BlitzBlog

Been having some problems with an underling at work for the past few months.

This
past May, one of the Big Bosses, Andy, came to me and told me to log
onto the network and check out what my assistant Finch was doing. Andy
had been monitoring Finch's computer, remotely, for about half an hour,
and saw that Finch was surfing the Web, doing personal e-mails, and
basically avoiding his actual job.

As an aside, let me tell
you that there is a thing called Apple Desktop Remote, that allows one
to monitor or even control another user's computer on the network.
Since Finch and another assistant sit in an office located about 300
feet from mine, tucked away into a corner on the other side of our
company showroom, we use Apple desktop Remote to keep a casual eye on
job progress and to check one of our print server queues, which is
located on Finch's computer. Up until that day, it was rare for me to
even look at what Finch was working on when I did happen to log on to
his desktop. Usually it was just to see where a particular job I'd sent
to the printer was in its progress.

So I took Andy's advice
and logged onto Finch's computer. I spent the rest of the day watching
him flit from one inane website to another, sometimes stopping or
returning to ones of particular interest to him. He went to a variety
of forums in which he was was obviously a regular post contributor.
Since I'd hired Finch, and had worked with him over the past four and a
half years, I'd built up a trust in him, so I was surprised to see that
he spent 90% of the entire day doing this.

I followed up for
the next 2 days, feeling guilty for spying, but every minute building
other feelings of betrayal and anger. Finch wasn't just casually
checking on some personal e-mail and getting back to work. He was
stealing from the company. He spent 6 hours of his 7 paid hours, both
days, doing nothing but personal fun on the internet. I was incensed at
his betrayal of my trust in him, especially since I'd put my name and
reputation on the line for him a few times in the past when others in
the company had mentioned Finch's remote location and how he could be
doing just about anything back there. I'd defended him to my superiors
and told them that his production was certainly adequate and that he
could be trusted to do his job.

To make matters worse, my
immediate supervisor, Art, had also defended Finch in even more
strident tones with his supervisors, the Big Bosses. Those Big Bosses
had never warmed up to Finch and despite their ambivalent attitude
toward Finch, they took Art at his word and kept mum on Finch.

Even our Human Resources Director, Jane had defended Finch to those who'd criticized him.

So all this playing around on Finch's part was now destroying the credibility of three trusted managers with our superiors.

Art,
Jane and I discussed what should be done, and agreed we'd confront
Finch with what I'd seen. We let the Bosses know that we recommended,
in light of his 4-plus years of service, that Finch be given an
extremely stern written warning that will go into his employee file,
and that should anything like this ever happen again, he would be
immediately terminated. And since Finch's annual review was coming up
in the next month, we agreed that it would be in his interest to put it
off until September in an effort to allow him to rehabilitate his
reputation.

So Art and I sat Finch down in Art's office. I'd
written out a minute-by-minute log of Finch's web surfing activities
over the last 3 days, and we handed it to him to read. He began reading
it and about 10 seconds went by, and he just looked up and exclaimed, ”
I can't believe you're spying on me!” Art and I were flabbergasted, to
say the least. I couldn't believe this kid's chutzpah. He finally
realized that he'd been caught in a major theft of company time, and he
began to take a more reasonable tack. He still had a chip on his
shoulder about be observed, but he at least, didn't try to defend or
justify what he was doing, although he gave the weak sell-out that he
“wasn't doing anything everyone else is doing,” i.e his so-called
friends and co-workers. He did, however, insist that this was an
aberration, and that it was just by chance that I was “spying on him”
on the only 3 days he'd spent surfing the Web for 6 hours. Neither Art
nor I were even remotely believing his claim, and we told him he could
choose to take this reprimand or take his coat and hat and leave.
Finch, of course, swallowed his pride and skulked back to his desk.

Things
were, to say the least, a bit tense around the office for the next few
weeks. I logged on to Finch's computer every morning and kept an eye on
his doings. This of course, cut into my own productivity, but it was
obviously necessary. For the next month, I never saw Finch make a mouse
click that didn't have to do with his job.

I began to watch
Finch less and less through the summer, as he rebuilt my trust in him,
only half watching the little mini-version of his monitor on my own
screen. Sometime in August, I started keeping only the Apple Desktop
Remote log-in window on my screen, which only shows what program a
particular user is running and their computer's status on the network.
Finch was rarely not using his computer for those programs that were
solely dedicated to his job.

So late September comes around.
Art and I decide to give Finch his review. We take special pains to
downplay his reprimand incident in the text, and Art grovels with the
Boss for a 2-plus percent raise.(!) We call Finch in and give him his
written evaluation, showing our confidence that he's put this incident
behind him, and give him his raise, back-dated, however, this time, to
only September 1, not to June which is his usual review date.

Finch
shows no appreciation for the hoops Art and I had jumped through to
both allow Finch to keep his job back in May, and now for a back-dated
raise and a review, which to say the least, sugar coats his previous
indiscretion like a six-foot blanket of cotton candy. Finch actually
mentions that he thinks the review is an insult, but he'll accept the
paltry increase and go back to his job.

I walk out of Art's office and dream of smacking Finch upside the head.

A
few more weeks go by. I monitor Finch loosely and things are going…
okay. No better. The comraderie in our department of the previous years
is now gone, and we dance an intricate and uncomfortable tango whenever
we deal with each other. Finch's production level is still adequate and
I am reasonably satisfied, at least with his output.

