On Running Anything Complicated
I want to give you folks some insight into what it’s like running my branch and my business.
Picture a large, overcomplicated machine. In fact, machine is probably the wrong word. “Contraption” fits better.
So, picture a large, towering contraption. Maybe in your Mind’s Eye, it’s built of steel, wood, iron, or bricks. It doesn’t really matter which (in reality, it is all of those). It is driven by a combination of steam, arcane magics, voodoo and pure, cussed willpower, and rides on a combination of wheels, legs, treads and stilts. It is operated by a complex series of valves, levers, pulleys, blocks, tackles, windlasses, hoists, joists, rigging, momentum, springs, gimbels, rockets, fireworks and superstition. And each morning, our contraption lurches into motion, belching smoke and careening wildly across the landscape. Operating this machine are myself and my employees, who (theoretically) know which levers to pull to make the thing go, which valves to turn to alleviate pressure, and which whistles to blow to warn unsuspecting livestock, small children and buildings to get out of the way.
My job, as manager, is manifold. First, I have to make sure my employees can navigate the complex controls of our Contraption. This is to ensure that they are not a danger to themselves and others. Thankfully, the actual number of employees or customers folded, spindled or mutilated is low these days.
Secondly, as Captain of this unlikely machine, my job is to convince people that “Yes indeed, I too would like to ride that awkward, ungainly contraption. Let me give that man money for the honor of doing so!” More importantly, I must convince them to do it again and again. Maybe they need a ride on our contraption to the next town. Maybe they have a smaller, less complex contraption of their own that is broken and need to ride on ours for a while. Maybe the thrill of riding our machine outweighs the fear of being mechanically pulped into Slim Jim filler. Whatever the reason, I have to go out and seek people to give us actual money to ride this thing.
Finally, I must make sure that all the parts of my machine are in working order. Or, if not working properly, at least doing an impression of it. This means that I spend my time, covered in metaphorical grease with an allegorical wrench, hammer and screwdriver, replacing whatever jury rigged repairs one of my previous managers with a jury rigged one of my own. This accounts for the myriad, patchwork appearance of our Contraption. And not all of the repairs are metaphorical either, I remind myself.
So, at this point, I invite you to put yourself in my seat. Where not only do you have to manage personnel in operating this great contraption, but also the mechanics for what make it go. And you have to do it while not, yourself, being ground up, torn apart, or dismembered by the complex machinery.
Yes, it’s difficult, tricky, needlessly complex and probably hazardous to my health and others’. But it’s still a lot of fun.