You can dismiss someone from the conference room, but you may still have to face him or her in the living room.
Left unchecked, underachievers can drag down an entire team’s performance, and that goes double when the problem staffer is family.
Walk into any coffee shop and it’s obvious that the place we call “the office” has changed. Many of the people sitting at tables are likely mixing laptops with lattes as they browse email and write reports. Some may be pitching a sale over coffee.
Bright orange walls and ergonomic chairs. A black conference table flanked by a half-dozen scruffy-chic men (zip-front sweaters, double-pierced ears, turn-of-the-millennium tattoos) and three times as many digital devices (nobody brought just one).
No agency is safe. No office off limits. Boardrooms will be infiltrated. Communication barriers will crumble for the sake of collaboration. As the old guard inches toward that horizon called retirement, Sacramento’s young power players are taking center stage.
About a decade ago, as a financial analyst for Intel, I lived in the suburbs of Santa Clara and frequently traveled to Folsom. It was a good job, especially for a kid straight out of college — decent pay, strong company and the lure of glittering stock options.
So I left.
Three is a magic number. Yes it is. It’s a magic number.
If you’re humming the lyrics to the iconic “Schoolhouse Rock” song, then you are either over 35, a Blind Melon-head or already in tune with the Strategy of 3.
He’s the boss, she’s bossy. He’s assertive, she’s domineering. He strategizes, she schemes. He’s powerful and likeable, she’s powerful or likeable.