diy

Many years ago, I applied for a job at Microsoft, was flown up to the Mountain View campus, and was put through eight hours of infamous Microsoft interview questions. You know the type: brainteasers intended to reveal to the interviewer how I solve problems. Most of the questions were standard riddles, like, How do you match up three light switches in one room to each of the three light bulbs that they control in another room while making as few trips as possible between rooms? (Hint: there's a way to do it in one trip.)

But one question, toward the end of the day, caught me off guard. The interviewer asked, "Why do the drainpipes of sinks have P-traps on them?" (P-traps are that curve in the pipe under the sink.)

At the time, I thought it a pretty strange and irrelevant question. (Yes, more so than the one about the ratio of blue paint to red paint in two buckets where the same spoon has been dipped into the red one and then the blue one and then back into the red one.) After all, why would someone applying for a job at Microsoft need to know how the plumbing under a sink works?

If I remember correctly, I figured that since the trap often gets clogged -- like the time I tried to put a whole colander of old spaghetti down the garbage disposal -- the trap must be for, well, trapping chunks of food before it gets into the sewer system. Not quite, the interviewer explained. Turns out that getting clogged is actually an unwanted side effect of the P-trap. Its real function is to stay full of water so that sewer gases don't come back up into the house.

I didn't get the job -- not just because I didn't know what a P-trap is for, but also because I wasn't much for brainteasers back then, or perhaps because I generally wasn't all that bright at the time. But anyway, for the most part, I soon forgot about the seemingly silly P-trap question.

It wasn't until not too long ago, when G and I bought our house, and when I suddenly realized that I really like do-it-yourself projects -- and suddenly found myself fixing leaking drains and pulling toilets off their bases and rigging washing machines so as not to overflow -- that I remembered the P-trap question again. And it was then that I finally understood what an interviewer could gain from asking such a question.

See, if I were to answer the question incorrectly, as I had, then it would be no big deal: the interviewer could assume that I simply had lived in apartments and dorms for a long time and never had to deal with plumbing. However, if I were to answer correctly, then the interviewer could immediately imply a handful of things about me -- like that I had at some point fixed a sink myself, and therefore had had to teach myself a new skill in a limited amount of time, and that I was the type of person who would do it himself rather than wait for a plumber to show up (and that I probably could have waited for that plumber but was just too cheap to want to pay one.)

In other words, the interviewer could find out if I was a do-it-yourselfer. And in doing so, they'd find out quite a bit about my personality.

It's clear to me now why I like meeting other do-it-yourselfers so much. Sure, we share a hobby in common. But also, I can be pretty sure that they're self-reliant people. They believe they can learn new things. They like to learn new things. They like to solve problems. They like to make things better. Sounds like the perfect qualities to look for in a new hire.

If I'm ever interviewing you and you want to impress me, find a way to tell me about how you spent the past weekend tiling your kitchen floor.

brainstorming gone bad

Marc Andreessen blogged recently about brainstorming, pointing to research quoted in the The Medici Effect that states that groups that get together to brainstorm consistently underperform groups that split up and brainstorm ideas individually and then come back together later to share those ideas.

It's an interesting insight, and I've certainly had my share of meetings where I've just wanted to go away and think quietly for a while. But I'd say the bigger problem facing most companies is not generating ideas, but rather knowing when to stop brainstorming and start doing.

I think this is especially a problem in the tech industry, where it's easy to talk about all the cool things you could do with a product. Over and over again, I've seen teams come together to solve a problem and walk away with a half dozen other projects to think about, each with their own problems.

One organization I worked for called a meeting to discuss what should have been a fairly simple request to modify a checkbox on its Web site. They wanted the box to be pre-checked when users first saw it, in hopes that it might raise subscription rates to their e-newsletter. Sounds like something that probably could have been handled over email or in a phone call? Nope. The meeting lasted an hour, with six people representing a variety of different departments and levels in attendance. By the end of the meeting, the original reason for "checking the checkbox" had long been forgotten and replaced with eight new "wouldn't it be great if" ideas. And the associate who had initially been asked to make the change was left sitting at the table wondering aloud if she was still supposed to make the change or not. Awesome.

Organizations like these aren't stagnant behemoths in need of new processes to tease out the next brilliant idea. They're teeming with ideas -- and no ability to focus on just some of them. What they need is not someone to say, "Hey, let's change the way we brainstorm" but rather "Hey, we're past the brainstorming phase on this one and into the decision-making phase."

thank you, i'll be here all week

I've been working on this theory that there are just a handful of small actions which, if observed, can reveal volumes about a person's inability to be a leader. In other words, bad leaders have "tells." If you're fortunate enough to spot one of these tells early enough, you can take action and save your group or your business or your community -- or you can simply get far enough away to save your own sanity.

One of the tells goes like this: When a very serious question or issue is placed before the supposed leader, he or she attempts to make a joke. This is often played off as "having a sense of humor even in tough times." But the truth is that it's a tactic to distract people and avoid having to give a straight answer.

