She was a professional. Human Resources. Emphasis on the resources rather than the human. Her colleagues had nicknamed her “the smiling assassin” and whilst she gave no outward expression, beyond that signature smile, that she either agreed nor disagreed with the moniker, inwardly she liked it. Inwardly she also silently chalked up who was a little too keen to keep calling her it. Chalked up, filed away, took a mental note to take them out at the knees when an opportunity presented itself in the future. And it would. It always did.

She had not agreed with the new behavioural framework for the organisation. She’d maintained a steely, tight-lipped smile as her peer, the Head of Employee Experience, had taken them all through the briefing. As a general principle she didn’t believe that employees should be having experiences anyway; experience was something you gained, incrementally, steadily, painfully if necessary. Not something that was gifted to you, wrapped in a bow, from a team trying to smooth out all the rough edges of work. There was a reason it was called work.

The new framework – or “our behavioural contract” to give it full title, complete with the need for mandatory signature to signal “buy in” – was, on the face of it, simple. Be candid. Be respectful. Be brilliant. Be you.

She wasn’t having difficulty with any of the statements individually although was still disappointed that her suggestions of minor tweaks had gone unheeded. For the record they were: be brief or be gone, be good or be gone, be you unless you is insufferable and unable to understand acceptable parameters of professionalism in a modern office. She hadn’t actually voiced that last one despite the new desire for everyone to be candid. She’d judged that it might be perceived as not being respectful and therein lay the issue. Individually the statements were all fine – if a little soft – but entirely contradictory in practical application.

Being candid she wanted to regularly let everybody know that she was singlehandedly covering for their woeful performance. Being candid she wanted, specifically, to tell the Head of Employee Experience that, no, she wouldn’t like to be reverse mentored by a sixteen year old to learn about the lived experience of Gen-Z and how she could extend her profile via Tik Tok with a self-deprecating rap about the menopause. And, no, she didn’t think that giving everybody a day off on their birthday was a good idea and, no, she didn’t want to join in on fancy dress day and come in attired as a pirate. Being candid she wanted to put two thirds of her peers on performance measures, or, in the spirit of real candour, just get rid of them all via a compromise agreement. The compromise, on her side, being that she hasn’t just called security to have them escorted from the building without notice because the in-house employment lawyer (who was within that two thirds of peers) wasn’t prepared to play who-blinks-first at the resulting tribunals. Being candid she thought that the competency framework was better expressed as an incompetency framework given the examples at hand from the people around her. The idea from the Head of Talent to bring in an actual bicycle to brief everybody on the talent cycle (“it’s a metaphor, if people pedal really hard around here and steer well then they can succeed”) was, candidly, the most ridiculous thing she had heard since the same person had suggested that the potential axis on the talent grid could be changed to run from un-nurtured acorns to mighty oaks. She had given up trying to explain that all the potential was in the acorn. Not that she cared about potential: you can either do it now or you can’t and if you can’t then please refer yourself to the “be good or be gone” behavioural standard. Being candid she wasn’t entirely sure that she agreed with dress down Fridays, flexible working, the “Shining Stars” recognition scheme, time to work on your development, and, to be honest, lunch hours. Obviously people need to eat. But do they actually need an hour to do it?

She felt like saying all of those things was her being brilliant, being her. Be brilliant. Be you. So, you could argue that she was completely delivering against three of the four behaviours. Seventy five per cent. Crushing it. And if she delivered all of that candour, all of that brilliance, all of that “you”, with a firm, determined smile then surely that meant that she was also being respectful. Four out of four. One hundred per cent. Exceed on her end of year performance rating, top right box of the talent grid, earmarked for greatness on the succession plan. A mighty oak if we really must use the officially sanctioned scale.

She was a professional. She kept these thoughts to herself and with-held her candour. The Head of Employee Experience was pregnant and she knew that she was the obvious candidate for her maternity cover. Twelve months to unpick this madness and take them all out at the knees.

She smiled.

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So this, I think, got caught trying to decide if it was funny or mildly sinister and didn’t entirely settle on either… which is my way of saying I’m not entirely happy with it but am also writing on a deadline and have no recourse to an edit. There are bits that work, I think. It’s probably informed by some past experiences but, thankfully, bears no relation to the brilliant people I work with now.

Anyway, internal critic aside… this is another 1,000 words or so towards my pledged 26,000 words in July for Great Ormond Street. Donation page here