Small Talk is Good

I once had an interesting boss (haven’t we all?). Let’s call him Aaron LaFoote. Mr. LaFoote made the most interesting announcement that he had given up small talk. Small talk, to Aaron, was nothing more than empty language, and therefore, it was useless. He smiled as he recalled the time when someone asked him how he was doing; Mr.  LaFoote replied, “fine,” and after a beat, the other person said “I’m fine too.” My boss thought that was a sign that the other person hadn’t noticed that Mr.  LaFoote did not inquire about her, but I struggled to bite my tongue.

“She was reminding you how social conventions work!” I wanted to yell. But I didn’t.

For the rest of my time with Aaron, things were never comfortable. We worked many miles from each other, and it was downright weird to drive three hours to meet with my boss, enter his office, sit down and begin to speak about the business at hand. I realized I needed those five minutes of chatting about the trip, and the traffic, and how his week’s been going, in order to shift my focus from trip to agenda. And this may not be very professional, but I always felt a little sad that he didn’t care enough about me to ask.

For those of you who believe that small talk isn’t necessary, try to spend a day communicating only essential information. No pleasantries, no ‘good morning,’ no ‘how was your day?’ no chatting with colleagues before the meeting starts, no commenting on the sudden downpour during rush hour, no asking someone how their dreaded appointment went. Do not wish anyone a nice day, do not thank thank the guy who gets your coffee order just right every morning, do not respond when the waiter asks you how you’re doing. I’m willing to bet that by the end of the day – certainly by the end of two – you’ll feel less connected, less happy, and a little off your game. I’m even more willing to bet that people who more or less like you will want to know if you’re OK, and people who are more or less on the fence about you are going to wonder what the hell’s your problem.

If you fall somewhere in the range of normal human, why would you want to unnecessarily worry your friends, or give people who don’t like you more reason not to?

Small talk in the workplace – in your life – is good. Used properly, (hint: not as viscious gossip, nervous chatter, intrusive questions, runaway mouth, or long, detailed, pointless stories of how you lost your car at the mall the other night), it smooths over rough spots, it provides non-threatening transitions from one situation to another, it gives you many little opportunities to connect with others. It’s the oil that lubricates our interactions: and for everyone out there who’s come in contact with someone who rubs them the wrong way, surely a little oil helps now and then.

I no longer work for Aaron LaFoote, which is kind of normal. There’s quite a bit of turn-over in his office, particularly among people who work closely with him. He has a reputation for coldness and for being a jerk. He also has a hard time getting projects completed, and many on his team are content to let the gears spin, having given up long ago. Kind of makes you wonder what it would be like if he asked people how they’re doing every now and then.

Just Fix the Problem

In one of my jobs, I was – yippee! – given a laptop with all the bells and whistles. It wasn’t new, but I didn’t care. Except for one thing.

Every time I turned it on, the laptop tried to synch up with servers, wireless accounts, software and what-have-you that once existed, but didn’t any longer. It was unsettling to be warned of impending security breaches, or commanded to upgrade stuff with a password that I didn’t have.

Now if you haven’t guessed already, I am not a tech-savvy person: we still have rotary-dial phones in our house (that have outlasted every other piece of technology in our possession, thank you very much). So after I exhausted my meager store of ideas, I called in the IT guru for help.

She took one look at all the pop-ups on my screen, and carefully explained to me how to “click on the x,” of each box, and the pop-ups would go away. When I asked, she admitted that all the warnings and notifications could be removed from my laptop, but that would take time, and it’s easier to just close the boxes.

Well, yeah, it’s easier to just close the boxes, but it left me wondering what other duties she was managing in such an indifferent manner. Jobs exist because there are problems to solve – a phone that rings, clients wanting solutions, a tricky issue between demand and resources. When you skate past the problem, people will eventually notice. When you solve the problems, you’re doing your job. When you find the problem and solve it before anyone asks you to, you’re doing your job really well. 

Earnest and Mis-Guided

Every now and then, a memory will pop into my head. Sometimes, the memory seems perfectly random; other times, it’s quite clear that my brain is helpfully giving itself a little vacation from the task at hand. Some of these memories provide the insight I’ve been struggling to find, while others are just golden oldies – so classic (or entertaining), they deserve to be replayed.

