That Enthusiastic New Kid

Pity the new employee. She comes into the job excited that her new boss picked her over a slew of other candidates. She is ready to love her new co-workers. She’s ready to make dramatic changes in her department.
She’s also the only person in the office that doesn’t know the tribal secrets. With just a few false steps she can and will be voted off the island. If she lasts long enough to become a full fledged member of the tribe she may wish she had been voted out. More likely, she’ll rue the day she agreed to set foot in the office she now believes is Limbo, Dante’s first circle of hell.
As my friend Heather said, “We’ve all seen the enthusiasm of the new person at work. It’s intriguing to watch what happens to them.” All of us have been in the new kid’s shoes at one time or another. It’s hard not to feel a little pity for her. At the same time it’s probably even harder not to find the newbie’s rose colored glasses annoying. Maybe it’s because we envy her. For those of us who have chosen the rat race, is there a better feeling than the notion, however fleeting, that we can make a difference?
What happens to the enthusiasm of the new person? I’m sure you know, but let’s review for old time’s sake. For starters, exactly three months after your first day on the job, they make you turn in your halo. Until that moment your brain works perfectly. You are infallible. Every idea, every suggestion and every analysis is greeted with knowing nods of agreement. You’re a breath of fresh air, bright and even funny. The boss thinks you’re wonderful. After all he picked you didn’t he? Who are the chowder heads in the chorus to disagree? But, once the halo is gone, turned over the guy who started work this morning, you suddenly morph from sage to sagebrush. Wasn’t that why you left your last job?
Right around the time the halo is transferred to the newer kid, you hear a rumor, never confirmed, that someone with less experience and the work ethic of the proverbial grasshopper is making a lot more than you do.
Then you decide that accountability is not exactly the coin of the realm in the organization you came to change. Your co-workers seem vaguely annoyed that they are required to show up for work to be paid. Would expecting them to do something productive during the 40 hours they are on the premises be unreasonable? You notice that their supervisors spend an inordinate amount of time on Monday mornings collecting money for lottery tickets. On Fridays they make the same rounds for the weekend’s football games. Once the Super Bowl is over and done, March Madness is on the horizon. Anyone whose team makes it to the Final Four is exempted from answering phones or responding to emails until the boss notices they’ve stopped working.
It’s about this time that you come to believe the guy in the corner office is crazy. By no means is this a metaphorical term. It’s merely an unkind word for a legitimate, if non-specific, diagnosis. The chief executive insists on making all the decisions, including the most important decision of all, which is not to make them. He schedules an all day meeting with an agenda full of important topics. After a six hour monologue he closes the meeting by saying, “We got a lot done today.” As you nod your head in vigorous agreement it dawns on you, now the formerly enthusiastic new person, that it’s over. It’s not going to be different here than it was the last place you worked.
If you’re nodding your head in agreement, thinking, “Yes, I have been there and done that,” an eerie feeling should come over you. What if this is the best Americans can do now? Obviously there are many people in this country doing great things and succeeding admirably. But I worry about creeping mediocrity in too many areas of our lives. A flight went down over Buffalo last winter while the pilot and co-pilot of a doomed commuter plane discussed their inexperience and lack of expertise in coping with icy conditions. Recently the media ran a story about a couple given the wrong embryo.
Shouldn’t we embrace and then emulate the enthusiasm of the new person? The pursuit of excellence is a communicable condition. Catch it if you dare.

Copyright 2009, Len Serafino. All rights reserved.