What a difference one little number makes.
A few months ago, I met one of our regional managers, relatively new in his role. For two years, I’ve worked on an operational initiative, and we’ve had some roadblocks and barriers to our work in his region. So I was pleased to have the chance to meet him, discuss the circumstances affecting our work, and seek his support. I was, if anything, completely consistent with how I engage with people professionally: I was brisk, confident, and pleasant as I introduced myself.
Or so I thought.
Somehow, over the months since that first meeting, I’ve earned a reputation in his region as, as one of my regional colleagues put it, “a ball-buster.” This guy apparently didn’t like my questions, or the stories I shared of roadblocks we’ve experienced on his turf.
The good news is that he’s moved swiftly: The barriers are being examined, the roadblocks removed. And while my regional team is now getting what it needs, they never miss the chance now to thank me for making their lives a living hell. He’s sent the clear message that this initiative isn’t an option for anyone, and it should be supported. He’s also declared he’ll “never again” be “grilled” by someone like me.
What?!? I was shocked at first, then briefly, insecure: Was I too strident? Was I too bold? Then I got angry. Why the hell should I question myself? I wasn’t confrontational or berating; I treated him no differently than any other peer or superior. I finally decided I didn’t care; the work was getting the right level of support, and we’re back on track. But the reputation kept nagging at me.
I traveled back to that region recently to check in on the initiative. My legend again resurfaced during a discussion with a few direct reports to that manager. I rolled my eyes. “Seriously? What is the big deal? I didn’t attack the guy—what am I missing here?”
One of his reports laughed. “He’s only 27.”
And there it was. I suddenly saw myself as a senior in high school—and this manager as a third grader. I wasn’t dealing with a seasoned, experienced manager, but a bright young thing. I pointed out a bit of gritty reality that might tarnish his star, and he didn’t like it. His reaction, given his maturity and experience, now made perfect sense.
And now I’m done with childish things. I’m having dinner with this manager next month. It’s time to get back to what we’re here for.
Never burn bridges. Today’s junior prick, tomorrow’s senior partner. —Working Girl (1988)
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