Early in 2003, just as my former employer was getting all excited about how many American technologists they could lay off in favor of hiring those who were reported to be better and smarter in almost every way over in that little part of the world to which Columbus thought he was heading, my manager “suggested” that I read a certain tome with which many in my field have undoubtedly become familiar, Who Moved My Cheese? Allow me to get one thing said at the outset: I get it. Or at least I think I do:
When life dumps a mess in your lap, don’t just sit and stare at it. Get up, change your trousers, and move on.
Perhaps that’s a bit simplistic, but I believe that it encapsulates the message accurately. There were the 2 mice, the 2 tiny men (how very imaginative, Dr. Johnson), the “maze”, the “cheese”, and the mysterious force that evidently held sway over the cheese’s whereabouts. Those were the major players, as I recall. The lesson to be learned? Don’t be like the little men — be like the mice, who, seeing their predicament, mindlessly trudged on in search of new cheese, never stopping to consider what may have become of the original cheese stores or what its disappearance might foretell about the state of the maze. (All right, I’m not altogether sure that the good doctor had that exact message in mind, but make no mistake — the mice are definitely the role models the wiser of the 2 little fellows decides to emulate.)
Did I mention that I get it? Most of us who are sharp enough to keep the wheels greased in a Fortune 500 company by managing (some actually architecting) its complex information systems probably have some clue that standing around waiting for situations to reverse themselves will accomplish nothing — which is only slightly more than upper management is often capable of accomplishing, incidentally. On a good day, that is. But a closer look at this cheesy volume reveals a mindset with which, perhaps, fewer clergymen and other humanitarian fans might have been so enamored — that those in the corner offices somehow have absolutely no responsibility to those in the cubicles.
Do I mean that it is unethical for a corporation’s executives to look after the bottom line? Absolutely not. Unless, that is, that’s all they’re looking after. Unless their lust for more and more profits cause them to forget all the happy-family, go-team, let’s-all-stick-together speeches they delivered when they wanted their employees to feel and show loyalty to the company, then turned them out as soon as it benefited them financially. Unless they enticed said employees with implications of rewards down the line for their long years of service. Unless, in other words, they are not completely devoid of humanity, of morality, of substance, and of soul. Of course, even if executives are all those things, it’s still not illegal in today’s America.
Dr. Johnson’s cheese, too, is evidently mysteriously just… provided. There is no mention, to my recollection, of how hard the characters — mice or men — worked, how much they sacrificed, how many nights they spent away from home while managing the “maze”. The cheese, according to the author, is simply an entitlement they all thought they were owed somehow. I wonder just how similar that is to how upper management sees its “little people”. I wonder whether, in their minds, nothing is actually earned by their employees — only provided to them by a benevolent few at the top, to whom is owed loyalty and trust no matter what havoc their decisions play.
Well, it’s no secret by now that I’m not a fan of the aforementioned book. That said, I did learn at least one lesson from reading it. Whatever your view of change — a recognition that it is unavoidable, a crippling dread of its impending effect on your life, or naive euphoria that views it as good no matter what — know this: If your manager, HR professional, or any other authority in your workplace ever hands you a copy of Who Moved My Cheese, prepare to print a few copies of your resume, and get a letter of recommendation while you can!
