No, it’s just the beginning …
“Well, I gotta run,”
I broke the silence,
heading for the door.
“What’s your hurry?”
he asked
as he followed me.
“No time to waste …
I’ve got things to do
and problems to solve!”
I replied
as I opened the door.
“Hey, so do I!”
he nodded
in agreement.
And we walked out
through the doorway
together.
“Reminds me of that
fairy tale
I used to read to my daughter
when she was little …
I can’t remember
exactly how it goes …
but as I look at this today
I think:
‘Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
who’s responsible after all?’
“ME,” I said.
And “WE,” he said.
We both fell silent for a moment …
“I like the way you think!”
he exclaimed
as we both stood looking
at the words.
We saw our words,
and we saw our faces,
reflected together in the mirror.
“Yeah,”
I nodded,
“and as I looked at the two words,
I noticed that they look kinda like
two sides of the same coin …
see?
If you put ME here,
and WE right below it,
it looks like
they are mirroring each other.
WE and ME go together,
like a right and left hand
working together.”
“Here’s another possibility,”
he said
as he wrote
on the steamy mirror:
“Hey, you’re right,”
I chuckled,
“I never thought of that.”
“Well,”
he replied,
“what’s that old saying
about ‘two heads
are better than one’ …?
I guess it’s true.”
“And maybe there’s more …”
he continued.
“More what?”
I asked.
“More right answers.
Like many questions
in life
there might even be
more than one
right answer
to your question,”
he said.
“Yes,
perhaps
you’re right,”
I agreed.
Just then,
someone else
came into the washroom.
Glancing at me,
then at the mirror,
then back to me,
he looked puzzled.
“What’s that?”
he asked.
“I just solved a problem
I was working on,”
I answered.
“I discovered
that I had the solution
all along,
I just didn’t know it.”
I tossed the paper towel
in the trash.
I headed for the door,
but in a moment of impulse
turned back to the mirror,
still a little steamy
from the hot water.
As I had sometimes done
as a child,
I used my finger
to write on
the slightly foggy mirror.
I stood back and smiled.
“Well,
whaddya know?
I’ve been looking for
responsibility
in all the wrong places!
“I thought someone else
was accountable –
I thought that ‘they’ must have
the answers.
“Now at last I see –
there is no ‘they’ –
there is only ‘ME.”
Then suddenly
it dawned on me –
as if someone
had flipped the light switch
in my mind:
“Ha!
There’s the answer –
right in the mirror –
looking back at me!
“It’s as plain
as the nose on my face.
The answer is ME!”
Finally,
I straightened up,
grabbed some paper towels
from the dispenser,
and began to dry my face.
As I watched myself
in the slightly steamy mirror,
my mind kept replaying
the stranger’s words.
‘Hiding in plain sight …
right under my nose …’
I turned up the hot water
and bent further
to splash some water
on my face.
This whole ordeal
had been exhausting
and I hoped I could wash the fatigue
from my face.
The hot water felt good …
soothing,
relaxing,
calming.
I took my time …
cupping the running water
in my hands
and bringing it
to my face.
Ahhhhh ….
“Huh!”
I said to myself.
“Hiding in plain sight …
that can’t be …”
Now alone,
I turned on the water,
leaned over the sink,
and began washing my hands –
washing them of this whole matter,
this futile search.
“Well, I see
what you’re saying,”
I countered.
“But, I don’t think
it applies in this situation.”
“Hmmmm,
maybe so, maybe not,”
he said
as he headed
for the door.
“It was just a thought.”
“Well,
thanks anyway …”
I said lamely.
Too late.
He was gone.
“Well, yeah,” I agreed,
“I have had that experience …
looking for car keys,
the TV remote,
the leash for the dog.
Yup,
Sometimes it is right there
under my nose.”
“Well, perhaps
that’s what’s happening here.
Could be that
your answer is
hiding in plain sight,”
he said
as he wiped his hands
with paper towels.
I shot him a glance –
“You know somethin’
I don’t know?”
“Not really,”
he said,
“I just know
that sometimes
people look for answers
in every place
except the most obvious one.
“Haven’t you had
that experience?
You spend all day
Lookin’ for something’ –
Till finally
You give up
In frustration.
“And once you give up,
suddenly
what you’re looking for
shows up –-
right in plain sight,
right under your nose!”
