Chapter 3 Episode 1: Sugar

In this first episode of chapter 3, all the sugar packets mysteriously disappear from the tables in the canteen. 

Sheila feels bad about her experience with Frank, and Marie and her team members get together for a structured exercise to cope with failure, each sharing a mistake and celebrating the learnings. Will this exercise help Sheila feel better? And what happens when Marie reluctantly admits to having dropped the bag of cinnamon buns down the stairwell into the heap of junk in the basement of Zebra Apps?

Thank you to Katie Christensen for reading this episode. 

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Transcript

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SPEAKER_00 0:11

You're listening to Maneuvering Mondays, a podcast about transforming work culture. In this first part of the episode, we follow the fictional story of Marie, who's an HR manager in the edtech company Taper Apps, as she maneuvers the challenges of transforming their work culture.

SPEAKER_01 0:45

It was Monday. Eric had managed to get Sheila, Joe, and Marie to come down to the canteen at the same time. It was no easy feat. He cornered Marie by waiting outside of the meeting room where she had been meeting with a potential external recruiter. Hiring kitchen staff was surprisingly difficult in the post-COVID economy, and they really needed to find a better solution for keeping the soda fridges stocked than having their head chef doing it. Now the entire HR development team was circling the buffet table. Marie caught a glimpse of Joseph speaking to one of the kitchen staff. She looked at her plate and decided that there was no more room for anything else, even though she was craving cheese cubes and croutons to top off her salad. She walked over to Joseph. Hey, Joseph, she said. He looked at her and smiled. Just a sec, Marie, he said, and put a hand on the shoulder of the man he was speaking to. We will figure this out, Joseph said. The man nodded and headed back to the kitchen. Is he all right? she asked. It is a great mystery, Marie, he said, throwing his hands in the air. Marie's eyes widened. All the sugar packets are gone, Joseph said. Every one of them. What? Marie said with a chuckle. Look around the tables, Joseph said, gesturing around the hall. No sugar packets. Marie tried to imagine the usual layout of the tables. She hadn't noticed that there were any sugar packets in the first place. The salt and pepper baggies are still there, but the sugar is gone, Joseph continued. Now Marie noticed the wooden napkin holders on the tables. They had compartments on the side for packets. Hm, she thought to herself. Who would put sugar on their lunch? Did we suddenly start putting more sugar on our food? Marie offered. You don't understand, Joseph said. The sugar packets are also gone from the pantry. Marie frowned her eyebrows. You are telling me that all the sugar packets, both the ones from the tables and the ones from the pantry in the basement are missing. It's a mystery, Joseph said. It's a mystery, Marie repeated. They both stood in silence for a few seconds. Marie noticed that her team was sitting down. I spoke to the recruiter today, Marie said. Joseph looked at her. She seemed like a good bet to help us recruit the missing headcounts for the kitchen, she said. That is good news, Marie, Joseph said. We have had openings for quite some time now. We can't have you stocking the soda fridges, Marie said. No, we need me solving sugar mysteries, Joseph said with a smile. Marie put her hand on his shoulder. There must be a logical explanation to this, Marie said. Joseph nodded. Marie put her plate down on the table where her team was sitting, and got herself a glass of water from the fountain. She noticed Joseph walking around the room, looking up at the installed security cameras. She shrugged her shoulders, mostly to herself. When she returned to the table, she saw that Sheila was eating a bowl of pasta. Joe and Eric were talking about the upcoming town hall where they would relaunch the company's values. Sheila was looking down in her bowl. Marie sat in her chair diagonally across from Sheila. She tried to make eye contact. How's the pasta? Marie asked, trying to get her attention. Sheila looked up and presented a half smile. No good? Marie asked. Sheila looked back down. Marie looked at her. This was hard to watch. Sheila was always the life of any conversation. She was loud, her clothes were loud, and usually she would throw most of her food away when lunch was over because she had spent the entire time talking. This was a gloom that Marie had never seen before. She had to fight the urge to get up and give her a hug. It's not your fault, you know, Marie said. Sheila looked at her. Frank left because he did not want to be with Zebra any