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Shades of grey

Sitting on the train into London this morning I spotted a tweet from Sarah Lazenby to a great cartoon called “Whack An Idea” by Tom Fishburne. The cartoon illustrates the frustration I’ve long held about the endless corporate cries for creativity and innovation, so swiftly followed by the punishment of mistakes.

Fishburne says: “When a business culture plays Whack-An-Idea for too long, it no longer needs to use the mallet. The culture begins to self-edit. Ideas that seem too risky are discarded out-of-hand.” The cartoon gave me a good laugh – and it’s a powerful illustration of a serious point. That pressure to conform, to self-edit.

The train pulled into London Bridge and as I got up to leave all I saw around me was grey. Grey suits, grey faces, grey expressions. Why bother wasting time on dress codes when most folk self-edit to grey. It comes to something when my non-descript vaguely pink shirt stands out in a crowd.

Somewhere in the office there’s a drawer. And in that drawer is a piece of paper. And on that paper is written the secret mission:

“We cut out creativity

Can’t handle responsibility

We lie about innovation

We crave idea constipation

We have assumed control”

I don’t feel so good.

A play for today

Act One

Doug is sat at his desk. He is telephoning Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs (HMRC) to check his Accounts Office Reference number, how exciting!

HMRC  “Hello this is Bert [names have been changed to protect the innocent] can I take you through security?”

Doug “Yes”

HMRC “What is your accounts office reference number?”

Doug “Ahh, well funny you should ask – that’s what I want to know. I am calling to check that I have that number recorded correctly.”

HMRC “I can’t give you that information over the phone”.

Doug “Why not please?”

HMRC “That’s not how we do it here.”

Doug “OK……so how about I tell you what I think my accounts office reference number is as part of the security questioning and if I pass security, I must’ve got it right?”

HMRC “What is your accounts office reference number?”

Doug “XYZ123blah”

HMRC “Company name?”

Doug “What Goes Around Limited.”

HMRC “Address”….etc etc

…eventually…

HMRC “right, you have passed security.”

And without another word, HMRC puts the phone down.

The end. (at least I hope it is…)

First job, worst job

First job

The very first paid work I can recall was delivering newspapers. I had a Sunday morning round and a week day evening free paper round. The guy in shop sorting papers on a Sunday morning invariably had a drip on his long nose. And he used to sneak a read of the top shelf magazines, I regularly caught him with a copy of Razzle hidden in the Sunday Times! The week day round was huge and it took me ages for very little money. The bags of papers weighed heavily and my Mum used to walk full bags to various points on the route so I didn’t have to keep going back home to restock. That was very kind of her, mind you the whole crazy paper round thing was her idea in the first place!

Worst job

I once worked in a timber yard. It was back breaking work and I’m sure the team I worked with were extras from the Addams Family and The Hills Have Eyes. One guy had no teeth and swore a lot. He couldn’t pronounce the letter f so to him, everyone was a pucking plonker! Lugging bags of cement and stacks of wood was knackering, mind numbingly boring and shockingly badly paid. Needless to say I didn’t stick it for long.

What are yours?

If you would like to share your first and worst jobs with us I’d be pleased to hear from you.