Here's a real-world example, from President Bush's press conference on Thursday:

Q: Thank you, Mr. President. I'd like to ask you about the Petraeus report, which as you say, will be in September, and report on the progress. Doesn't setting up the September date give the enemy exactly what you've said you don't want them to have, which is a date to focus on, and doesn't it guarantee a bloody August? And while I have you, sir, the phrase you just used, "a different configuration in Iraq" that you'd like to see, is that a plan B?

THE PRESIDENT: Actually I would call that a plan recommended by Baker-Hamilton, so that would be a plan BH.

The transcript doesn't say it, but if you'd watched the conference on TV, you'd have noticed the complete lack of even a courtesy laugh from the crowd. The President continues speaking, but then catches himself -- and, as if on stage at a comedy club, asks the crowd, "You didn't like it?"

Not really.

And while it's a bit late -- and granted, a bit overplayed -- to be looking for Bush's tells at this point, it's not a bad time to start looking at what the various 2008 candidates are giving away about themselves. For instance, there's that certain candidate who decided that the best response to a question about taking action against Iran was to sing "Bomb Iran" to the tune of the Beach Boys' "Barbara Ann".

War, ain't it hi-larious?

you decide

What's worse: The person who reviews your presentation and comments on the font size because they truly think they're being helpful -- or the person who reviews your presentation and comments on the font size because they don't want to address the actual ideas that you've put before them?

armchair anthropology

I've been trying to come up with a short list of the most important things I learned in 2006, so I can keep up what I started last year (based on Jeff's idea.) But I wasn't able to come up with anything really interesting -- it was one of those years -- until I saw a post over at Bluishorange about the insanity that is office small-talk.

I, too, used to despise office small-talk -- thought that it was dull, pointless, irritating, a sign that god is dead. You know, that sort of thing. I was the master of avoiding it. In the mornings, I could slip into the break-room unnoticed, fill my mug with coffee, and sneak away quietly like a ninja. In the hallways, I'd maintain course and breeze past you even if it looked like you were slowing down to really tell me how your New Years' was. And if you tried to strike up a conversation about your weekend plans while standing in the bathroom, I'd give you a look that left no doubt about which Circle of Hell I thought you should go spend some time in.

But over the past year, I've started to see how small talk really has very little to do with what's being asked or said. Hearing that your coworker did "you know, not a whole lot, just hung out with friends" for New Years' or telling the guy in the marketing department that you "hope the weather holds up this weekend" isn't really the point.

Rather, it's all about social protocol. The whole "nice day out, huh" exchange in the elevator is really about saying, "Hey, I'm human; I acknowledge your presence and that you're human, too; I speak your language; I'm not going to attack; Oh, and I acknowledge that there's this thing called the Sun outside; If we do business, I'll likely be a fairly functioning being in that transaction."

So, that's what I learned in 2006. I'm not saying that all the questions about what people did over their holiday are completely hollow or that everyone should go running around thinking they're social geniuses when they ask whether you're "working hard or hardly working." But if you ask me if I have any plans for Martin Luther King day, I'm a whole lot more likely to answer without sarcasm these days.

Oh, but I am still likely to give you a dirty look if you try to strike up a full-blown conversation in the bathroom. Because that's just weird, dude.

turning ships

Harvard Business School has published an interesting interview with Amy Edmondson, a professor in the Technology and Operations Management unit who recently interviewed 190 employees in various organizations about why they don't speak up (whether to point out potential problems in the business, or to share ideas, etc.) Here is, as they say, the money quote:

Our own and others' research have shown that two beliefs are essential preconditions for the free expression of upward voice: first, the belief that one is not putting oneself at significant risk of personal harm (e.g., embarrassment, loss of material resources) and second, the belief that one is not wasting one's time in speaking up. In short, voice must be seen as both safe and worthwhile.

It's great to see someone sum up the problem so clearly. (If you can't relate, count yourself extremely lucky.) But here's the frightening part:

How do you change a culture of fear? It's difficult! Despite some well-intentioned efforts, we haven't yet worked with an organization that has fully transformed itself from one of fear to one in which most employees would rate the organization as open or conducive to speaking up.

To be fair, Edmondson goes on to say that "pockets" do exist where speaking up is encouraged in many of these organizations. But still, is there no hope for an organization with a closed culture? Is culture so embedded that no effort can crack it?

help wanted

In organizations, like in life, people want someone who'll be an advocate for them.

In particular, staff members want their supervisors to champion their ideas. They want to know their bosses believe in their ideas enough to present them to higher-ups. They want someone who'll amplify (but not usurp) those ideas, someone who will stand up for them in the face of skepticism -- someone who'll risk something of his or her own to move a good idea forward.

In other words, they want someone who believes in their causes and will take steps to help. Advocacy.

This is not to say that managers should latch on to every idea that comes out of the group. But I think a lot of managers forget that they're supposed to be advocates for their teams. They think employees exist to work for them.

It should be the other way around. The manager should be working for the employee.

where your collar comes away

The weather has finally gotten to us. There is no other explanation for this mood we've been in for days. No fights. No rut. No irritating ways of sighing loudly when the other person commandeers the remote control. Just the sub-40-degree nights that blow in around the leaky doors and windows, just the black umbrellas, just the waking in the dark, just the eating breakfast in the dark, the leaving work in the dark, the coming home in the dark, and the thought of waking again tomorrow in the dark, just the chill wind, just the chill wind hitting you where your collar comes away from your neck as you stand waiting for the train, just the steamed windows of city buses, just the absence of shadows, just because, just all of this, just wanting no more of this and just the rain, the rain, the rain.