“Oh, yeah,
that’s a good one,”
he nodded.
“I’ve struggled with
the very same question
myself.”
“Right.
But nobody’s got
the answer,”
I complained.
“I’ve been all over
the place,
and I came up
empty-handed.
Nothing,
Zip,
Nada,
Zero.”
“Ya don’t say,”
he replied
with a touch
of bemusement
in his voice.
“Oh, I don’t wanna
bore you
with all the gory details …
Let’s just say
I’m havin’ a bad day.”
“Yeah?”
his raised eyebrow
continued to query.
“Yeah,”
I replied,
“I’ve spent all day
trying to find out
who’s really in charge here…
Who’s responsible
When things go wrong?
Who’s responsible
for solving problems?
Who’s responsible
for making a difference?”
“Oh, I see,”
he answered.
“I just wanna know
who are they, anyway?”
I blurted
in frustration.
I pushed open
the bathroom door
and walked in.
The place
was empty
except for one guy
washing his hands
at one of the sinks.
I went to another sink
and turned on the faucet.
“Nice day, isn’t it?”
he asked.
“Not particularly,”
came my glum reply.
“Gotta problem?”
he queried.
I looked over
at him.
I didn’t recognize him,
but that
didn’t mean anything –-
it’s a big organization.
“I’m going to stop
at the restroom here
and wash my hands,”
I told her.
“Thanks again for your time.”
“Sure, anytime,”
she waved
as she continued
down the hall.
“See ya.”
I arrived at the building
all glass and chrome,
and pushed my way
through the revolving door
and followed the signs
to the Finance Department..
“Excuse me, miss,”
I inquired at the information desk,
“I was directed here
to meet with they --
can you let them know
I’m here?”
“Oh …. uh ….
I’m sorry,
you’ve been misdirected,”
she smiled sweetly.
“They’re not here --
we just crunch numbers,
that’s all we do.”
“But isn’t this
where the Controller works?
And isn’t he or she in control?”
I asked.
“Well, yes,”
she answered,
“This is where the Controller works
but she doesn’t really control things.
They do!”
“Oh, it’s OK,”
I said,
“At this point
I don’t think anyone
can help.
It doesn’t appear that
anyone is responsible
for anything!
“I think I’ll just go
to the cafeteria
and get a cup of coffee.”
We walked down the hall
together,
silently.
I didn’t reply.
I just sat there,
taking in
what she had said.
I was out of steam.
No longer angry,
just resigned.
“Well, thank you
for your time,”
I said,
getting up
from my chair.
I extended my hand
and she
shook it graciously.
“I wish I could be
of more help,”
she smiled,
a bit sadly.
“I know just what you mean,”
she nods
sympathetically.
“It’s my understanding
that they are all
in the Line departments …
you know, Operations.
I’m in H.R.
and we’re just a
Staff department,
no power or
authority.
We, too, are frustrated
with them,
but there’s nothing
we can do.
It’s just the way things are.”
“I don’t know,”
I replied wearily.
“Maybe it’s hopeless.
I’ve been trying
to find this ‘they’
that I hear
people talking about
all the time.
“My teammates
complain about they;
my boss grumbles
about they;
and people I talk to
in other departments
bemoan all the problems
caused by this
mysterious and elusive they.
“I’m just trying to find out,
who are they,
anyway?”
Just then,
a cheery woman
from Human Resources
walked in.
“I understand
you’re having a problem,”
she said in her
most soothing voice.
“I’m so sorry.
Is there anything
I can do to help?”
As I sat there
cooling my heels,
I noticed a copy of our organization’s
annual report
on the table
next to my chair.
I picked it up
and started
thumbing through it.
Our workplace looked so rosy
depicted on
the slick pages …
smiling employees
of all
colors and hues,
dignified executives
exuding power and confidence
from their pinstripes.
And teamwork --
above all, teamwork --
emphasized on
page after page.
“One big
happy family …”
I muttered to myself,
“… yeah, right.”
Frustration
and cynicism
welled up
in my throat.
“I’m sorry,
I’m so sorry,”
I hastened to say.
“I’m not angry with you;
I’m just tired of looking
here, there, and everywhere.
Please accept my apology.”
“Of course,”
she replied,
“I know how you feel.
