The Hammer and The Carrot

You've probably heard of the carrot and stick theory of motivation. "Better to offer up the carrot to lead the mule forward, than to use a stick to beat it". This theory was lost on those who wrote letters to our staff. What most of our letters contained was a heavy hammer blow. I was amazed at how every message, even the most innocuous, contained a threat. In our office, a Christmas message would read like this: "The director would like to wish staff members a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year". The message would continue: "Thursday, December 24TH we are having refreshments in the directors office at 1:00 p.m. and staff are welcome to drop by any time thereafter. The office will be closing at 2:30 p.m. at which time staff will be free to make their way home". Way down, at the very bottom of the letter, lurked the hammer, and smiling happy thoughts, and feeling sheepish at our wary cynicism, we'd continue on to: "Any staff member who leaves before 2:30 p.m. will be docked vacation leave for the entire day". With the smiles falling off our faces, the warmth of the Christmas greeting would be forgotten under the shadow of the descending hammer. Reading these letters, I began to think that the authors, caught in an unhealthy compulsion, couldn't help themselves. They'd restrain themselves right down to the bottom of the letter, where the thought of a missed opportunity to steal some joy, would compel them to tack on a threat. Eventually, like whipped curs, we learned to mistrust the message, and kept our eyes trained over our shoulders, waiting for the hammer to fall. I began to think of the letter writers as "The joy stealers". They were staunch defenders of the workplace against any lighthearted threats to efficiency. The stealers believed that optimum efficiency could only be achieved once smiling, and other signs of contentment had been thoroughly eradicated. "Stealers" were readily identified by their tightly clenched "zipper mouths", and brows that were knit into perpetual frowns. It's easy to tell when your workplace is under the thumb of a joy stealer when letters shrink staff to the level of a naughty six-year-old, by their tone alone. When most letters begin with the sentence: "The staff will not", or even more baldly: "Do Not" in big bold letters, then chances are there's a joy stealer at the helm. Most employees take pride in their jobs, but they don't want the words "Do Not" screaming at them, unless it's in front of bottomless pit they're in danger of walking into. The worst thing about requests phrased in "Do nots", is the implied flip side: "Or Else". Here's where the letter writers at our workplace differed. Seasoned joy stealers would leave the implied threat hanging allowing the mind to concoct any number of horrible fates. Stealers with less finesse would spell out the repercussions, word for word, with the unstoppable tenacity of a horror flick villain. Why crack the whip? I'd often wonder. It's been awhile since folks were publicly flogged or hung, and yet the stealers seemed hopelessly mired in a gallows mentality. I'm convinced that the mule curls his lip at the whip, and just digs his heels in harder. He won't be moving forward, except to get in line for a nice tasty carrot. The stealers had at their disposal, an arsenal of threats, which they used to embellish every occasion. The sheer weight of the "Shall Nots" would have brought Moses himself to his knees. I had a favorite fantasy where I would gain access to the computer network, and load in a translation program capable of tracking down and terminating unprovoked threats. The program would then insert polite substitutes into the empty spaces. The changes would be made gradually so staff wouldn't drop like flies from the sheer shock of it all. "Do not" would first become "Refrain from", then after awhile: "Please refrain from", and eventually: "We would ask that". I'd also sneak in a few rogue phrases like: "Any suggestions from staff are welcome" and "Congratulations on a job well done". Well, even a mule has his dreams, and it's a harmless way to pass that heels-dug-in downtime while waiting for the stealers to put down their sticks and plant a plant a few rows of carrots.

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