Bungled Bluff

Summary:
From the book, "Break Out: Finding Freedom When You Don't Quite Fit The Mold," a modern literary memoir of 51 short stories about what it means to be presumed different.

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"Mishaps are like knives,
that either serve us or cut us,
as we grasp them by the blade or the handle."
James Russell Lowell
Literary Essays

"Bob, I'd like to meet with you and Jim sometime this week," Jeff inserted into the closing pleasantries of our monthly meeting with the president. His baritone voice was strained, and our group of four, gathered around Bob's desk, suddenly became silent.

"Jim and I have a disagreement over work schedules," Jeff continued. Judy, Jeff's counterpart in public relations within my department, dropped her jaw in disbelief. Bob, with no knowledge of what Jeff was talking about, narrowed his lips.

I felt a twitch go through my neck. I couldn't believe Jeff was going through with his threat of going to the president with an issue I had repeatedly described as not negotiable.

"OK. How about Thursday at 1:30?" Bob said, confused but open to the request.

"Fine," Jeff replied triumphantly. "How's that for you, Jim?"

"That'll work for me, Bob," I said in scrambled vowel sounds as I ignored Jeff and, instead, looked Bob directly in the eye. Bob momentarily glanced at me, but his eyes then began to flit back and forth along the horizon outside the expanse of windows that surrounded his corner office. I reached for my crutches as Jeff and Judy left the room and then saw the frown on Bob's forehead.

"I need to fill you in on what's happening here," I quietly stated. "I thought Jeff and I could iron out the issues between us, but apparently he doesn't think so. Could I meet with you briefly later this afternoon on this matter?"

"That would be helpful," Bob said stiffly. "I've got a 4:30 open."

"Fine," I said. "I'll outline where we're at on all this."

As I walked out of his office, I scolded myself for not giving Bob some forewarning that, for several days, Jeff had been threatening to bring our disagreement about his workload and compensation to Bob's attention. He maintained I was being unfair and he needed someone at the next level of authority to resolve the two issues. But, I never thought he would actually request a meeting with Bob about them.

I kept telling Jeff that it would be a mistake, that it wasn't how issues were resolved in our corporate culture. Deep down, I knew it would be political suicide for Jeff and hurt my image in Bob's eyes as a manager and a leader -- especially because I walked and talked with difficulty.

I could feel the pressure to consistently prove I had the ability to manage people. It hung in the air every time I walked into the executive wing.

"Jeff believes his workload is too heavy," I told Bob bluntly that afternoon. His forehead stood out, flustered, from his thin layer of almost gray hair. "We keep records of our time by project in our department. It's true -- he's putting in about 55 hours a week, but we all do."

"So, what's the problem?" Bob asked. I saw the faint lines of that frown on his forehead begin to deepen. His eyes narrowed.

"Well, he and his wife have a new baby daughter at home," I said. "He'd like to spend more time with them. And, he's comparing his salary with other publication editors in the area -- claims we're not competitive. I've told him that a mid-year adjustment is not in the cards."

"So, why are you two coming to me?"

"I didn't expect him to bring these issues to your attention. He probably needs to hear it from you," I admitted, realizing, as an afterthought, how weak that sounded to Bob.

"And, I want to hear what he has to say," Bob confirmed. His tone had a edge that was both surprisingly open and yet troubling. I left his office not sure what to expect when we met again with Jeff on Thursday.

I didn't understand Jeff's lack of political acumen. Didn't he understand that making me appear to be ineffective in front of my boss was one of the basic mistakes to avoid? It was 1979. Maybe he was a child of the '60s and never really grew out of its rebellion.

Or, did he believe I was a push-over -- that, somehow, due to my physical disability, he could ignore the conventional pattern of dealing with me as his immediate supervisor and gain the upper hand by hopping over my head?

As communication director, I had hired Jeff four years before, after he had worked in an electrical utility's public relations department. He was a good writer, and that's why I had chosen him to edit our internal and external publications.

But, even though his resume listed a BS degree in journalism, I had received rumors that he, in fact, had not completed his studies toward a degree. Was he prone to taking short cuts when the going got tough?

Was escalating a disagreement into an issue which had to be considered by the president of the company a symptom of a larger problem in how he approached life?

Jeff began Thursday's meeting by showing Bob his time sheets, a smattering of figures that I knew Bob wouldn't absorb. Bob was not a visual man. He liked short, verbal summaries of a situation instead of a lot of detail. I could see the blood rise in his face.

"I'm not being paid a competitive salary for a job that is taking in excess of 55 hours a week," Jeff summarized, "and Jim refuses to do anything to address this situation."

Bob shifted himself in his black leather executive chair. His face was red, but his lips grew white as he pursed them before he spoke.

"I know what it's like to start a family on a limited income and work long hours doing it," he finally said in a controlled, tense voice. "I've done it myself."

"I understand that, Bob," Jeff agreed. "But ..."

"Essentially, you're doing the same job Jim did before you came," Bob broke in. "Is that not right, Jim?"

"That's right," I concurred.

"But, that's not the case," Jeff objected, taking a quick swipe with his right hand through his long, black hair that curled to his collar. "Jim has added so many other things to my job in the last year that ..."

"Jeff, that's not true," I broke in, trying to calm the situation but get my point-of-view across. Bob's face was getting redder. "It's the same job ..."

"But, you're single, and you were putting in 60 to 70 hours a week ..."

"OK, guys. I've heard all I'm going to hear from the both of you!" Bob blurted out. "You realize I have never had to deal with this kind of thing in the other four departments? I spend more time with you people than any other group."

"You're right, Bob," I humbly agreed. "You shouldn't have to spend time on this issue."

"I felt this was my only recourse, Bob," Jeff said boldly. "Jim's not addressing the situation."

"We don't adjust salaries in mid-year," Bob stated bluntly. "It's up to you two to resolve the workload issue."

With a shrug, Jeff left Bob's office.

"I've got to be candid with you, Jim," Bob said in a milder manner. "I'm asking myself, 'Do you really have what it takes to manage people?'"

"I believe I do," I stated weakly. "This was just an end run I didn't see coming."

"Well, let's see how you handle this situation," he challenged.

"I'll handle it," I said more confidently, retrieved the crutches underneath my chair and stumbled out of Bob's office.

I continued to meet weekly with Jeff, asking him to explore ways to make his time on the job more productive. Our sessions would invariably end with a restatement of his objections about his work situation. In reply, I would repeat what was becoming a litany for me: "I'm not going to change the responsibilities or the salary for this position. You have a choice -- decide to work within these requirements at this salary level or find another opportunity that's more suitable to you."

Within three months, Jeff finally announced he was leaving to write for a newspaper.

Jeff apparently was telling others about our sessions, which I considered confidential. They must have been a favorite item on the office grapevine, for, as I would walk through the hallways with the soft rubber tips of my crutches bouncing off the red brick floor, my co-workers would, at times, curiously ask, "How are 'things' going?"

The grapevine had apparently also reached the corner office of the executive wing. During my mid-year review, Bob admitted, "You've shown you can be consistent in managing people."

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