They can be pretty upsetting,
can’t they?
Have a seat
and I’ll call
Human Resources
and see if they
can help you,
OK?”
What could I say?
At this point
I was about ready to give up.
“Sure,” I sighed
as I dropped into
a big leather chair.
“Then where on earth
can I find them?!”
I almost shouted,
losing my cool.
“We’ve got problems,
and issues,
and concerns,
and nothing will ever get fixed
if I can’t find
‘them’ who are responsible!”
“Well, don’t take it out on me,”
she snipped,
rightly taken aback
by my outburst.
So down to the union hall
I taxied,
hoping that
it wasn’t too late
already.
The taxi driver
was gruff
but friendly.
“You in town
on business or pleasure?”
he asked,
peering at me
in his rearview mirror.
“Business,”
I replied,
“Serious business.”
“Yeah?”
he replied,
an eyebrow raised.
“Yeah,”
I nodded,
“I’m hoping soon
to talk to them.”
Disappointed
and dejected,
I turned slowly
to walk outside.
“This is taking
a lot longer
than I thought,”
I mumbled
to no one in particular.
“Who are the people
responsible
for what happens here?
I don’t have forever
to find them.
Things aren’t getting any better,
and they need to DO something!”
I headed back downtown --
still on my quest --
still in search of they.
“Ha!
Who the heck
told you that?”
he laughed,
taking the cigar
out of his mouth.
“Whoever it was --
fed you a bunch of bull!”
He slapped me on the shoulder
as if we were sharing a joke.
Shaking his head
he continued,
“It’s those bean counters --
that’s who you should be talking to.
Those finance guys --
they’re the ones who call the shots.
They run everything by the numbers.
It’s the guys with the calculators
you’re looking for.”
“Where will I find them?”
I asked
as he turned to walk away.
“Just follow the money,”
came his reply
before he disappeared
down the hall.
I turned to face the building.
“I sure hope they’re here --
I’m getting tired of looking.”
Once inside
I paused --
uncertain which office
to try.
“Can I help ya?”
a voice came from behind me.
“Why yes,”
I smiled,
turning to face
the man in shirtsleeves.
“I was told that I could find
them here.”
“What ‘them’
would that be?”
he asked.
“The ones responsible
for what happens
at work,”
I answered.
“I was told that
they’re here.”
“Good luck!”
he snorted
sarcastically.
“Pretty hopeless,
if you ask me.”
“Well,
you’re not alone
in feeling that way,”
I sighed.
“A lot of people
feel the same.
But nonetheless,
I must go on.
I can’t stop now --
I’ve come too far.”
“OK then,
here we are,”
he pulled to the curb
in front of
the red brick building.
“That’ll be
twelve-fifty . . .”
I handed him
his fare
and a generous tip
and waved as he drove away.
I tried not to think
that maybe he was right.
“Yeah,
those guys are tough cookies!”
another suit chimed in.
“We’ve tried to get them
to step up to the plate
and deal
with our concerns.
It’s like speaking
to a stone wall.
I doubt that talking
will do you any good --
at least not with them.”
“Well,
I’ve got to try,”
I replied.
“There are problems
that need attention.
Success is at stake …
our jobs are at stake!
And they need
to do something!
Don’t you see?
I’ve got to continue
my search for them.”
When I reached the top
the elevator doors opened,
and a crowd of suits
was standing there.
The meeting had just adjourned
and everyone was gathered
waiting for the elevator.
“Excuse me,
are you the people in charge?
I’ve been looking for you
everywhere.”
“Heck, no,”
one suit replied,
“But I’d sure like to give them
a piece of my mind!”
His face turned red
as he continued,
“They’re in their union hall,
Everyone knows
that it’s Labor that controls
what happens around here.”
“I’ll tell them,”
I replied.
“Thank you
for your directions ….”
But I don’t think he heard me.
For just then
the lights changed,
and the waiting crowd
surged across
the intersection.
So I shrugged goodbye
and headed for the elevator
in the tallest building --
relentless in my search
for them.
“Excuse me, sir,
I’m looking for ‘them’ --
do you know
where they are?”
“Of course I do --
everyone knows
where they are,”
he frowned at me
as he set his briefcase down.
“They’re in the Board Room,
up there on the 47th floor.”
