My first manager job was full of characters. It was like an all-star cast of misfits — and I mean that in a loving way, because many of the people I managed in my first job were incredible humans. Some were weirdos who didn't last long. One hated my guts. But one stands out for very special reasons.
His name was Mike. It's important I set the scene. I was hired to be a manager at twenty-three years old for a group of people who had no leader for a solid year or two. I was part of a turnaround job in the Salinas-Monterey-Santa Cruz market of Central California. It was December 2008. The world was going sideways, and I was a baby-faced kid who still would've gotten carded buying cigarettes.
On my third day at the office, while wearing my full suit and tie with a fresh haircut, Mike walked into my office and sat down. Mike was well into his sixties, white-haired, wearing a white dress shirt and tie. His co-workers described him as a sweetheart. Nobody described him as a hell of a salesperson.
'Scott, I'd like to talk with you about something I'm really passionate about,' Mike said. I had no idea what was coming. Keep in mind, this was day three of my leadership career. No training. No manual. Just go in there with your Nordstrom suit and make it happen.
'I've been playing in a band for the last forty years here in Salinas, and on Friday nights we play a gig at the local restaurant. I need to leave work around 1 or 2pm each Friday to go get prepared.' I almost fell out of my chair. If Mike had just disappeared on 'sales calls' every Friday I probably never would've known he was going full Eric Clapton at the local pizzeria — but now that I had the information, what was I supposed to say?
I told him it wasn't going to work. If I let Mike leave Fridays to play guitar, I had to let Janet go play tennis on Thursdays and Craig go surfing on Tuesdays. The issue was around equality, but it was also around the fact that Mike was already underperforming. Adding a guitar quota on top of it was a problem.
Mike returned a day later, slapped a resignation letter on my desk, said a few things that felt good to him in the moment, and that was it. The office turned on me briefly — Grandpa Mike had made me the villain.
Each day we have an opportunity to make decisions on our priorities and our goals. When you decide to sleep in instead of going to the gym, that's a decision for your health. When you skip an optional training at work, that's a decision for your career. When you put your goals off for another month, that's a decision for your future. My challenge to you: think about where you're trading decisions off today, and whether those trade-offs are really worth it long term.