* * *

I've remembered another lesson I learned in 2005: There are many interesting and fun people in this world, but when it comes down to it, I am most impressed by those who possess the following two qualities:

• Kindness. Not simply politeness. Not diplomacy, though that's slightly better. But true kindness. The kind that doesn't exist on nearly the scale that it should. Once, in college, tired, hungry, and achingly lonely after friends, family, and even mere acquaintances had left town for the holidays, I wandered into the only sandwich shop within walking distance of my empty apartment and, upon seeing that the owner had already put everything away for the night, was so stunned that I could do nothing more than stare, the owner, perhaps deciding to take a chance, chose not to chase me out and instead told me to sit down and proceeded to turn the lights back on and retrieved the cold cuts from the fridge and the day-old bread from the bin and made me the driest, mealiest, yet wholly nourishing sandwich I suspect I will ever taste. That kind of kindness.
• Competence. Anyone can run a business and manage to get by. Anyone can write software and come up with a decently functioning program. Anyone can pour coffee and get it in the cup. But do it with skill -- do it so that everyone in the company is working toward the same goal, do it so that the program is not only elegant but solves a difficult problem, do it so that the brew is fresh, the liquid hot, and the lid snapped tight around the cup when you hand it to me -- and you will have my respect.

so this is the new year

Happy New Year. I bet you're still trying to turn all your clocks back one second, aren't you?

* * *

Jeff has the right idea -- instead of focusing on resolutions for '06, he's thinking about what he learned in '05. Here are a few things I learned last year:

1. People will follow the leader. If the boss arrives late for work, spends most of her time in the office with the door closed, lets staff members argue hostilely during meetings, promotes unskilled people just because she needs to fill an open position, and never gives anyone feedback -- positive or negative -- you can bet that most of the people who report to her act the same way. On the other hand, if the boss takes the time to train each of her direct reports, gives them feedback on their progress, and encourages them to openly discuss and debate ideas for making the organization better, chances are good that they will turn around and do the same. (This lesson applies to politicians, too.)
2. Don't waste time worrying that the next step might lead to a fall. If you don't like where you are -- and your reasonable attempts at making things better aren't working -- then it's time to move on. If you still dislike where you end up, then you can always move on again.
3. There will always be something around the house that needs fixing. Your attempts at crossing everything off your to-do list are futile.

on a conquest

Everyone's got comfort items.

For instance, in the days right after Sep. 11, 2001, when it seemed like every stranger on the street might suddenly turn and attack me for the way I look -- and a few actually did, though only verbally, thankfully -- I was up to two and sometimes three cans of Coke a day.

I didn't really need the extra sugar. I just found something relaxing about that damned red can.

Right now, my item is literature.

I dropped by the bookstore tonight in search of Bertrand Russell's The Conquest of Happiness and Studs Terkel's Working.

Take from that what you will.

Actually, though I'm a fan of Russell, I hadn't heard of The Conquest of Happiness until I started reading the bibliography to Scott Berkun's The Art of Project Management the other day. The title may make it sound dry, but trust me: Berkun's book should be standard issue for anyone who works in an office.

Anyhow, the bookstore didn't have The Conquest, but I happened to walk past Bill Clinton's My Life, which is now in paperback, and I couldn't help picking it up.

A few steps later, I walked by the audio version. On the package it said "Read by the Author."

Of course, I had to get it. If there is any more comforting voice than his, I have yet to hear it.

cadence

I'm still amazed by the fact that I can immediately recognize my own words, no matter how long ago I wrote them. For instance, a couple years ago, I was working with the TV on in the background and overheard a quote from a movie review I had written. The quote was being used in a commerical and, sure enough, there was my name on the screen. Just nine words, spoken by someone else over the air, and I knew exactly when I'd written them and why.

The opposite is also true: I can tell you exactly when words that are supposed to be my own aren't. Just this afternoon, I pulled up an old article for reference and realized right away that the first sentence had been rewritten sometime between the moment I filed the story with my editors and the time it was published.

I can't explain it. There's just something about your own cadence that you always recognize. It's something that breaks when someone else touches your story, even if it's only to add a single word.

Good editors know this. And when they have to make changes to your story, they do their best to match your rhythm. If they're great, they can get an edit past you without you even noticing.

Bad editors, on the other hand, are easy to spot because they try to rewrite your story to match their own rhythm.

Then Say So

I'll bet you that it's written down somewhere that anyone with a blog must make a "pet peeve" post at least once in their lifetime. And since I'm not one to argue with requirements that may or may not be written down, here's my obligatory pet peeve post:

If you say you're going to do something by a certain time, then do it. And if, for some reason, it looks like you're going to be late, then say so before the deadline. That's all I ask.

These are simple words to live by, my friend. Adhere to them and you will go far. And you will annoy me far less.