Three levels of management higher than our bosses sat the department head, a man whom I never met and never even saw. His office was miles away, and apparently, he liked to stay there. We never received so much as an email from the guy.
Directly below the department head on the organization chart was another guy that I had never met. He had an impressive sounding name, something like MacArthur Wellington the Third.
I assumed that Mr. Wellington (not his real name, obviously) must have been extremely bright and accomplished fellow. I was young and naïve enough to believe that people rose to high positions based on merit. Meeting this fellow on this day led me to question that assumption.
Motivation
One afternoon without warning, we were instructed to congregate in the cafeteria for a mandatory meeting. No topic or agenda was offered. We were just told to be there - no excuses.
At the front of the room stood Mr. Wellington. He was a clean cut man in his late thirties with closely cropped blond hair. We took our seats, and Mr. Wellington began to speak. Scream might be a better word.
I'm going to go out on a limb here. My guess is that our fearless leader had recently attended a public speaking workshop, a training course that offered tips on clarity of message, overcoming anxiety, and creating a connection with the audience. These tips actually do work if you use them in the spirit of good communication. But bad things can happen when speakers fail to restrain their enthusiasm.
Imagine a man driving into his neighborhood after a long day at work only to discover that his house has been demolished by an incompetent wrecking crew. Apparently, they were supposed to tear down the house next door, but oops! They made a mistake on the address.
The hapless homeowner is incensed; he's outraged to the point of losing his mind. His face is red. Spit flies from his mouth as he screams in barely coherent sentences. This was how Wellington now appeared before us. If motivation was his objective, he was missing the mark.
Wellington's message was as unfortunate as his appearance. "I will not accept that this project is a failure!" he screamed. "I will never accept anyone telling me that this project is a failure, because it's NOT a failure!"
I was shocked. I had never heard anyone, even the grumpiest employee, suggest that our project was in some sort of jeopardy. Everyone was working hard week after week. We were delivering our respective pieces of the project more or less on time. The managers seemed upbeat; no one was giving off any negative body language.
And yet, here was the department head's right hand man informing us that our entire project was in jeopardy. That our months and months of hard work was perceived as a big disappointment. We left the cafeteria concerned not only about the future of the project but about whether we would even have jobs in another month.
Executive Decision
I don't know what this guy was thinking when he came up with the idea for this presentation. Was he really angry that day or just putting on a show to motivate the troops? Who knows? Maybe he thought that he could inspire us if he convinced us of his emotional investment in the outcome of the project.
The bottom line is that it didn't work. We walked in feeling fine. We walked out feeling a blend of shock and dismay - not to mention the suspicion that our management team was made up of raving lunatics.
Wellington was an Empty Suit, a polished person in a high ranking position who seemed to fulfill no useful purpose in the organization. The Empty Suit is like a well-dressed version of the Stuffed Shirt. He looks polished on the outside, but there isn't much substance on the inside.
The Empty Suit is a mystery. His clothes are impressive, but his role in the organization isn't clear. No one seems to understand what he does with his time or why he commands more money than the people who do the actual work.
The problem extends deeper than a simple lack of information or familiarity. You can actually meet the guy and talk to him, but you'll be more confused than you were before.
The Empty Suit: a corporate enigma.
Wellington was an Empty Suit, a polished person in a high ranking position who seemed to fulfill no useful purpose in the organization. The Empty Suit is like a well-dressed version of the Stuffed Shirt. He looks polished on the outside, but there isn't much substance on the inside.
The Empty Suit is a mystery. His clothes are impressive, but his role in the organization isn't clear. No one seems to understand what he does with his time or why he commands more money than the people who do the actual work.
The problem extends deeper than a simple lack of information or familiarity. You can actually meet the guy and talk to him, but you'll be more confused than you were before.
The Empty Suit: a corporate enigma.
