could remind her that she rearranged the meetings several times because of priorities. On one occasion she forgot to send flowers to her mother, who was celebrating her 60th birthday. She also forgot to take her cat for its annual booster visit.

  “We could transform monthly to bi-monthly,” I suggest. “With a provision for slippage into another month. We could aim for a quarter, if that’s more feasible.”

  “Or you could become more organised,” she says, flicking through some papers. “Yet again, you’re falling behind on your inspections. Your performance response targets have dipped into the lower quartile, suggesting you haven’t implemented the simple efficiency strategy I gave you at our last one to one.”

  If I remember correctly, the strategy was indeed simple. Do things faster.

  “The number of overdue inspections on your district continues to increase.” She sighs and looks up at me. “The whole point of giving you managerial responsibilities was to open your mind to ideas like organisation, efficiency and effectiveness. I’ve sent you on training courses, involved you in working groups and sent you lots of information and background reading to help you. Yet, despite all my efforts, your performance gets worse.”

  I’m tempted to remind her that making me a manager and expecting me to continue to do the same level of district work is neither fair nor achievable. But as they say on the management platitudes course, “Life isn’t fair, is it?”

  “You need a coping strategy,” she says, making a note on her pad.

  “I’m not sure I could handle that, Danni.”

  “Kent, you need to be more positive. Remember, a glass is always half full. Anything is possible. So, let’s not be defeatist. We can work out a coping strategy together.”

  “We can?”

  She smiles. “Of course we can. If you can prepare one and let me have it by Friday, that should do the trick.”

  She doesn’t say which Friday, so that gives me some leeway. “Anything else?” I ask, afraid to rise in case our one to one isn’t over.

  “Priorities.”

  “Priorities?”

  “What are your priorities, Kent?”

  “To produce a coping strategy,” I reply, certain she can’t argue with that.

  Her sigh fills me with dread, but not as much as her patronising human resources tone of voice. “Unless you sort out your priorities, you’ll never cope, will you?”

  “You want my coping strategy to be about priorities, right?
”

  “Exactly,” she replies, clapping her hands. “We’ll make a manager out of you yet.”

  I doubt it. As far as I’m concerned, a coping strategy is not a priority. But as our monthly one to one meetings are an even lower priority, I may never have to tell her.

  Empowerment

  Danni steeples her fingers and taps them against her lips. I have no idea if she’s praying but I wish I could return to the backlog of work on my desk. Finally, she lays her hands on her desk and gives me the broadest, most frightening smile imaginable.

  “Kent, I’m going to empower you.”

  That has to be management speak for poisoned chalice. With all the government spending cuts in the pipeline, more work for less pay is inevitable. Or am I about to be empowered with new career choices after losing my job?

  “I’m giving you the opportunity to develop as a manager and to take responsibility for your team,” she says. “You’ll have the freedom to make important decisions, knowing you have my full support.”

  Is she giving me a free hand to run the team? “Really?” I ask.

  She nods and hands me a manila folder. “Just make sure you agree everything with me first.”

  Back at my desk, I open the folder. It contains several job descriptions, a recruitment advert hammered out on a manual typewriter, and a blank ‘Job Justification Form’. As the first rule of empowerment is to guess what I’m supposed to do, I return to her office, interrupting one of her reflective periods, essential to analyse and prioritise work. Apparently, testing the ringtones on your new mobile phone creates just the right mood for reflection.

  “Do you want me to standardise the job descriptions?” I ask.

  She pushes her shiny new Blackberry into a drawer. “Don’t you read my emails?”

  “I haven’t had any emails from you since you got your Blackberry.”

  “I thought as much. I always get the dodgy one, you know. At home, mother always gave me the funny egg.”

  “Funny egg?”

  “You know, the one with the broken yoke. My brother never had a broken yoke.” She shuts the drawer and looks me in the eye. “I want you to recruit an EHO to fill the post you’ve vacated.”

  I pause. “I thought we were cutting costs.”

  “We are, so I want someone cheap and inexperienced. A newly qualified EHO would be perfect.”

  “Won’t that be less cost effective in the longer term? More training and all that?”

  “That’s for you to resolve,” she says, reopening the drawer. “That’s why I empowered you, Kent. So, use your initiative and you’ll find the recruitment procedure on the intranet. Sarah in HR will guide you on the finer points of equal opportunities.”

  As much as I want to talk to the lovely Sarah, I need to be sure funding has been secured to replace me. “Isn’t there a ban on recruitment, Danni?”

  “There is, but your father is the local MP, is he not?”

  “He would never intervene,” I say.

  “I know,” she says, “but if the Chief Executive thinks your father’s worried about how exhausted you look, doing your old job in addition to the new one, then who am I to argue?”

  While I’m pleased someone has realised I’m overworked, recruiting a new officer flies in the face of economising. “What if the press find out, Danni? What if someone starts digging around?”

  “What if they do?”

  “Everyone will think I got this post filled because my father is an MP.”

  “Exactly,” she says. “So what’s your problem?”

  “I’m going to be really popular if others lose their jobs.”

  She leans back and grins. “That’s why I empowered you.”

  Virgin Territory

  “This is your first time, isn’t it?”