more, Marie said. Not because of the leadership off sight. Sheila put her fork on top of her pasta. You weren't there with me, Sheila said. It was bad. Sheila's eyes started to turn red. She shook her head. I just couldn't stop myself, she said. I knew that I needed to give him space, but I just went on talking. Sheila covered her eyes with her hands. This is a nightmare, she mumbled. Marie felt as if a knife struck the back of her head. How could she have missed that Sheila felt so bad after the off site? It had been five days. She looked at Eric and met his gaze. He nodded slightly at her. Suddenly she understood why he was so keen on getting them all together for lunch. So you messed up, Joe said. Marie looked at her with eyes wide open, as if to indicate that she should stop talking. Sheila emerged from her hands. Sheila emerged from her hands and looked at Joe. It's no big deal really, Joe continued. She leaned into the table. Look, if you had been making toothpaste caps, a fuck up would have been using the wrong mold for the cap, Joe said. But your line of work is coaching people, so when you make a mistake, you don't just get a weirdly shaped toothpaste cap. Someone gets their feelings hurt and resigns. Marie was about to interject. She wanted to say that Sheila did not make a mistake, that none of this was her fault, but Joe beat her to it. In my former company, we used to keep a failure museum, Joe said. Every time one of us would have a disastrous training session with a client, we would exhibit it on a big pin board we had in the canteen. We would drink failure mead from ugly clay cups that one of our receptionists made in her spare time, and talk through it. Sheila suddenly lit up. That's a great idea, she said. Marie raised her eyebrows and looked at Sheila. That's like a standard operating procedure for dealing with failure, Eric said. I'm in. Marie looked at Eric, her eyes still wide. Let's do it this afternoon, Joe said. We can start our own museum in Marie's office. Marie started smiling, and now she felt like hugging Joe. You can have the wall next to my whiteboard, she said. Sheila shouldn't be the only one to share a mistake, Eric said. Let's all bring one. Marie looked at Eric. Somehow he always knew what to say to make everyone feel at ease. I will bring a mistake to share, Marie said. But what? What do you share about your mistake? Sheila asked. We used to follow these four steps, Joe said. First you would describe the mistake, like what happened, where, when, who was there. Then we would categorize it if it was a lapse in judgment or a bad outcome. I mean if it was something that you can actually avoid or if it was something outside your control. Then we would reflect on what would need to be different in the circumstances or your own behaviour for this to not happen again. Lastly, we would celebrate it. We would chink our clay cups, raise our right hands, and shout to hell with it. Eric raised an eyebrow. Now at my old job several of us were into the Viking Age and Renaissance fares. You could also do something else, Joe explained, reacting to Eric's face. The most important thing is that you come together to acknowledge that a mistake was made. But that doesn't mean that the person who made it is excluded from the team. I love it, Sheila said. Let's do it. Marie looked at Eric. He smiled at her. I will bring Mead, he said. It was fifteen ten when Marie was putting together the programme for the quarterly town hall. Usually it was an hour and a half, but this time around it would be extended to two hours to make room for announcing the rediscovered values. Marie thought back to what Anne had said about the state of their culture program, that humours were about to get hot. Marie laughed at the thought. Somehow these last days were all throwbacks to older times, with old belief systems about bodily fluids and mead drinking customs. Have we not evolved since pagan times? Marie thought to herself. A knock on her door frame made her look up. Hey, Marie, said Mark, leaning on her door frame while resting a hand on the top of the door. Ham, said Marie. That recruiter you spoke to today, Mark said. Any good? They seem to have a lot of experience within hospitality stuff, Marie said. I would like to try them for Joseph's open positions. Good, good, Mark said, looking into the hallway. Then coming all the way in and closing the door behind him. He sat down in the armchair, placing his elbows on his thighs and leaning forward. We need to find a recruiter for the CFO position, he said. Okay, said Marie. I don't think that this particular recruiter would be a good choice for that. No, Mark said. I mean in general. Marie looked at him. She felt that tingling sense that he was trying to unload another task onto her plate that was in fact his. Recruiting the C