My Man Bob

If asked (as I no doubt will be, eventually), I’d have to say there have been two keys to my professional success: limited competition (Bruce), and a great man we’ll call Bob W. The former is self-explanatory and just good luck on my part. The latter, however, is a strategy for which I take direct credit. I've touched on it before, but I think it bears repeating and expanding upon. It works on what I like to call the Slipstream Principle, after the way birds flying in formation coast on the updrafts created by the flapping wings of the birds in front of them. When I entered my career in advancement, I identified a guy with talent, charisma, ambition, and good looks, and then I just started tailing him. Any time he is promoted, I make sure I am well positioned to step right into his shoes. Then I just ride the currents of his hard work and success.


I may have to rethink this strategy now that he’s gone off to become head counselor at some Adirondack summer camp, but that aside, this has served me very well for several years now -- with one major exception that has become clear recently. When I took over Bob’s old job this summer, I was thinking it was going to be pretty sweet, because not only would I be coasting along on Bob’s success for at least two years, but I’d be inheriting Bob’s protégé, Aaron. It was well known in the office that Aaron was totally devoted to Bob: I heard stories of Aaron bringing Bob coffee, waxing his car, clipping his toenails, etc. Thinking I’d never have to pick up my own dry cleaning again, I prepared myself to be on the receiving end of hero worship for the first time.

Well, can I just say that did not pan out at all. My first week in the job the guy walks into my office like he owns the place, does his push-ups and crunches, writes on my white board, rearranges my tchotchkes. He takes countless days off leaving nothing but an out-of-office email telling people to call me instead, like I’m HIS assistant. And I think he’s still working for Bob. I think they get on the phone every afternoon and talk about me. Not that I can blame Aaron, exactly; the Bob W. addiction is a tough one to break. I’m battling it myself. But still, what does a guy have to do for a little loyalty around here?