The Smack Down

Back in the day, I worked with a spunky female project manager, we’ll call Lynn. She was strong, effective and didn’t take shit from anyone.

I was in the office early one morning, along with Lynn, when the new (sleazy) sales guy came in carrying a stack of papers. He stood by the photocopy machine, shifting from one foot to another, glancing at us from the corner of his eye. We ignored him.

Then he started to walk towards us, smiling at Lynn. ‘Oh, hell no!’ I screamed inside my head, as I stepped back about ten paces.

As he approached, Lynn glared a warning at his dumb-ass, but it went un-heeded.

“Excuse me,” he began, but can you help me with the photocopy machine?” Oh, and he smiled his best smile and he tilted his head.

“I’m a project manager,” she said coolly as she raised her hand in a ‘stop’ motion.

“There is no ‘I’ in team,” he nodded in a condescending manner.

I held my breath.

“There’s no “I” in "Fuck you", either. So what’s your point?” she glared.

“I….just need some help with the…..” he stammered.

“Oh, I see,” she smiled (like a cobra, if a cobra could smile). “You are one of the dinosaurs that still believe that it takes breasts to operate office equipment. The directions are on the wall, but I’m probably making a dangerous assumption that you can read. ”

“I, I, I…” was all he could say.

“Figure it out,” she smiled coldly as she turned and walked away.

Later that day I was having lunch (okay, deliberately) with the Sales Director and he told me about the new guys run-in with Lynn.

He said (and I quote): “I told the dumb-shit not to fuck with her unless he’s carrying pepper stray and his life insurance is paid up.” The Sales Director was not only a close friend of Lynn’s, but she was also making the company a ton of money, which is even more important.

From that day on, the sales guy came no where near her.

What the Hell is Wrong with People?

Everyone project manager (credentialed or not) know that projects run on COMMUNICATIONS. Without it, you are doomed. Simple, huh?

Then, why don’t corporations realize this fucking fact? You’re told that ‘we’ll make our decision by Wednesday and let everyone know’, yet sometimes you never hear, one way or another. Or an agency will say, I’ll get back to you on Monday, but they don’t. When you finally track them down, they say “I didn’t call because I didn’t have any news to tell you.”

Okay, PM’s out there; is that a viable reason? Hell, No! We all know that Communication is the basis of life itself. You know how it goes. If you don’t get that expected phone call, no matter who it’s from (agency, boss, significant other….) you start rationalizing the reason, and usually, it’s ugly.

Why then, when a simple phone call, text message or email could alleviate this whole bullshit experience, don’t they just do it? Hell, if I know! Oh, and even better; an agency doesn’t keep you abreast on news and then they’re horrified that you accept a different job, even though you’ve not heard from them in weeks.

Yeah, you get it. How fucking dare they! Well, they dare. So what’s the alternative, besides winning the freakin’ lottery? Yeah, I never swear about the lottery, just in case the lottery gods are listening.

With agencies, I find one who shows at least some respect for me and my time and stay with them. If they’re good, they’ll stick with you and eventually find you the job you want. I’ve been in this way too long to just settle any more.

And what do we take away from this rant today? You job as a PM or just a human being is to FOLLOW UP! Send that email, type that text message, or for shit sake, pick up your fucking cell phone and make that call! Is it really that simple? Hell, YES!

A Good Deed Never Goes Unpunished

Long ago, I worked for a company that didn’t have an actual PMO. No, seriously, they didn’t, but that’s okay. I reported to a Director who was responsible for several divisions, including the project management and service division.

There were seven service managers and were looking for one more.

Stay out of it, I told myself. Why do you care? He’s a big boy; he can fend for himself. ‘Who?” you’re asking.

There was this middle-aged engineer, we’ll call Milton (yeah, after the Office Space guy). He was kinda’ dumpy, with thick glasses and didn’t take very good care of himself. You know… dirty glasses, greasy hair, and stained clothes. Conversely, he was a nice guy, highly religious and he loved his wife… and probably puppies too.

For some unknown reason, I felt kind of sorry for him. Maybe it’s because he seemed to have managerial potential, or possibly it was because he was just too old to be stuck as an engineer along side kids.

The director was a buddy of mine, so I suggested that he might give Milton a chance at the position. He pointed out all his flaws and added some I hadn’t thought of, including the fact that he brayed like a mule.

“Come on, everyone has their quirks,” I pointed out. “If he can’t cut it, you can always send him back to the field. He’s done good work for the company, and he deserves this chance.”

“Okay, but I’m betting you’re wrong, and within six months, he’ll be back in the field.”

“He’ll be fine, besides some of the other service managers are no prizes either.”
He laughed and promoted Milton.

He stopped by my office to tell me the good news and was on top of the world. “The company finally recognized my work! I knew they would eventually! I’m on the fast track, now!” I congratulated him, and felt rather smug that I was able to help him.