He pointed to the top
of the tallest building.
“When you find them,
tell them to shape up.
There are problems
that need taking care of
and people
who need their attention.”
So downtown I went,
reasonably certain
that they would be there.
Which building?
I wondered
when I arrived,
looking up at
all the skyscrapers so tall --
all looking alike.
Surely the people responsible
are in one of these buildings.
But which one?
I’ll ask someone . . .
So upstairs I went,
hopeful that ‘they’
would be there.
I asked the receptionist,
“Are they in?
I need to see them.
We’ve got problems
that need fixing.”
“They? Here?”
she responded,
“You must be mistaken.
There’s no one here
but us,
and we’re certainly not responsible
for the problems you describe.
They’re at headquarters,
those that you seek --
in that tall building
downtown.”
My boss leaned back
in her chair
as she said,
“Don’t I wish!
If I were one of them,
things would be
a lot different around here.
But they haven’t seen fit
to include me in their group.
Like you, I just work here.”
“Well, then,”
I asked,
“Can you tell me
who they are …
and where I can find them?”
“You know,”
she replied,
“They’re the guys who run this place --
the people who make
the daily decisions.
They’re always in charge.
Go upstairs
where the senior managers work.
I’m pretty sure
that’s where they are.”
So I went to ask my boss.
Her door was open,
so I walked right in.
She looked up from the paperwork
on her desk.
“What’s up?
she asked,
as she motioned for me to sit.
“What’s up is my frustration,”
I replied.
“I try to do a good job,
but problems come up,
some of which
could have been prevented.
But when I talk to others
all I hear is:
They don’t want to hear about problems.
They only want good news.
They don’t like people who rock the boat.
And me, I’m trying to figure out
who this ‘THEY’ is!
“You’re my boss –
Are you one of ‘them’?
Are you responsible?”
I took my troubles to my teammates,
but they offered little in the way of help …
One said,
“I don’t know.
Read the manual
they gave you.”
Another replied,
“Don’t ask me,
that new stuff was their idea,
not mine.”
And a third just shrugged
and shuffled away.
Why, just recently,
I encountered a problem
with this new technology
we’re supposed to be
implementing.
I followed the procedures,
did what I’d learned
in the training,
but the problem persisted.
Now, don’t get me wrong …
I like my job.
And the organization’s
not bad,
as organizations go.
I like the people here,
some are really great,
and the members of my team,
well, we get along OK.
But, it’s so hard
to deal with problems sometimes …
And worse yet,
it’s impossible to try
to change anything,
because they won’t let us –
they won’t approve it –
they say the economy is iffy
so better not take a risk.
They’re in charge of everything,
but they don’t tell us anything.
They make the rules and policies
by which we must work,
but those rules and policies
often get in the way of our work.
They tell us
we need to embrace change,
but they don’t change themselves.
They seem to have all the power,
but they don’t use it wisely.
They want,
they expect,
they demand,
they cut,
they control,
they command,
they, they, they ….
It’s always about they!
Just who are THEY, anyway?
I’m sure you’ve heard it, too:
They don’t care about quality and service,
it’s all about numbers and the bottom line.
They’re never around when you need them,
you know.
They can’t decide what they want us to do.
They do just enough to get by.
When are they gonna learn …?
They’re everywhere,
I swear!
Just listen to people complain:
They’re ruining this organization.
They’re driving me crazy!
They never listen.
They can’t be trusted.
They’re only out for themselves.
They’re never satisfied.
They could solve our problems if they really
wanted to.
I’m tired of not pulling their share
of the load!
It’s downright disconcerting.
For many years
I’ve heard about “they” . . .
and I’ve often wondered
just who are they, anyway?
You know who I’m talking about:
They could have prevented this situation.
They never tell us what’s really going on.
They oughta DO something about this!
It’s their fault!
Who Are "They" Anyway?
by BJ Gallagher and Steve Ventura
Dearborn Trade Publishing
August 2004
Hardcover, 128 Pages
ISBN 0793188296
This is the story
of a person who has a problem.
Who is he?
Just a regular guy,
in a regular job,
in a regular organization.
What kind of a problem?
Well, let’s just say
it’s one that’s not at all
uncommon …
… perhaps you’ve even had it yourself.
See if his story
sounds familiar …