First, let me say that I’ve come to the conclusion that barring some extremely major changes, changes so radical as to seem completely unimaginable (changes of the “wet pigs flying backwards at night”/“The Dolce & Gabbana Fairy actually exists” ilk), I’m leaving my current job. It’s just too insane here for me to stick it out.

In the meantime, while I look for another job, I’m going to give you the vicarious thrill of a peek into the craziness that is my soon-to-be-former firm. It could take some time to find a new job, but that’s ok, because that gives me time to tell you all the silly, horrid things that go on here, which will give us all a laugh.

Isn’t emotional distance a wonderful thing?

Anyway, our crack marketing team is doing some sort of external launch. They called us to ask if we could do a concurrent internal launch. It sounded exciting, so naturally we were interested. We get to the meeting where we’re supposed to discuss it and surprise! They and their agency (yes, they have an agency!) have planned out the entire internal launch for us. Right down to the poster size. Their question: Can you implement it? My reaction: Well sure. And look! Outside the window! There goes the Dolce & Gabbana Fairy!

Why is it that when people go to the PR team or the analyst relations team, they go for advice or insight? They treat those professionals like, well, professionals.  “What do you recommend?” they ask. “What do you think we should do?”

But when they go to internal communication, they say, “Here’s my plan. How soon can you get it moving?”

Is internal communication the communication equivalent of the corner takeout? You belly up to the counter, put in your order, and get your stringy, soggy, lifeless sandwich? It’s convenient and edible, but not creative, tasty, or particularly nourishing?

Let’s contrast that with PR, which is like a Michelin-rated restaurant. You approach PR with reverence. You need a reservation. You dare not question the chef. There may be a menu, but it’s complex and inexplicable – only for the true gourmet. The gourmand in you might secretly want to, but you wouldn’t dream of demanding a side of fries and ketchup with your sautéed rockfish and vegetable pearls in lemon verbena emulsion. And when the PR sommelier recommends the Châteauneuf-du-Pape Blanc, “Les Gallimardes,” Domaine Giraud 2004, you don’t pull a Snapple out of your backpack instead.

It all sounds very effete. But the point is, just because internal communication cooks for family doesn’t mean we’re serving dog food. To continue this analogy (which is making me hungry, actually), it doesn’t mean that the marketing team can decide that a big ol’ bucket of greasy fried chicken should be what’s for dinner.

What the marketing team (and others like them) doesn’t realize is that we’re actually decent chefs in our own right. I’ve been a sous-chef in a PR kitchen, and I know our team can do the communication equivalent of wielding a mean sauté pan, coaxing an elegant swan out of a tricky meringue, or whipping up a sudden banquet for 2000. And we do that all without a caterer (also known as the PR team’s substantial fulltime headcount plus their agency). We don’t have their resources, but we don’t serve crap chez nous.

Unlike our marketing team and their fried-chicken ideas about communication, we actually know our family members (whom we affectionately call “employees”). We know that right now might not be the best time for fried chicken, because our firm is suffering from severe corporate heart disease (which we unaffectionately call “impending layoffs”). Besides which, not many people here think greasy fried chicken served in a paper container is the gustatory delight that our friends in marketing INSIST IN ALL CAPS/BOLD that it is. Marketing has served it many times before and it didn’t go down well – even with non-family members. They might know that if they stopped to think about it or even (pause inserted here to give them a second to absorb this concept) asked someone who did know.

So, dear marketers, perhaps you might give us a shot at suggesting the menu? I assure you, you’ll eat well.

Bon appetit.

Those of you have been reading this blog must have surmised by now that I’m not entirely happy in my current job.

So why don’t I leave?

That’s a great question. And something I’ve asked myself too many times.

On the plus side, I get paid. Also, it’s a job in communication, which is what I do. 

On the minus side, my job is all about politics, pettiness, and position. It’s like soaking your soul in an ocean of toxic sludge every day. It’s draining to be the buffer between employees who are justifiably sick of being glad-handed, and executives who are determined to – from a communication perspective at least – out-obfuscate the former Soviet Union. 