  Sarah’s sumptuous, purring voice makes the hairs on my neck dance for joy. We first met almost two years ago at a disciplinary hearing. She was the smartly dressed woman from Human Resources – slim, cool and impartial, except for those mischievous deep blue eyes.

  Suddenly, I feel nervous. From the way she regards me, I’m sure she realises how much I want to work closely with her, preferably in a horizontal position. I tilt my head and smile, preparing to speak in as deep a voice as I can muster.

  “I’m a job description virgin, Sarah, so be gentle with me.”

  “And I thought you liked to play hard, Kent. How disappointing.”

  She could be flirting or winding me up. I’m never sure, which is probably why I like her so much. “I could have rushed in with the first job description I could find, but I didn’t.”

  She turns her wedding ring slowly as she studies me. “That suggests indecision, Kent.”

  Are we having two conversations? Is my imagination getting the better of me? I have no idea. Most of the women I know are much younger than Sarah and more direct. She’s a tantalising mystery that keeps me fascinated without ever revealing any answers.

  “I selected the best bits from the orgy of job descriptions Danni gave me,” I say.

  She nods as she scans the job description I presented to her. “Yes, it reads like a pastiche,” she says. “Tell me, Kent, have you attended Downland’s recruitment training?”

  I shake my head.

  “What about equalities and diversity? Interviewing skills?”

  In my experience managers don’t ask for training in case someone thinks they aren’t up to the job. “I did some training on sustainability,” I reply. “Unfortunately, I couldn’t manage the whole day.”

  Her smile makes me feel good. Then she slips back into work mode. “Had you done the equalities training you’d know you’re not allowed to ask for five years’ experience to become a senior.”

  “Then what do I ask for – a certificate?”

  “You ask for considerable experience.” She frames the words with finger quotations.

  “And how long is considerable?”

  “Five years, if that’s what you think. You just can’t say five years in a job description. And you shouldn’t ask for a newly qualified Environmental Health Officer.”

  “Don’t tell me, I have to call them considerably inexperienced.” I sigh, knowing resistance is futile. “Anything else I need to change?”

  “The person specification. What does self-starter mean?”

  I’ve seen it in all the advertisements. “Someone who can work unsupervised, I suppose.”

  “Is that wise for an inexperienced newly qualified officer?”

  Inwardly, I groan. Not only am I coming over as incompetent, but Sarah stopped flirting with me almost immediately. “I obviously need some coaching,” I say, leaning closer, determined to correct things. “How about it?”

  “And I thought you were a self-starter, Kent.” She hands me the revised job description that needs much more revising. “How disappointing.”

  “I’ve disappointed you twice now,” I say, getting to my feet.

  She rests her chin on her hand and looks up at me through her long eyelashes. “Maybe you’re trying too hard.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck dance for joy once more. “Maybe if I took things more gently, we could get together and develop a mutual understanding.”

  She considers this for a few moments. When she gives me one of her mischievous smiles, my heart beats faster.

  “Or you could just email me a revised job description,” she says, “and I’ll tell you what I think.”

  What a performance

  It’s official. My performance is poor. I haven’t heard that since I was thrown out of drama class for acting a fool.

  Danni seems to revel in telling me the news. Maybe she’s finally found the evidence to confirm her beliefs. She certainly has more pages of statistics on her desk than 8 out of 10 managers I know.

  “Do you realise you’re the best at being worst?” she asks. “Your team takes longer to answer the phone than anyone else in the authority. What do you say to that?”

&n
bsp; I vaguely remember HR leaving a message on my voice mail to that effect. “Does it really matter as long as we deal with the call?” I ask.

  “Of course it matters. Indifference leads to poor performance.”

  My thoughts turn to Sarah in HR. I’d like to conquer her indifference.

  “Why do you take six weeks to produce monthly statistics?” Danni continues, on a roll now. “It means your last quarter returns are only two-thirds complete, reducing your overall performance median by at least a half. It’s dragged environmental health into the lowest performance quartile.”

  I’m lost, which means there’s a 50-50 chance I’ll say something stupid or banal. So I remain silent.

  “How you intend to resolve this, Kent?”

  “What if I increase the proportion of time I devote to performance statistics?”

  She stares at me, her fingers tapping a slow rhythm on the desk. “I like it, Kent, but what would you reduce to accommodate this?”

  It’s my turn to tap my fingers and look thoughtful. “What if we hold our monthly performance meetings every quarter, produce quarterly statistics every six months, and channel all the findings into an annual appraisal every three years? Damn, we already do that.”

  “Kent, you might think you’re clever, but performance monitoring is a key management tool. Without it you’re like a conductor without a baton, a gardener without a spade.”

  Or a manager without a clue, I’m tempted to say. I know she’s right, but I can’t see the point in wasting hours producing meaningless figures that no one wants to read.

  “I’ll do my best to improve performance,” I concede, wondering when I’ll find the time. “But it won’t happen overnight.”

  “Kent, you need more discipline and organisation. Without them you’re …” She flaps hands as she searches for the words.

  “Flexible and ready to meet any challenge?”

  “Like advertising the new EHO post?” She sighs and shakes her head yet again. “How could you forget that?”