One day in
late October, I send a job to the printer queue. I open the remote
window to Finch's screen to see the print job's progress. I see my
one-page job is lined up after another 30-page monster that will take
all day to print. I call Finch and ask him to move my job up in the
queue, so I can ship it out to where it needs to be by the end of the
day.

Finch seems confused on the other end of the phone. “Huh?
What job? What are you talking about?” I reply, “On your screen- in
your queue- please move my job up ahead so I can ship it out.” “Oh! Uh,
um okay.” he answers.

Ten minutes later I am in Finch's office
to pick up my print job. He's got a sour look on his face. When I stop
to look at the page I've just made, he blurts out, ” I REALLY don't
like being observed!” I look at him and tell him that that is just too
bad (I can hear my parenting voice coming out of my mouth as I say
this) and that he'd just have to get over it. I also mention that at
this point I'm pretty much only looking at the screen to check the
printer queue, adding the rhetorical “What are you so worried about
anyway?” Then I leave to send out my page.

A few minutes later,
I get back from the shipping desk, to find Finch in my office, sitting
at my desk, closing the monitoring window to his computer, on my
screen. As he brushes past me, he says, “Well, if you're done watching
the queue, I guess you won't be needing that window open anymore.” I
stand there, mouth agape, not even knowing how to answer.

Since
this was near the end of the day, I spent some time thinking about
Finch's behavior on the drive home. I begin to wonder why he is acting
so paranoid. I decide I'd better start keeping a closer eye on him,
starting tomorrow.

The next morning I tell Art about what happened and he agrees I should keep closer tabs on Finch.

Over
then next few days, I kept a casual eye on Finch's screen, with no
outrageous personal use of the Internet. An occasional foray onto a
news site, but not for too long anyway. But on day 4, Finch opens up a
website and starts ping-ponging around the Internet for the entire
afternoon. Three and a half hours later, he quits to go home, having
done virtually no work for half the day.

While this may seem,
taken by itself, quite a petty thing, in light of Finch's previous
behavior, and subsequent warnings, this to me is a Big Red Warning
Light. I go in to speak to Art, who tells me to keep an eye on Finch
tomorrow, and that we'll speak to him in the morning about it.

Art
writes up an incident report detailing what has happened, and that it
will be mutually agreed that Finch should start looking for another
job. Art and I decide to start looking for Finch's replacement also.
When we sit down to confront Finch, he is again arrogant and petulant
about being spied upon. Art maintains his cool and delivers the
ultimatum none-the-less that Finch is on borrowed time. Finch again
skulks off, with no appreciation that Art and I could have given him
his walking papers immediately, and that he'd have no chance at
unemployment insurance if we'd done so. He seems determined to blame
Art and more-so, me, for his situation.

Again, I'd like to smack him. Argh. I think we should have canned him in May.

Two
weeks go by, with a palpably uncomfortable atmosphere in the
department. Finch is poisoning the water and is taking his case to his
peers, and Art and I are being made out as the bad guys to the
underlings in our department. I mention to Art about the upcoming
holiday season, and how it'll be interesting to see Finch's behavior at
the annual company holiday shindig- a fancy affair held the second
Friday in December at a very nice catering hall or restaurant. Art
finds it interesting that I think that Finch would even dare show up
for the party, and that undoubtedly he be in another job by then, but
even if not, he certainly couldn't believe Finch would attend the
party. I retorted that not only do I think Finch will show up, but
he'll be there as if nothing is wrong, and that I think that Finch
thinks he's got an open-ended employment search in hand, and that it
could take months before he finds something else. Art is astounded at
this revelation, but is convinced it's true. He decides we must set a
final termination date for Finch and let him know.

The date is
four weeks from Friday, which comes out to December 9th. This generous
notice, which puts us in the precarious position of having a terminated
employee within our midst, also happens to be (under any other
circumstances) the most joyous day of the year for our company. It is
the day bonuses are handed out, and the evening when the company party
is thrown. The Bosses usually pull out their stashes of vodka and have
a few discreet toasts with us department managers near the end of the
day. The women in the administrative pool are all a-twitter with who's
wearing what and who's getting dressed where. It's almost like a work
version of prom day in high school, but with less alcohol.

But this is the date we've decided will be Finch's last. Oy.

So
Art and I plan to let Finch know about this late on Friday, just before
quitting time. We call Finch to the office and sit him down and give
him the news. This time, Finch is not feisty, but is more resigned. He
is still surprised that we are looking for his replacement and makes
utterances that things around here will be different once he's gone.
That we've ruined a good department and we'll have a hard time winning
our workers back. Art is a model of restraint, just keeps reiterating
that we have done all we can for Finch, and that he will do his best to
make sure, should Finch need it, that he is eligible for unemployment
benefits. Finch says nothing to show any appreciation, and keeps
repeating how we've turned on him and he doesn't see why, and that
basically, we'll be sorry when he's gone.

I want to smack him.
Knock some sense into him. Here is a 26 year old man-child with limited
workplace experience, and I want to yell at him for being an
unappreciative bastard. Why can't he see he has stolen, betrayed a
trust, ruined the professional reputations of his allies, and still
cannot take not one iota of responsibility for his actions? I know
Finch is seeing a therapist. I hope the doctor can lead him to this
conclusion some day.

In any case, this has been one of the most
stressful and trying times of my professional life. While it may seem
selfish on my part, I just hope Finch gets a job before he has any
chance of ruining one of my favorite days of the year.