My sophomore year in college, I decided to take a job at a local coffee shop. It wasn't my first or last temporary job, but I'll always remember it as being one of the best lessons in management and entrepreneurship I ever received.
I got the job through a friend who already worked there. I came in for my "interview" wearing gray wool slacks and an orange shirt. I handed the manager a copy of my resume, which mentioned brief stints at our college newspaper as well as longer-term work at a national magazine. He looked at the paper as if it were written in demotic Greek.
"Do you have any experience in food and beverage?" he asked at last.
"Uh, no," I said.
"Good," he said, tossing the resume into the trash can. "No bad habits for me to correct."
Over the next few months, I learned how to work a service job. I opened at seven am on Sundays and played Frank Sinatra music while the machines warmed up. I operated an industrial dishwasher. I bussed plates and soothed angry customers. I worked a morning rush - thirty people in a row - and got each person their order in two minutes time or less. I learned the difference between white tea and black, between coffee and espresso. I learned that "orgeat" is another way of saying "almond." I was on my feet for eight hours at a stretch.
When I told my parents I'd gotten a school year job, they saw visions of internships in journalism or engineering. "I'm a barista," I said. There was a long silence on the other end of the line. "Don't we give you everything you need?" my father asked, at last.
My co-workers and I passed our occasional free time by taking espresso shots, competing over who could invent the best new drink, and flirting with the local business school students in exchange for tips.
Then there was my boss. I often run across people who run organizations. They talk about stakeholder engagement and employee morale. But these are just words and phrases. Here are a couple of the things that my boss said to me, unprompted, over the course of the time I worked for him:
"You can eat whatever you want, anytime, even if you're not on duty. You're family here, and you don't pay."
"Good shot." (When I tripped during the morning rush and shattered twenty glasses)
"I just saved your ass." (When the person who was supposed to take one of my shifts bailed on me, leaving me stranded two hours away with no way to get to work.)
"Nobody talks to my employees that way." (When a local guy started yelling at me about why we had run out of tea strainers)
"You ever have a problem with anyone who works here, you tell me and I will fix it." (When one of the other baristas was accused of inappropriate behavior by another girl who worked there.)
"I'm glad you got me to fix it." (When one of the bathrooms malfunctioned and I didn't have the heart to repair it myself)
"A good boss should never have to raise his voice." (And he never did, not once.)
"Make me a cappuccino. It better be perfect."
There are a million tiny ways in which he made a brick and mortar structure feel like a family. When the staff went on vacation, he told us to send him vacation pictures, which he posted on the walls. When he opened another location in Ann Arbor and I dropped by there, unannounced, the manager on duty refused to take my money.
"Staff never pays," he told me, with a grin.
I saw that character is something we can create in the world around us, no matter how large or small our enterprise. This was a valuable lesson, and one that many companies - large and small - could stand to learn.
I recently got caught in a debate over whether the traits that characterize great leaders are inborn, or whether leadership can be learned. The examples cited - Mahatma Gandhi, George Marshall - obscured the issue. Everyone knows the stories of successful, ambitious leaders. But the world is full of people who display leadership on a smaller scale, in daily and necessary ways. I feel lucky to have observed that in my former boss - whom I consider one of the most inspiring and collaborative people I ever worked with.
I got the job through a friend who already worked there. I came in for my "interview" wearing gray wool slacks and an orange shirt. I handed the manager a copy of my resume, which mentioned brief stints at our college newspaper as well as longer-term work at a national magazine. He looked at the paper as if it were written in demotic Greek.
"Do you have any experience in food and beverage?" he asked at last.
"Uh, no," I said.
"Good," he said, tossing the resume into the trash can. "No bad habits for me to correct."
Over the next few months, I learned how to work a service job. I opened at seven am on Sundays and played Frank Sinatra music while the machines warmed up. I operated an industrial dishwasher. I bussed plates and soothed angry customers. I worked a morning rush - thirty people in a row - and got each person their order in two minutes time or less. I learned the difference between white tea and black, between coffee and espresso. I learned that "orgeat" is another way of saying "almond." I was on my feet for eight hours at a stretch.
When I told my parents I'd gotten a school year job, they saw visions of internships in journalism or engineering. "I'm a barista," I said. There was a long silence on the other end of the line. "Don't we give you everything you need?" my father asked, at last.
My co-workers and I passed our occasional free time by taking espresso shots, competing over who could invent the best new drink, and flirting with the local business school students in exchange for tips.
Then there was my boss. I often run across people who run organizations. They talk about stakeholder engagement and employee morale. But these are just words and phrases. Here are a couple of the things that my boss said to me, unprompted, over the course of the time I worked for him:
"You can eat whatever you want, anytime, even if you're not on duty. You're family here, and you don't pay."
"Good shot." (When I tripped during the morning rush and shattered twenty glasses)
"I just saved your ass." (When the person who was supposed to take one of my shifts bailed on me, leaving me stranded two hours away with no way to get to work.)
"Nobody talks to my employees that way." (When a local guy started yelling at me about why we had run out of tea strainers)
"You ever have a problem with anyone who works here, you tell me and I will fix it." (When one of the other baristas was accused of inappropriate behavior by another girl who worked there.)
"I'm glad you got me to fix it." (When one of the bathrooms malfunctioned and I didn't have the heart to repair it myself)
"A good boss should never have to raise his voice." (And he never did, not once.)
"Make me a cappuccino. It better be perfect."
There are a million tiny ways in which he made a brick and mortar structure feel like a family. When the staff went on vacation, he told us to send him vacation pictures, which he posted on the walls. When he opened another location in Ann Arbor and I dropped by there, unannounced, the manager on duty refused to take my money.
"Staff never pays," he told me, with a grin.
I saw that character is something we can create in the world around us, no matter how large or small our enterprise. This was a valuable lesson, and one that many companies - large and small - could stand to learn.
I recently got caught in a debate over whether the traits that characterize great leaders are inborn, or whether leadership can be learned. The examples cited - Mahatma Gandhi, George Marshall - obscured the issue. Everyone knows the stories of successful, ambitious leaders. But the world is full of people who display leadership on a smaller scale, in daily and necessary ways. I feel lucky to have observed that in my former boss - whom I consider one of the most inspiring and collaborative people I ever worked with.
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