The Art of Delegating Ė donít take the monkey!
Mister CThis man's unsatisfied need is easy to describe. Whenever he can get hold of me, it's the same question: "Boss, what do I do now?" He rarely uses exactly those words. He uses, instead, very learned, sophisticated and colourful substitutes. But it comes to the same thing. So he's got problems! I've got the same problems but even if I were crazy enough to ask my boss "What do I do now?" I wouldn't be so naive as to expect an answer. †
Even though he doesn't know what he's sup≠posed to be doing, he's so far behind in his work that he regularly works late and frequently comes to the office on Saturdays. Mister C is living proof that you donít have to know what you're sup≠posed to do in order to be overworked.†
Monkeys from Mr. CHe, too, has an underground nickname for me: "Goof-off Stancombe," adding, "It's his job to decide what my responsibilities are, where they begin, where they leave off, and exactly what authority I have. It says so in his job description. That's what he gets paid for. The trouble with this company is the way they promote people. It's not what you know - it's who you know that counts." Mister C is the fourth reminder of my ineptitude and producer of my guilt feelings. I evade him. If I had one more like these four, something would snap. †
Part of my plan for the Saturday of my conversion had been to write Mister C's job description. Not the kind the Personnel Department makes us write for salary administration purposes, but the kind that spells out the name of the game, marks out the playing field, defines the rules, and ≠most important - tells you what you have to do to win. Then on Monday I would call him in, go over his new job description with him, and send him on his way a released individual like the others ≠George, Ms. A, and Mr. B. But, like the others, Mister C's life was also changed by my conversion. So, on the following Monday morning, having finished my business with George, Ms. A, and Mr. B, I shout "Next!" ≠