The great men who preside over us at the “Happiness Factory” with all the authority invested in them from higher powers have recently had an epiphany. Morale is in the toilet!
Strike a light! Ring the President! Shout it from the rooftops! They have climbed to the top of the hill and seen the face of Lord Jesus and returned with his directive. Morale must be improved.
Of course it has taken many years for this revelation to hit them hard. Lost in their ivory tower they seem to have been ignorant of the calamities caused over the last half a decade and go to sleep at night happy and content in their own performance convinced everyday they are making a difference and are loved and adored by the “floor dwellers” who like children gaily marching off to pre-school enter the fray each day as happy as Larry although keenly aware they are to face another round of excruciating boredom.
What does the forward thinking management type do when suddenly confronted by the fact that most of the staff hate him, deem everything he says as a deceitful attempt to mollify them and make him feel as welcome as Tony Abbott at a union picnic day every time he comes down to the dungeon to visit? He does what all the heavy hitters do. He arranges a sausage sizzle. Sure to melt the hearts of the most vicious recalcitrants among those left wing loonies down below and leave them feeling that the Supreme Commander has their best interests at heart and ensuring they would follow him into battle against a million blood thirsty foes, fear, hunger and family cast aside in the fight for the greater good.
Of course the best laid plans of mice and men go astray don’t they?
The sausage sizzle was held over several days this week with day shift having theirs on Tuesday which resulted in many sausages being left over and a desperate attempt being made to give away the balance of the meat which had been cooked but not devoured to those arriving for a later start.
So, planning for the afternoon shift meal with all the attention to detail of an Alexander or a Caesar, the little general decides he needs help to arrange the soiree to fit the exact numbers of people on the shift to the number of sausages he will need to cook. Nothing like penny pinching when trying to raise morale is there?
He enlists the help he desires from one of the female floor dwellers, conveniently for him the most attractive woman in the workforce and she proceeds to calculate how many staff will need to be provided for and how many sausages they may eat, realising of course that these things are never exact and it is always wise at any barbecue to cook a little more food than may be needed.
She believes that there may be seventeen folk looking to be fed and a minimum of two sausages each would be required. So the great man, blissfully ignorant to this advice cooks far less than he will need and of course more people arrive than predicted leaving several of them without a snag to their name! That’s organisation for you.
Our floor dwelling beauty could only shake her head in amazement at how something starting out as a positive could end in disaster despite her best efforts to help.
This shambles was on top of the fiasco earlier in the week when the smoke from the barbecue on which the great man was cooking for the day shift smoked out the building resulting in the fire department arriving! Could it get any worse? Yes it could.
There are several smaller shifts who seemingly have been forgotten altogether and when asking about what day they may get their meal have received nothing but a shrug in reply thus casing many to declare they will never be a part of any such shambles anyway.
So something which was supposed to improve morale has turned out to be the opposite and has only reinforced the view among those “down below” that the ability of those appointed to command may be a little thin when applied to the sharp end.
The saddest part of the whole deal is of course the lack of understanding of what makes the workers tick. No sausage sizzle could ever improve morale. Good management is what lifts the hearts and minds of those who have to do the physical stuff. Without them the organisation doesn’t run and they need to be treated with respect. Only then may that respect be returned and morale, and with it productivity may rise. But it is a conundrum that the managers of my building can’t seem to figure out. What a pity. At least the passengers on the Titanic didn’t see the iceberg coming like we can.
If it wasn’t so pathetic it would be hilarious. Unfortunately those who suffer from the incompetence are the butt of the joke.
Have a nice day.
Strike a light! Ring the President! Shout it from the rooftops! They have climbed to the top of the hill and seen the face of Lord Jesus and returned with his directive. Morale must be improved.
Of course it has taken many years for this revelation to hit them hard. Lost in their ivory tower they seem to have been ignorant of the calamities caused over the last half a decade and go to sleep at night happy and content in their own performance convinced everyday they are making a difference and are loved and adored by the “floor dwellers” who like children gaily marching off to pre-school enter the fray each day as happy as Larry although keenly aware they are to face another round of excruciating boredom.
What does the forward thinking management type do when suddenly confronted by the fact that most of the staff hate him, deem everything he says as a deceitful attempt to mollify them and make him feel as welcome as Tony Abbott at a union picnic day every time he comes down to the dungeon to visit? He does what all the heavy hitters do. He arranges a sausage sizzle. Sure to melt the hearts of the most vicious recalcitrants among those left wing loonies down below and leave them feeling that the Supreme Commander has their best interests at heart and ensuring they would follow him into battle against a million blood thirsty foes, fear, hunger and family cast aside in the fight for the greater good.
Of course the best laid plans of mice and men go astray don’t they?
The sausage sizzle was held over several days this week with day shift having theirs on Tuesday which resulted in many sausages being left over and a desperate attempt being made to give away the balance of the meat which had been cooked but not devoured to those arriving for a later start.
So, planning for the afternoon shift meal with all the attention to detail of an Alexander or a Caesar, the little general decides he needs help to arrange the soiree to fit the exact numbers of people on the shift to the number of sausages he will need to cook. Nothing like penny pinching when trying to raise morale is there?
He enlists the help he desires from one of the female floor dwellers, conveniently for him the most attractive woman in the workforce and she proceeds to calculate how many staff will need to be provided for and how many sausages they may eat, realising of course that these things are never exact and it is always wise at any barbecue to cook a little more food than may be needed.
She believes that there may be seventeen folk looking to be fed and a minimum of two sausages each would be required. So the great man, blissfully ignorant to this advice cooks far less than he will need and of course more people arrive than predicted leaving several of them without a snag to their name! That’s organisation for you.
Our floor dwelling beauty could only shake her head in amazement at how something starting out as a positive could end in disaster despite her best efforts to help.
This shambles was on top of the fiasco earlier in the week when the smoke from the barbecue on which the great man was cooking for the day shift smoked out the building resulting in the fire department arriving! Could it get any worse? Yes it could.
There are several smaller shifts who seemingly have been forgotten altogether and when asking about what day they may get their meal have received nothing but a shrug in reply thus casing many to declare they will never be a part of any such shambles anyway.
So something which was supposed to improve morale has turned out to be the opposite and has only reinforced the view among those “down below” that the ability of those appointed to command may be a little thin when applied to the sharp end.
The saddest part of the whole deal is of course the lack of understanding of what makes the workers tick. No sausage sizzle could ever improve morale. Good management is what lifts the hearts and minds of those who have to do the physical stuff. Without them the organisation doesn’t run and they need to be treated with respect. Only then may that respect be returned and morale, and with it productivity may rise. But it is a conundrum that the managers of my building can’t seem to figure out. What a pity. At least the passengers on the Titanic didn’t see the iceberg coming like we can.
If it wasn’t so pathetic it would be hilarious. Unfortunately those who suffer from the incompetence are the butt of the joke.
Have a nice day.
Strange Notations From a Laborious Life 