suite personnel was usually the VP of HR's job. Mark's job. She could feel that warmth in her gut, that red hot ball of lava. She could feel her jaw tense. Would you like me to make some suggestions? Marie finally asked. Mark looked at her. No, he said, and rubbed his face with his hands. I need someone to brainstorm with to figure out how we hire a better fit than Frank, he said. The warmth from Marie's stomach went up into her cheeks. Oh, she said. I would be happy to brainstorm with you. Do you have time now? he asked. Actually, we are doing a failure celebration in about five minutes, she said. The team is going to use this wall as a failure museum. Marie gestured to the wall next to her whiteboard. This made her realise that she would have to take down the painting that was currently there. Mark's eyes turned into horseshoe shapes as he smiled. We did that with my old team at SaleTech once. I think Eric was there for that. It was Joe's idea, Marie said. But Eric promised to bring the mead. Mark raised his eyebrows. Apparently that is a requirement, Marie said. Will there be any sacrifices, human or otherwise? Mark said, tilting his head. Marie laughed. We may need an unsuspecting VP to appease the gods of failure, Marie said. Uh oh, Mark said, looking around as if to avoid capture. Marie looked at him and felt warm inside. Not in her gut, but in her chest. Would you like to join our pagan ritual? Marie said. I mean without being sacrificed. Mark looked at her and smiled. I think it is important to keep these rituals small, he said. You need to have trust for people to really open up about their mistakes. Marie nodded. But maybe I will steal the idea for my team, he said, and have a failure museum session of my own with you and Paul. Oh, Marie said. Lots of skeletons rattling in our closets. Maybe it's time we dust them off, he said. Marie took a deep breath. Let's brainstorm the CFO position tomorrow then, Mark said, and got up to leave. He looked back. I appreciate the invitation, though. As soon as Mark left, Eric entered Marie's office, bottle of mead in hand. Marie looked at the clay bottle he put on her desk. Where did you get this? Marie asked. And in such short notice. Eric smiled. Willie brews his own mead, Eric said. He has a stash in his locker. Eric looked more intently at Marie. Don't you read the intranet posts? Eric asked. Willie has been advertising this batch since February. Marie burst out laughing. Not much demand if he hasn't sold the batch in four months, Marie said. He was pretty excited to have a customer, Eric said. But also he told me he just started brewing in barrels, so the batches are pretty large. Marie raised her eyebrows. He will have to get a booth at the Renaissance Fair to load that off, she said. Did he have any cups to go with it by any chance? Clayware is not a part of his product selection, Eric said. Let's just get some mugs from the kitchen. While Eric was getting mugs, Marie took the painting from the wall down and put it behind her desk. She took the nail out too and threw it in the trash. This wall had a more important purpose now than holding a picture of a sunset. Joe came in, nodded at Marie, and started attaching a large piece of recycled brown cardboard to the wall. Where did you get that? Marie asked, wincing at the sight of this slightly stained sheet. From the bottom of the stairwell, Joe said. There is lots of great stuff down there. Marie thought about the bag of cinnamon buns she dropped into the heap of stuff at the bottom of the stairwell. You actually go there to find materials? Marie asked. Joe looked at her. Yeah, she said. Why would we use the new stationery when there is lots of perfectly good stuff down there? Marie bit her lips and lifted her eyebrows. Joe didn't seem to notice. Today it really smells like cinnamon down there, said Joe, and shrugged her shoulders. She took a whiteboard marker and wrote the procedure for dealing with mistakes on the whiteboard. One describe the mistake. What happened? Where, when, who was there? two categorize if it was a lapse in judgment or a bad outcome. Three what would need to be different for this to not happen again? four celebrate it. Finally they were all gathered in Marie's office. Eric had poured everyone mead into coffee mugs. Joe was leaning on Marie's desk. Marie was standing next to the whiteboard, and Sheila was sitting in the armchair. So how do we do this? Sheila asked. Joe looked around. Who wants to share the first failure? Joe asked. I will go first, Marie said. This is embarrassing really. It always is, Joe said. You know our chef? Marie started. I just recently learned his name. Joseph, Eric said. Yeah, Marie said. But until recently I had always called him chef, Marie continued. He had to correct me himself. Joe and Eric exchanged glances. Why is