After some time here, I’ve come to the conclusion that this job is like an abusive marriage, and I’m the spouse who won’t – can’t? – put a stop to the cycle of craziness.

I remember accepting this job. It was after a whirlwind courtship (recruitment) where my firm sought me out, flattered me, tempted me, and promised great opportunity (plus a nice title). My firm was just too attractive to resist. We spent hours talking about our mutual goals and similar values. We sketched out great possibilities and campaigns. It sounded so good, and I wanted to believe. So I fell into its arms. I envisioned us, the firm and I, living a long and happy life together (and gathering a few awards and accolades for good measure).

The honeymoon was short. My new firm’s warts started to show just weeks into the relationship. Like the besotted bride I was, I denied that anything was wrong when the problems began. I tried to explain away the budget cuts, headcount reductions, the almost complete staff turnover, the crushing pace, the draconian review process, the persistent second guessing, the non-existent morale, the snippy and unkind management, and the outright refusal to try things that they hired me to implement.

It’s just a hard time right now, I reasoned. They’re not used to doing things in an open and honest way. They’ve never done anything other than top-down communication. They don’t know anything different. They need time to adjust. There’s a learning curve. Small steps are best. They’ll come around. I can change them. I can make this work.

I pushed myself as hard as I could to be the right person for this job/marriage. To be more patient. Work longer hours. Come up with new methods and ideas. “Align” to the business goals (even though the business didn’t know what its goals were). Provide measurements and metrics to prove that what I was doing was working. To see their side. To do things The Corporate Way. To be less confrontational. To acquiesce and whittle down those objectionable bits of my personality that make me want to insist on being the kind of communicator they hired me to be.

Now I am changed to such a degree that I hardly recognize myself. And the firm doesn’t respect me.

Every time the craziness gets even crazier, I tell myself I’m leaving. Then I update my resume and half-heartedly throw a few out there to see what happens. But as in any abusive marriage, just when things seem at their worst, my spouse/firm will show up with roses and apologies, and a great new project I really want to try. An outstanding performance review. They even gave me an award for excellence. And I go through the whole denial cycle again.

Deep down, my firm and I both know what’s going on. I was stupid, seduced by a slickster, duped into droneland, and now I’m sticking around for the steady paycheck.

Does that make me corporate victim or corporate whore?

I wish I knew.  

Our employee meetings are dreadful affairs. Because it’s our CEO’s meeting, our department VP does the meeting scripts and slides instead of letting the internal communication team do it. (Why would you have the internal communication team actually do the internal communication and miss a perfectly good opportunity to suck up?) So it’s a consistently crappy meeting for employees, packed with platitudes (for them) and praise (for the execs).

To get past the pain of yet another one of these meetings without actually resorting to drink (they’re forbidden on our premises), I decided to make a game of it. I pulled out my notebook and began to play a fun game I called, “Catch the Clichés.” Not only is it fun, it looks like I’m diligently taking notes! Here were the fun clichés I caught in the first five minutes:

• Long pole in the tent
• Eye on the end zone
• Running the traps
• At the end of the day
• Ants in my pants
• Sense of urgency
• Bottom line
• Don’t try this at home
• Think globally, act locally
• Business as usual (meant as a good thing)
• Building the future
• Rubber hits the road
• The next card
• To the largest extent possible

The clichés were flying so fast and thick, my brain began to get fuzzy and weak. So I switched to a quick round of Buzzword Bingo, during which I heard:

• Quarterbacking
• Our DNA
• Tiger team
• Senior level functional leads
• Our platforms
• Pipeline
• Technology play
• Key takeaway
• Disciplined process
• Key design principles
• Transparent
• Event driven
• Key principles
• Organizational design
• Scalable
• Transforming
• Change agents
• Applicable
• Global footprint
• Definitional
• Peopled
• Underserved

For all you communication measurement advocates, here are the key stats from this meeting:

• Fourteen clichés in five minutes = three clichés/minute (on average).
• Twenty-two buzzwords in five minutes = four buzzwords/minute (on average).
• Number of people impressed with all this (once self-congratulatory execs are factored out): Zero.