Such is the memory of Cari, who was staffing a hotel reception desk. The hotel was owned by a state university, and like many university enterprises, hired students  like Cari - full of good will, but not necessarily seasoned employees - to round out its workforce. I had a question about my upcoming stay at the hotel, and when the website “Contact Us” page bounced my message a few times, I phoned the hotel directly and got Cari.

She quickly answered my questions, and when she asked if there was anything else she could do for me, I took the plunge, telling her that the hotel web site had a glitch in it that prevented people from posting questions, and suggesting that she pass the information to the IT department. She airily responded that it didn’t matter, since the front desk was open around the clock and the staff was delighted to answer our questions. OK. . . . Thinking the leadership at the hotel might not agree, I asked to speak with the manager. In the same friendly voice, Cari told me that there wasn’t a manager on duty.

“Cari,” I said. “It’s 3:00 in the afternoon. I’m sure there is a manager I can speak to.”

Sadly, there wasn’t, according to Cari. So I phoned the next day, and talked with Susan, the Customer Relations Manager. Turns out that Susan was in the office the whole time Cari and I were having our conversation the day before – Cari even told Susan all about me, including Cari’s astonishment that I would presume to tell her how to do her job. Susan had a terrific sense of humor and was clearly on top of the situation. We had a great conversation, and I got a silly memory that nicely illustrates some key workplace points.

If you’re a Cari: No matter what you think of a suggestion, thank the person for providing it, let the person know you’ll pass it along to the right person, and then pass it along to the right person. They don't have to act on it, and you don't have to follow up beyond delivering the suggestion, but it helps establish your reputation as someone who's thinking about the well-being of the whole company, not just your duties inside it. And no bluffing, OK?

If you’re a Susan: Look for opportunities to help the people who work for you develop strategies for dealing with out-of-left-field situations. Remind your team that your job is to be a resource for them.

Authenticity

Just got back from a ballet, produced by the dance school my daughters attend. The performance is always first-rate and of course it’s a treat to see my kids looking so poised and lovely, but this year it wasn’t the same. My favorite dancer graduated from high school last year and a tiny bit of the life went out of it as a result.

Carmen was essentially a train wreck as a dancer. A little too stocky, a little too busty. She usually looked as though she’d wandered onto the stage by accident, mouthed the choreography to herself as she danced, occasionally bumped into her fellow dancers (and apologized profusely for it), and once, actually stopped and rolled her eyes before gamely picking up where she left off. She had gorgeous brown eyes and a dazzling, over-sized smile, and her curly, curly hair was so vibrant that she scattered hair pins with every pirouette – and I watched in fascination as her bun came completely undone in the middle of a Tarantella. Props in her hands were shredded or lost before the number was over, and heaven forbid her costume included any kind of headpiece: it was usually obscuring her vision a moment or two after the music started.

I adored Carmen, and according to my daughters, everyone at the school thought she was the nicest person they ever met. When she was focused, her dancing conveyed pure joy, and I was just . . . . happier . . . . each time she was on stage. I’d scan the program, looking for her name, and get a little giddy when she was due on stage.

Years of attending dance recitals will teach you a few things. First and foremost, stage presence is a rare commodity. Carmen had stage presence in spades. Whether she was in danger of knocking someone over or whether she was conveying pure emotion with one gesture of her hand, you couldn’t take your eyes off her. Second, authenticity is even more rare than stage presence. It requires so much bravery and character to shine authentically through the perfectly made-up face, the perfectly gelled and styled bun, and the exhaustively rehearsed dance combinations that not many young girls can manage it. Carmen did – no one was more authentic on that stage than she was, and that’s what made her riveting.

Carmen showed me the value of authenticity. Being what you authentically are gives people a reason to respond to you, root for you, connect with you. And in a cookie-cutter workplace, it shows you have both the bravery and courage to shine.

I Agree With you

When I was twenty-five, I fell into the one of my favorite jobs ever, working in the conference division of a hugely-respected think tank in Washington, DC. I had literally come from a waitressing stint at TGI Fridays, so it was a wee bit of an understatement to say I felt very out of my league among the Ph.Ds and People You See On Sunday Morning Talk Shows. I don’t know why, but my boss liked my work, and championed me through several promotions. In our ten years of working together, he taught me a ton about the kind of leader I wanted to be.