this a mistake, Marie? Joe asked. Because this was a lapse in judgment on my part, Marie said. I had not considered him a colleague on equal footing, as say, the finance guys. But because he was a service provider, he was somehow not entitled to the same courtesy as I extend to my other colleagues. That sounds like a bias, Sheila said. I agree, Marie said. I agree, Marie said, and I'm embarrassed by it, especially since I've observed how competent a leader he is. I have a lot to learn from him for how he shows up for his team. They were all quiet for a while. What would need to be different for this to not happen again? Jo asked, nudging Marie to continue her analysis. I need to change my mindset, Marie said, and categorize all people working for Zebra as colleagues, and do my best to learn people's names. You can't know everyone's names, Eric interjected. Marie thought for a moment. You are right, especially as we grow, Marie said. So maybe it is more about noticing when I start describing someone by their function rather than their name. Like the garbage man or the barista, and take that as a sign that I need to ask the person's name. That's a good point, Eric said. I will ask the cleaner guy who empties the trash in the afternoons his name. But guys, Sheila said, why is it important to know people's names in the first place? I have lots of people in my life that I don't know the names of my hairdresser, my nail lady, my dry cleaner. For me it's all about how I perceive people I do not know the names of, Marie said. Somehow they become more abstract and I don't take their issues as seriously as people I perceive as being part of my communities. If you can treat people as familiar without knowing their name, Eric said, then there is no issue. My hairdresser was at my birthday party last month, Sheila said. And she is familiar all right. I just don't know if it's Dina or Diana or something in that general area. What did you call her when you invited her to your birthday? Joe asked. I just wrote hey, all caps in Messenger and said she must come to my party, Sheila said. That's it. Joe laughed, and Eric couldn't restrain himself either. Do you want to know her name? Marie asked. I know her moves, Sheila said. I'll figure out her name eventually. I don't think that my learning applies to you, Sheila, Marie said. Sounds like you manage to treat people as important and valuable just fine. How do you want us to celebrate your mistake? Joe asked. Marie was grateful that Joe was pushing the process forward. What are my options? Marie asked. We can pick if we toast, dance, high five, shout, Joe said. Anything we can do as a group in high spirits. Then I want to chink our mead mugs and shout huzzah, Marie said. They all brought their mugs together and shouted Huzza. Everyone was silent for a minute as they sipped mead. I was sure you were going to share the mystery of where the cinnamon buns disappeared last week, Eric said. Marie felt her cheeks heating up. She looked at the door and wondered for a moment if she could excuse herself. I dropped them down the stairwell, Marie said. All the way down to the pile of stuff in the basement. Jo turned her face quickly towards Marie. No way, she said. Is that why it smells like cinnamon down there? Did you just leave them down there? Sheila exclaimed. Marie looked at her shoes. Yes, she said. No, the team went. Eric puffed her in the side with his elbow. You dropped them and walked away, he said. I did go down there to look for them, she said, but there were no signs at all of the bag. I would have had to start moving server casings around to find them. Marie, rats are gonna find that bag, Joe gasped. I don't think we have any rats in the building, Marie said. We will have rats if we keep food lying around in the basement, Eric said. Marie looked around at her team. She was not getting out of this. Okay, I will go and look for the bag of buns after we are done here, Marie said. Huzzah, Sheila screamed, and clinked Joe's mug. Huzzah, Joe and Eric followed. Joe took a broad post-it and drew a rat on one of them, and a name tag on the other. She gave them to Marie. All yours to put up in the museum of failure, Joe said. Did the buns really count as a mistake? Marie pleaded. That was poor judgment, all right, Eric chuckled. Marie smiled back at him. It stung to admit that it was bad form to just leave the bag of buns there, but somehow having her whole team correct her felt good. She did not feel embarrassed, but embraced. She felt like they were making her better.

SPEAKER_00 24:54

Tune in when we invite guests to comment on this part of Marie's journey. What are your thoughts on Marie's situation? Have you had a similar experience? And what would you have done? Join the conversation on our LinkedIn page and let's maneuver Mondays together.