I was asked recently if I missed working. I said not really. I loved being a pimple on the bottom of humanity, that little raised tissue that needed scratching, yet every scratch made it even itchier. I loved being the Tartan Pimpernel. Fixing things before people had seen them broken, messing with tools I'd never used before and sometimes creating something superb. I'd sit supping my favourite tipple dispensing answers faster than the bar could pour them.
"You're so good at thinking outside the box"
"No, I'm just good at thinking and crushing boxes."
And that's pretty much what I did. I crushed boxes. The imaginary helpful metaphors that people invented to make their working life that little bit harder. The training courses 'would be' managers had attended to help improve their own and their staff's productivity. I was rarely baffled how such an increase in productivity by everyone could lead to a lowering of profit and productivity for the firm, but then I wasn't in the box.
My theory had been simple. You speak to people and ask them what they liked doing and what they were good at. You asked them what they wanted to do, if they had any ambitions. Finally, you asked them questions a coach would ask to see where they would best maximise their effort for the team. I called it the one pint review. If it couldn't be done in 10 minutes it wasn't worthwhile for either party.
I always felt like a golfer's caddy. The firm was the golfer, the clubs were all the workers. I provided the husbandry. Like any golfer my putting team could excel one day and be a bit flat the next. The driver was the same. The further you try to hit it the wilder it gets.
I remember watching one guy in the work get through twice as much as he normally did while his neighbour sat doing the same amount as she always did. He mumped his chops about speeding up but she was resolute. She hit 18 fairways, he hit 9. I rest my case. Well not completely as when you venture into the rough, you are reminded that the rough is not your friend. In processing terms, its a nightmare. You have to think how to recover from this situation. The rough is not your friend, your 8 iron is your friend. So as any decent boss would do I sent for my 8 iron to help this poor panicking person. She was superb at recovery, but unfortunately she was also on maternity leave and the wags in HR had sent a Meerkat. Apparently, her skill set had been sent to the agency and this was the nearest match.
I looked the Meerkat up and down and thought, you're not an 8 iron, you're a mischievous one. Put to the test this Meerkat was clearly a wise one. As we addressed the ball, the Meerkat sank its teeth into the ball and on the down swing spat it out a few inches further up the rough. It seems the Meerkat had indeed been an 8 iron before but realised after losing an eye and a couple of teeth, not to mention the broken nose that gripping the ball was better than being hit by it. After a few more swipes with the '8 iron' Meerkat the ball flew off at right angles. "I cant use this 8 iron, its hopeless" shouted the hapless holder of the Meerkat and sure enough back it went into the bag to be used sporadically until the end of the maternity leave when the good 8 iron returned.
Spotting Meerkats is a lot easier than people seem to think. They just look different and I dont consider myself to have a professional eye, they just stand out from the crowd and swing nothing like a golf club.
Once a coach knows what each club in the bag can do, their job of increasing productivity is simple. For fast results, use your clubs the way they work. In time you might want to buy a new set of clubs, especially if you've inherited a set of Meerkats.
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