Today marks the tenth anniversary of my amicable divorce from Barclays Bank plc after twenty-five inglorious years in the company of mostly fine people. It almost beautifully coincides with England playing cricket in Chennai, India this week – read on.
Originally written for my book – It’s Only A Game – this was chapter 22 – Dead Man Walking. And I was!
The Little Man
Those of you who have worked in sales organisations will acknowledge that you don’t have to be talented to rise to the top; small, evil and psychotic are far more useful. Fluent in bullshit is mandatory.
Back in 2007/8, just as the banking world was about to implode – again – the irrelevant bit of Barclays that I worked for was about to become even more irrelevant.
The powers that be had fallen for the claims of their expensive new signing – The Kilt – who was going to raise our business to heights never scaled before. What goes up…
The Great Off-Shoring Cock Up
Our business had hit on the novel idea of off-shoring just about the time most were realising what a bad idea this was. Announced at a national get together, our customers were about to be greeted by cheery sounding ‘Rogers’ and ‘Harrys’ – “And how is your day going today, sir?”
Based in Chennai, India, none of us had anything against the people there other than they were simply crap; the whole experiment was a disaster.
The Kilt
The first year of The Kilt’s grand plan was total chaos, despite bluster and spin straight from the then Prime Minister Blair’s sidekick, Alistair Campbell’s textbook Guide to Lying Through Your Teeth.
Dozens of bodies were thrown at sales but we employed some dross; if we were aiming down market, that’s where we were going and quickly.
Our rapidly expanding salesforce also came with a new layer of hopeless management who were little more than messenger boys. It was a massive cock-up; heads would have to roll but not The Kilt’s.
Despite clear signs that dark economic clouds were circling in 2008, we had already cut our own throats.
Then Came Chennai
For decades we had prided ourselves on our people and our service. Now we had a stripped bare, dumbed-down operation backed up by people who spoke Pidgin.
There was barely a day went by without customers irate; it became apparent that doing less business made sense. The more we protested up the line the more we were met with a wall of silence.
That the business did not lose many customers was entirely due to the conversion of us on the ground from salespeople to counsellors. At the centre, heads ducked down out of sight amongst the chaos.
All Is Well!
With Christmas looming and precious little good cheer about, we received notification that The Kilt wanted to address us all via a conference call from his Basingstoke bunker; his State of the Nation address.
Most of us worked from home and the drill for one of these calls was to turn the tv down, register and put the iron on to crack on with a few shirts for the weekend.
The England cricket team were on tour in India and playing a test match in Chennai of all places, the match having been moved following terrorist atrocities in Mumbai.
Things were going well on the field and the ironing board; a blast of steam and off I went determined to avoid a self-imposed fine for slow shirt rate.
Spin
My ears started to prick as The Kilt was coming out with as much spin as India. “Bugger me, Tony Blair should employ this one”, I thought.
All was rosy in the garden; sure, we had had some “wee” problems but everything was now great – bollocks – our customers loved us – crap – and senior management were delighted with the staff survey – read it in horror and quickly binned.
And what had our invisible management been doing all year whilst we had been copping flak? They had been working on a new strap line that in one fell swoop would cure all our problems and solve the Middle East crisis to boot.
Our Customers Will Recommend Us Every Time. Really?
Alongside The Kilt sat The Sidekick plus the guy in control of Chennai. The normal process was for the messages to be off-loaded and then to open up the lines for questions. This was generally an opportunity for some smug arse to butter up The Kilt and another cuppa for the rest of us.
An Outer Body Experience
So when the facilitator said the words “if you have any questions please press 1” an outer body experience began that was both career defining and simultaneously career ending. My jaw dropped as did the iron when I heard those words “and the first question is from Steve Wilson.”
Had I lost my mind? Still with time to cancel the call – blame the internet! – and save my career, for some reason I was too far gone.
“Having just listened to what you have said (whilst ironing five shirts) I think I must have been working for a different business.”
There was a stunned silence from The Kilt followed by the ping of emails starting to land on my screen plus text after text. All were in support with a few “been nice knowing you!”
And The Crowd Went Wild
Staff down in Head Office were apparently cheering at their desks; I was off on one.They claimed they wanted open and honest feedback?
After attempting to placate me, The Kilt passed the buck to The Sidekick who floundered hopelessly, lamely attempting to offer me an explanation of the credit crunch.
“I am not a bloody numpty!” I said causing the email and text traffic to ramp up. I even had to put my iron down.
Clearly sensing he was losing, he tried to hand back to The Kilt but he was having none of it. The Sidekick tried to convince me that Chennai would be wonderful next year.
“The only good thing to come out of Chennai is that England are 173 for 2!” I countered causing uproar. “I’ve said my piece and now it’s time to stop hogging the line. Besides I’d better be off down to the Job Centre before it shuts!”
This prompted a helpful email from a great friend of mine – I hear they are looking for Santa’s about now!
Time For A Change
I had no idea how many people were actually on the conference call. When I was told that there were close to four hundred, I began to realise that this may not be the usual quiet Friday afternoon.
It surprised me when people suggested that I had been brave, reckless, mad or simply nuts to say what I said. In truth, despite The Sidekick promising to come up North to see me and The Kilt offering all sorts of assurances, they vanished without trace.
Of the numerous emails one still makes me smile. Our support staff were apparently cheering at their desks: we were all nodding in agreement but pissing our pants at the same time.
But the magnificent business I had had so much pride working for was never going to be the same again, certainly not in the control of spineless idiots.
Patricia Kalbasa says
Babsy will be howling at this read …… been there done that xxxxxx
Patricia kalbasa says
Babsy will be laughing her head off at this ,
Been there done it xxxxxx
Graham Morgan says
I made a similar career ending comment with the FA Coaching Department after refusing to toe the party line.
Proud of myself to this day.