MARCH 5, 2024 – (Cont.) In time Keith’s replacement, [Dan], was named. He had no background in corporate or even personal trust. In the wake of Keith’s tumultuous reign, we needed law and order, and Dan was the perfect man for the job. Orderly, cordial, even-keeled and disciplined, he lacked originality, but after Keith’s unchecked ego and entrepreneurism, what the department needed at that juncture was a Dan. We’d suffered too much under a guy who “couldn’t believe how smart [he] was.”
Dan would never dream of thinking—let alone saying—that of himself. He was the quintessential corporate soldier. And one with quiet, unrelenting ambition. As I would learn a year and a half into his administration, his parents had put food on the table by selling Encyclopedia Britannica door-to-door. That background seemed to fuel Dan’s drive. His mission in life was to become a high-ranking, well-compensated corporate executive. He was well on his way.
Concurrently with Dan’s installation as head of corporate trust, our corner of the bank’s org chart was redrawn. The department would no longer report to the president in the tower across the street from our building. We’d now be under the head of the holding company’s vast residential mortgage empire based in Des Moines, Iowa, of all places. That mortgage exec knew—and cared—less about us than the president had.
The only interaction we’d have with the Iowan was the rare side meeting when more important business brought him to headquarters in Minneapolis. Dan would assemble us in our main conference room, and while the Mortgage Man sipped on his can of Mountain Dew, my peers and I would each summarize our “risks and opportunities.” It was a wonder to hear the vacuous puffery as people tried to outdo each other. You could’ve pulled the strings on a collection of talking dolls and produced more original scripts.
Department worker bees who passed by the thick glass wall of the conference room could see us captives inside and catch a glimpse of our boss’s boss. Word that he was in town and on the floor spread like a brushfire. Half of the people thought it was a bad omen—a sign that cost-cutting measures were in the offing. The other half hoped against reason that the Big Boss would tour the department and hand out free encouragement and recognition. But not once did Mortgage Man deign to mix with the commoners—nor did Dan suggest it. And given our unnatural existence in the mortgage kingdom we weren’t big enough for the Mortgage Man to worry about us moving his bottom line one way or the other. Life went on.
A few days after Dan moved into Keith’s vacated office, my peers and I were informed of a daylong “off-site” scheduled a week out. The venue would be the swanky country club where Keith’s “My Favorite Boss!” sycophant was a member. The stated purpose of the get-together was to give Dan a chance to “understand better” our respective divisions. Fine. Each of us interpreted that to mean “a chance for us to compete among ourselves for the ‘best and brightest’ award.”
The “My Favorite Boss!” woman had a head start simply by having secured the venue. I was at a distinct disadvantage: I didn’t golf, and I didn’t belong to a country club, swanky or otherwise. Besides, I took the bus to work and sent my kids to public school. The woman in the lead didn’t have kids and wouldn’t be caught dead riding a city bus to and from work.
She wasn’t about to rest after taking the lead on the first lap. Having secured her home turf for the meeting site, she was in a prime position to influence the seating arrangement around the oversized table in the club’s main meeting room. None of the rest of us was surprised to see that her name card had been placed in front of the seat immediately to the right of Dan’s.
We were shocked, however, by the shameless sycophantism that followed.
Dan opened the meeting by thanking us for “taking time out from our busy schedules” and expressing “how excited” he was to be leading “such a promising group of people.” In the patented corporate style, he then said he “wanted to go around the table” and hear what each of us had to say about our respective “risks and opportunities.”
Having placed herself with maximum strategic advantage, “My Favorite Boss!” seized the moment.
“Dan, excuse me,” she said, catching us all off guard, “but before that I’d just like to say a word, and I know I speak for everyone here.”
No one—least of all Dan—was about to put her back in her lane.
“Something very important you need to understand, I think, is the absolutely horrendous turmoil that your predecessor created for all of us. He was terrible, and many of us are still in shock from the years of dangerous disruptions he caused.”
I didn’t have to look at a single one of my peers to know that we were all thinking exactly the same thing: Is this the same person who at our last direct reports meeting with Keith just a week before he was axed had planted herself at his right hand and shamelessly displayed her “My Favorite Boss!” mug bearing his name and grinning portrait?
If she wasn’t in the running for “best and brightest,” she was sprinting away with gold in the “Chameleon Sycophant” event. Not a hint of skepticism registered on Dan’s face. I feared he’d just been bamboozled big time. From that moment on I knew “My Favorite Boss!” was a threat to each of the rest of us. My fear was substantiated when the next day I walked past Dan’s office—door closed—and through the glass panel saw Dan and the woman seated across from each other at a small conference table. She was talking authoritatively while he took notes. (Cont.)
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© 2024 by Eric Nilsson