Shortly after being promoted, I sat in on a meeting with the Senior Staff – don’t remember what the topic was about, but they were having a hard time reaching agreement. My boss listened without comment to one person make his case, then another, until everyone had a chance to speak their mind. Finally, he turned to me, and asked what I thought.

It was the first time I had to give an opinion in front of this rather intimidating group, but I took a breath and spoke as honestly – and as diplomatically – as I could. When I was finished, my boss paused a moment, then said, “I agree with you.”

The meeting went on for another twenty minutes, but I have no clue what else was discussed. I floated the rest of the day on those four words, words that did more to make me feel I belonged than anything else up to then.

I’ve thought an awful lot about the power of words, and how the right ones can do more to make someone feel like a contributing part of the team than all the platitudes about teamwork and people first we usually yodel about in the workplace. I sincerely doubt that my boss carefully considered what would be a prime moment to insert a motivational phrase, but as motivators go, “I agree with you” is just fine, and in that instance, it was perfect. Anything more effusive, and he would have been patronizing the junior member at the table. Instead, he treated me as a colleague, sending a clear signal to the rest of the Senior Staff that they could, too.

The Take-Away: If you can say something along the lines of “I agree with you,” “that was well-said,” “I hadn’t thought of it from that angle before,” “you handled that well,” to someone, and you’re confident that you mean it sincerely, please say it. You never know who could use a little positive affirmation, or where it will take them.

The Question Behind The Question

I was recently laid off from my job when a government contract dissolved unexpectedly. The lay-off was a huge shock, because I’d only started with the company four months earlier, and I was looking forward to a long, productive relationship with my new colleagues.

I cried, I freaked out, I drove around for weeks with the contents of my office in the trunk of my car. I did pull myself together enough, however, to file a claim with the Employment Commission, who promptly sent me a letter denying me unemployment benefits because according to my employer’s records, I didn’t earn income for two consecutive quarters.

Sure enough, the paperwork showed that I while I earned money in the 3^rd quarter of 2010, I earned zero dollars in the 4^th quarter of 2010. So I sent a friendly, “what gives?” e-mail to my former boss. Her reply was equally friendly: yeah, she couldn’t report 4^th quarter information yet because the payroll company always works one quarter behind.

Now most people instantly grasp that I didn’t contact my boss to learn about the intricacies of payroll reporting. Her answer left me as much in the dark as before.

By responding only to the immediate issue, she missed the Question behind the question, and that’s where you often get to the heart of a person’s true need. Imagine how different her response would have felt if my boss got to the root of my question by adding, “I’ll call them tomorrow to expedite a form to Employment Services and let you know when it’s OK to re-file your claim,” or even “So sorry, but there’s nothing I can do until next quarter.”

The Take-Away: Don’t assume that people will ask the right questions – for tons of reasons, they may not be able to. When you take on some of the responsibility for understanding the underlying need, you demonstrate respect and the clear a path for better results in the future.

I’m sitting here with a knot in my stomach, wondering what to write, hating the fact that I’ve become that most cliché of clichés, a person frozen at the keyboard. Even more cliché is the reason why I’m here in the first place: because one colleague/friend/innocent bystander too many said, “honestly, you should write this stuff down.”

Well, perhaps.

In my too-many-to-want-to-count years of employment, I’ve worked with some amazing people – many in an “I’d give you my kidney in a heartbeat” kind of way, others in a “how on earth do you make it through the day?” kind of way. Each kind taught me a boatload about how I wanted to be, as a colleague, as a supervisor, and ultimately as a person. What if I used this space to tell some stories, share a take-away message that might help someone else tweak their collegiality, their supervisory ability? Yes? Maybe?

I’ll give it a try. I commit to you that I am not out to mock anyone – if I do, let me know. Also tell me your experiences (and tell me if I can shape them into little stories with take-away messages, too). Give me some time to find my sea legs – this is all very weird to me – and let’s see where we go.

Tomorrow: Answering the question behind the question.