My office was right next to the Director’s office, and Milton’s new digs were directly outside my office.

Now the downside. Milton talked on the phone… a lot, and every phone call was taken or made on speaker phone. He was loud, but when the director was in, he was earsplitting, and the sound came right through my door. He was annoying, but not just to me. I started getting calls about his ‘attitude’, and his being a pompous pain-in-the ass, and that it was all my fault… Yeah, okay... but there’s no sense in placing blame, now is there?

Then one day, Milton came in to my office in an absolute panic. He told me that one of the service managers said… fuck to him.

“Okay, and…?” I asked.

“He said fuck to me a lot! He said I was a fuck-wad, that I should go fuck myself and he called me a fucking dip-shit!”

“And…?” I asked.

“He was terrible to me! What are you going to do about it?”

“What the fuck do you want me to do about it?” I asked in all sincerity.

His eyes bugged out and he left my office without another word. And it wasn’t until almost thirty minutes later that I realized my response was one of the singularly funniest things ever said. Yeah, and I still laugh about it.

Funny thing… he never came to me for sympathy again.

Speaking of Memories...

Call her Michael…..

Her name was Michael, not Michelle. She was a project coordinator and everything about her made me crazy… and not in the good way.

She was a big girl in hiking boots and ankle length skirts, with long black hair and not a touch of makeup, except for dark brown lipstick. Since I don’t judge people by their looks, that’s not what drove me crazy.

She was competent enough, but she rambled— when people were around or when she was alone. She complained about everything from the temperature of the office to the soup in the cafeteria. Don’t get me wrong, I hate goody-two-shoes Pollyanna’s, but being around someone that does nothing but bitch from 8 to 5 is just depressing.

I never would have hired the woman, but alas I inherited her, so I was stuck. God knows I tried to tune her out, but our desks were just close enough that her constant bitching, moaning and complaining bored into my brain like a Japanese beetle.

Finally, in desperation, I bought a set of headphones. Most of the time I didn’t listen to music, I just use them to block the droning bitch-fest.


Repeating a Broken Process, Hoping for a Different Outcome…..

is generally considered insanity, which is a perfect description of a bank I did a short contract with. I hate banks. They are stuffy, predictable, boring and the polar opposite of a place any project manager with even a modicum of creativity should work. But once in a moment of ‘bonding’ I took s short contract at a bank, because a friend of mine worked there, and talked me in to it. It wasn’t real bank work, but a root cause analysis gig that should only take a couple of months. Piece-o-cake!

The people were friendly, the offices were bank-ish and the gig and was simple root cause analysis involving a broken process. I met with the process owner and he explained the very involved, but not documented process flow and what ‘wasn’t happening’, or to us edu-macated project managers— he just needed a gap analysis.

I spoke to the stakeholders, drafted out the flow in Visio and found the problem readily. I was working myself out of a job, but what the hell. I wrote up a neat report, color coding the flow for easy assimilation and met with the process owner.

The problem came down, oddly enough, to one man who had been with the bank for over thirty years. I had a list of very simple and blatantly obvious corrections that were needed. I was told (and I swear this is true) “But that’s not the way we do things here.” Should I repeat that for you? I was told “that’s not the way we do things here.”

I just stared at him for a moment and asked if there was anything else he needed me to do, handed him the nicely bound report, called my agency and left. So that is one of many reasons why, I HATE FREAKIN’ BANKS!

Maybe it’s just me, but I like— no I need variety. I’ve done just about every type of project management possible, with the exception of construction. I know some project manager’s that do nothing but software development and love it. Sometimes I wish I could find a niche and just plug along, but I can’t. The unusual challenge is out there, and it’s calling me. I just need to find it.

More Memories

Societal Paradigm Shift……

Just for fun, let’s say you worked for a female vice president, fortyish, in great shape, attractive and easy to work with. With all her good qualities, there was one that really bugged you. She scratched herself; not her head or her arm… she was always digging at her crotch.

So, what do you do? Of course in your mind, you wonder if you should offer to help.

The reality of the story was the vice president was a man. Now that puts a whole different spin on the events, doesn’t it? A woman scratching herself is not offensive; it’s funny. A man digging at his crotch is…. yeah, you get the picture.

Psychically you try to tell him to ‘use baby powder’ or ‘take a good hot shower’, or ‘date a better class of women……’ The situation is still funny, but a lot more disgusting. He scratched in front of men, women, employees and customers. It was as if he didn’t even realize he was even doing it.

It’s the same act of scratching, in the same body area. The only difference is one is a man and one is a woman, Yet with a woman it’s funny and with a man it’s just plain dirty.

Interesting, huh? I don’t dictate perception, I just comment on it.

The Velvet Hammer…..

We’ll call her ‘Martha’. She was a project manager in her early sixties, with a keen fashion sense, and totally self-centered. She was the centered of the universe… which is more typical of women in their early twenties. A self-proclaimed ‘perfectionist’, Martha had the best taste in clothes, makeup, hair, and just about everything else imaginable.

