The New Kid

I don't know whether to hug him or slug him.

Junior (not his real name, but an accurate one) is the new kid at work. "Kid," literally: he graduated from college this year. Junior's an interesting mix of naivete and low cunning, with some actual "nice guy" thrown in.

Apparently Junior believes that if he controls every conversation and asks lots of enthusiastic questions, he'll impress people and they will grow to like him.

But that's only true if if 1) you know enough to ask intelligent questions, and 2) you actually listen to the answers. Unfortunately, Junior knows nothing, and it's hard to tell him anything.

This week I've been training Junior on the company's Mystery House database, and it's been hell. Because he doesn't listen. When he asks a question, he interrupts the answers -- repeatedly -- to second-guess what I'm about to tell him. And he's usually wrong, because he knows nothing. The kid should just sit and listen for a while. But that's hard for Junior.

I feel for the guy. He's just trying to get by in a new and very insecure job. He wants to impress people, and he's trying too hard. And there are people here who'll take advantage of that.

Junior worked part-time in our marketing department while going to school. And then he graduated; and he contemplated the great wide world of unemployment awaiting him and his shiny new liberal arts degree. Worse, he needed to stay in Santa Cruz, where the rents are high and the jobs are scarce.

So while we aren't what you call a choice employer Junior was knocking on our door before he sold back his last textbooks. And eventually he landed a six-month temp job working for Mr. Z in Guerrilla Sales.

"I know I've got a lot to learn, Boomer," he told me earnestly as I scheduled his training. "But I know I can learn it, I'll try hard, and I really thank you for all your help. I know you really know all about this stuff. I'm in good hands, I know it." He clapped me on the shoulder and grinned broadly. Being schmoozed by a bumptious 22-year-old is a punishment from the Third Circle of Hell, as far as I'm concerned. And he can keep it up for hours.

"So what do you need to know?" I asked him.

"I don't know, they just told me I'd be doing research."

"Okay, data pulls and reports and basic forms navigation. I'll show you where to find the kind of data you'll be interested in. Takes about 90 minutes."

"Can we do that today? I really want to get started."

I sigh. I have things to do. But he's working for Mr. Z, which means that, after 3 days on the job, Junior's already two weeks behind. He may not know that yet.

"I think I can fit it in," I said. I pencil him in for 90 minutes in the late afternoon.

"Oh yeah, I'm also going to be entering sales reports," he said. "Will we cover that?"

I stared at him. Sales reports are important. They have to be entered in Mystery House just so, with the proper coding. The salesmen usually enter them personally. But Mr. Z is famous for off-loading his work in all directions, even if it's not wise. My department skirmishes with his group all the time.

"That's an extra hour," I said finally. "At least. We're doing that tomorrow." I check my calendar; tomorrow's hell. "No, the day after tomorrow."

"Okay! I really thank you again for..."

"Anything else they're having you do?"

He told me. In the end, it took six hours to tell him everything he needed to know. Mr. Z has him doing everything except window cleaning.

Training Junior, as I've mentioned, was hell. "Now you remember," I would say, "that interest IDs are assigned to all clients who..."

"Who are interested in buying something!" Junior would interject.

"No," I'd say, "Interest IDs are assigned to particular --"

"Oh, they're for product lines!"

"No," I repeated, "Interest IDs are for --- "

"They're for people who are about to buy something!"

At which point I'd raise my voice and bark at him a bit. That would stop him. I hate doing that, I consider it rude -- but Junior operates in an alternate continuum of manners. I still got my unwanted hearty clap on the shoulder at the end of every lesson.

Yesterday afternoon I was rushing to get some work done when Junior came by with more questions. This is normal; my training's pretty concentrated, and there's no way it'll all sink in the first time.

But he had this odd crumpled expression on his face, and all the confidence had drained away. "Boomer, Mr. Z gave me an assignment to pull all this data and I don't know how to do it, and he wants it Monday morning. How do I do this?" That last was almost a plea.

I looked at his notes: Mr. Z strikes again. Give the kid a complicated assignment his first week, don't tell him how to do it, don't give him a mentor in the group, just slip his mooring rope off the piling and shove him out into the bay. With a nasty deadline.

"Let's go back to your desk," I said. He'd have to do three different data pulls to get what he wanted, merge the results of two of them, remove selected records manually, and create a new pull from the edited results. I scribbled a two-page procedure in his notebook while he sat there, sweating.

"Look, this should work, and I'll be at my desk for another 45, so come by if you need me," I told him. It's my job, after all. One of them.

Junior looked at the procedure and took a deep breath. "I can do this. I can do this. Thanks so much. Boomer, all the help you've given me, it's so fantastic. I want you to know I consider you a true friend for this, a real friend!" Blah, blah... kid, I thought, you don't know what a true friend is yet.

"Well, okay," I said, "but you can't come over to my house." That's my level of humor on a Friday afternoon.

"You can't come over to mine either," Junior retorted.

"Why would I, the way you probably clean?"

He turned back to his work. And I gave him a clap on the shoulder. Good luck, Junior. You're going to need it. Here more than most places.

Junior was still hard at it as I trudged out the door.