2 A Problem

“You have a problem,” Bud continued. “The people at work know it, your spouse knows it, your mother-in-law knows it. I’ll bet even your neighbors know it.” Despite the digs, he was smiling warmly. “The problem is that you don’t know it.”

I was taken aback. How could I know I had a problem if I didn’t even know what the problem was? “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” I said, trying to exhibit calm.

“Think about these examples, for starters,” he said. “Remember the time you had a chance to fill the car with gas before your wife took it, but then you decided she could fill it just as easily as you, so you took the car home empty?”

I thought about it for a moment. “I suppose I’ve done that, yes.” But so what? I wondered.

“Or the time you promised the kids a trip to the park but backed out at the last minute, on some feeble excuse, because something more appealing had come up?”

My mind turned to my boy, Todd. It was true that I avoided doing much with him anymore. I didn’t think that was entirely my fault, however.

“Or the time under similar circumstances,” he went on, “when you took the kids where they wanted to go but made them feel guilty about it?”

Yeah, but at least I took them, I said to myself. Doesn’t that count for something?

“Or the time you parked in a handicapped-only parking zone and then faked a limp so that people wouldn’t think you were a total jerk?”

“I’ve never done that,” I said in defense.

“No? Well, have you ever parked where you shouldn’t but then run from the car with purpose to show that your errand was so important that you just had to park there?”

I fidgeted uncomfortably. “Maybe.”

“Or have you ever let a coworker do something that you knew would get him into trouble when you easily could have warned or stopped him?”

I didn’t say anything.

“And speaking of the workplace,” he continued, “have you ever kept some important information to yourself, even when you knew a colleague would really be helped by it?”

I had to admit, I had done that.

“Or are you sometimes disdainful toward the people around you? Do you ever scold them for their laziness or incompetence, for example?”

“I don’t know if I scold them,” I said weakly.

“So what do you do when you think others are incompetent?” Bud asked.

I shrugged. “I guess I try to get them to change in other ways.”

“So you indulge the people who report to you with kindness and other ‘soft stuff’ you can think of in order to get them to do what you want? Even though you still feel basically scornful toward them?”

I didn’t think that was fair. “Actually, I think I try pretty hard to treat my people right,” I countered.

“I’m sure you do,” he said. “But let me ask you a question. How do you feel when you’re ‘treating them right,’ as you say? Are you still feeling that they’re a problem?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” I replied.

“I mean this: Do you feel you have to ‘put up’ with people? Do you feel — honestly, now — that you have to work pretty hard to succeed as a manager when you’re stuck with some of the people you’re stuck with?”

“Stuck?” I asked, stalling for time.

“Think about it. You know what I mean,” he said, smiling.

The truth was, while I thought I knew what Bud was saying, I disagreed with what I thought he was implying. I was trying frantically to find an acceptable way to defend myself. “I suppose it’s true that I think some people are lazy and incompetent,” I finally replied. “Are you saying I’m wrong about that — that no one is lazy and incompetent?” My inflection on “no one” was too strong, and I cursed myself for letting my frustration show.

Bud shook his head. “Not at all. I’m talking about no one else now but you, Tom. And me, for that matter.” He paused for a moment. “So what do you do when you’re confronted with someone you believe is lazy or incompetent?”

I thought about it. “I guess that depends. I suppose I get after some of them pretty hard. But some people don’t respond well to that, so I try to get them going in other ways. Some I cajole, others I outsmart. But I’ve learned to keep my smile with most people. That seems to help. I think I do a pretty good job with people, actually.”

Bud nodded. “I understand. But when we’re finished, I think you’ll feel differently.”

The comment unsettled me. “What’s wrong with treating people well?” I protested.

“But you’re not treating them well. That’s the problem. You’re doing more damage than you know.”

“Damage?” I repeated. A rush of worry flushed my cheeks. Attempting to keep my emotions under control, I said, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to explain that to me.” The words sounded too combative, even to my own ear, and my cheeks flushed all the more.

“I’ll be happy to,” he said calmly. “I can help you learn what your problem is — and what to do about it. That’s why we’re meeting.” He paused, and then added, “I can help you because I have the same problem.”

Bud rose from his chair and began pacing the length of the table. “To begin with, you need to know about a problem at the heart of the human sciences.”