Once, he used to be one of the boys; a terrific team player. He would do anything for team welfare, anytime. Ring him up in the middle of the night, he’d uncomplainingly step out of his pajamas and into his jeans and drive miles to be of assistance. He could be counted upon. He was even known as Mr Reliable.
Then one bland summer day, when nothing was expected to happen, he inadvertently ran into those two old corruptors: Promotion and Ambition. It hadn’t been planned, this meeting. It just happened via the usual combination of time and place. Via a telephone call. At that time everyone agreed it was fantastic timing. Solomon was, after all, a name given to a king. And their own Solomon was chosen to oversee a project that was in decline. It was a wise move, everyone concurred. If anyone could turn things around it would be Solomon. He was both practical and wise. For instance, he had the knowledge to realise that the tomato was a fruit; and the wisdom to know it shouldn’t be used in a fruit salad.
In retrospect, however, 15 years later, everyone is amazed at what incredible change can come over a person attired in the diaphanous robes of promotion and ambition. Diaphanous, because ambition has oftentimes been described as naked, see-through. It is there for everybody to see and the wearer, in spite of being so exposed, doesn’t appear to mind. He’s going somewhere, after all. Climbing the rungs to some indeterminate nirvana at a rapid rate. Why bother?
The little minions under his command quiver and quake when Solomon is about. One of them, a mali or gardener, was given a summary transfer, banished to the distant workstations of a sister company, because he’d allegedly messed up his bedding sequences. He’d gone and planted ox-eye daisies where he ought to have put in gerberas. The mali himself claims he’s been a victim of politics — that his banishment has nothing to do with putting blossoms in beds, but everything to do with not supplying the head mali with a generous amount of libation when applying for a few days’ leave.
A complicated story, on the surface. In a land where a ‘favour’ given results in a ‘favour’ returned, the mali had been found guilty of defying the process. It took just one word of disapproval up the chain of command and when this report reached Solomon’s ears he had no hesitation in scribbling a note ordering the mali’s immediate transfer. Two years in the boondocks. A family life severely disrupted. Not the first instance, apparently.
A cook paid a similar price for being efficient in the boondocks, where he was comfortable. He was transferred to the head company at severe personal inconvenience. Solomon’s trick: Use the minions, the ones on the lowest rung, as an example. Get them quaking in terror and watch how that very same terror, characteristically, trickles upward and infects those on the upper rungs in the employment structure. Meanwhile, stay aloof, stay withdrawn and use the power vested in one to purchase lots of ferrous oxide — to coat the fists — so that one may rule with that proverbial iron hand.
“This person is unrecognisable from the one I used to know when we grew up together.” How often have we heard that statement? The latest to receive a dreaded ‘transfer memo’ has been a junior electrician who inadvertently cross-wired a table lamp that gave the boss a mild shock and made him wonder momentarily if he was literally wired to a ‘hot seat’.
“The clouds of collective anger are massing,” observed one worker, adding, “How long can human power withstand the power of nature?”
Often, humility works better. But for the extra ambitious, it’s always worth remembering to be good to people on the way up for you may need their help on the way down.
Kevin Martin is a journalist based in Sydney, Australia.