That by itself wouldn’t earn space in my rant except for her unabashed self-serving bullshit. You could talk to Martha one-on-one; no problem. But when anyone else was around, or happen by, watch out!

Martha and I were talking before a PMO meeting, when our director walked by. Suddenly she said (for no apparent reason) “I can’t believe what you said!” The director stopped and turned back and said ‘Excuse me?” She then said, “I can’t believe what (the Pundit) just said. I’m so embarrassed!”

“The director just shrugged and he walked away shaking his head. Luckily she wasn’t one of his favorite people.

“What the hell was that about, Martha?”

“Well, you always say embarrassing things. You know how you are!”

Martha embarrassed? Fat fucking chance! This is the same woman who gave advise to a group of women on how to give a great BJ— true story.

This was not an isolated incident, and the worst part was, I inadvertently got sucked into her fantasies many times over the next two years. Her timing was impeccable; she was the only one who ever heard my alleged obscenities It was a classic case of ‘making herself look good, but making others look bad’. Thankfully, the director saw through her cunning plan.

Each time it happened, I just wanted to say, ‘Go fuck yourself’, but I couldn’t afford to turn the whole thing into a ever escalating conflict in a company that believed that the PMO member were BFF. Yeah…

While I’m Still Looking for the Right Job...

So until I find that illusive perfect job, I’ll be taking you down Memory Lane with short little stories of people and places I’ve encountered in my project management life.

Enjoy!

A Trip Down Memory Lane: The Bosses Wife

One day, for whatever reason, I was thinking back to a time in my career where my only complaint was… the bosses wife (we’ll call her ‘Barb’). No, I didn’t want to ‘get to know her better’. Hell, I didn’t even like her, but I liked my boss (we’ll call him ‘Tom’) and we worked well together.

I was writing a promo piece for the division hyping career paths, communications, how the company ‘valued’ every employee… and all that good shit. Seriously, it was eight pages of fluff; just what was needed to pacify the whiney-ass ‘neglected’ off-site engineers. I dropped it on Tom’s desk for a read-through, and left for the day.

The next morning, he came in to my office (yeah, pm’s had offices back-in-the-day) and sheepishly handed it to me and said: ‘Barb edited it’. I nodded it with a weak smile and he left.

It seems that the ‘never employed’ Barb didn’t like the phrase ‘Career Pathing’ and circled it in red ink, calling it a ‘no-no’. I’m supposed to listen to a grown woman who actually used the term, ‘no-no’? Not fucking likely. There were three examples of the no-no bullshit, all on accepted advertising terms. It was obvious that her creative crayon box was totally empty!

When I came sauntering into Tom’s office he shrugged sheepishly.

I simply said, ‘what the fuck?’ I asked him if he’d read her edits and he said ‘yes’, and that she was just trying to help. I showed him one of the corporations standard sales pieces that used all the ‘objectionable phrases’. I then told him I’d make all her corrections, but I’d put his name on it instead of mine. His eyes widened and said to go with my original draft.

I smiled and asked, “a no-no?”

“Yeah, I hate that gooey shit, too, but what am I supposed to do?”

“Maybe, keep company work away from her?”

“Yeah,” he moaned. “I’ll let you know how that works out.”

That day I realized I worked for a total pussy. I still liked him, but he was none-the-less, a pussy.

WTF Do They Want?

My latest interview was with an up and coming company for a position that I was perfect for, and visa versa. Most positions you settle for, but this one I really wanted. It was my dream job and I was primed and ready. The interviewer asked only two questions: ‘What do you like to do?’ and ‘What is your project management technique?’

I spoke of team building, succeeding or failing as a team, personal accountability, communications, stakeholder updates and the need for complete documentation. I then talked about empowering the team to do their best work, creating a firm, but realistic schedules, and never chewing someone’s ass in front of others. Respect should flow both ways.

Nailed it!

He seemed to agree with me on every point, so you can imagine my surprise to hear he passed on me because he felt that I was ‘not tough enough’. Not tough enough? Are you fucking kidding me? I’m the one that my teams call a hard-ass, tyrant, and a cross between a Tasmanian Devil and Superman, which in my opinion is a perfect balance for a project manager. He wanted ‘someone that was street-wise’.

How’s this for street-wise: I have my PMP, black belt in Six Sigma, Masters in project management, and enough pdu’s each year to choke a horse. I literally live, breath and crap project management. So my question is ‘what the fuck do they want?’ Or more accurately, ‘does he know anything at all about project management? That’s probably a more accurate question, but that doesn’t help me at all.

My dream job has vanished. Of course he was wrong and because he was an inept interviewer, he’ll never know that he passed on exactly what he needed; me. Who would have guessed that being a competent, PMI spouting project manager, lost me my dream job.

And my search continues…..