Spirit Lifter or Killjoy?

Every workplace has them. The Spiritlifters and the Killjoys. The Cheeryleaders and the Fun police. The Piglets and the Eeyores. The Ernies and the Berts. The fellow employees that make you smile when they walk in, the ones you want to ask you how you are doing, find out what they have been up to, share a moment with, feel a connection with. The Spiritlifters. Then there are the Killjoys. The ones whose mood you won’t know until you ask them, who create dread when they walk in, the ones who wait ten seconds before answering your cheery hello, often with a sigh and a sorry voice. The ones who prick that joy balloon of yours with a point sharp enough to pierce any armour. Irresistible, unavoidable, bringing you down to their level with a descent so fast you can even feel yourself deflating. And coming down to their level.

I like to think of myself as a Spiritlifter. I start each day anew, with the angry words with the bartender from the previous night a distant memory, optimistic and looking forward to the day ahead and the surprises it may bring. One staff member down? No problem- more tips for us! Fully booked of old ladies for the discounted ballet matinee? Fine, let me bring some happiness to their day, have a laugh with them, make them feel noticed for a change, not reviled. Head Chef in a crappy mood? I’ll just sell that special of his that no one can pronounce. Manager worried about sales? That’s why he’s paid the big bucks. Not my section.

I’m not afraid of doing a silly dance, skip through the restaurant or let myself be ridiculed by the other staff if it raises the morale. I bring some decent music for set up for a change, tell the supervisor that her new hairdo is great (even though she hates it), throw donuts at the kitchen brigade, make them coffee. Lend CD’s to the bartender, compliment the junior waitress on doing a good job, ask the sommelier a question about the Barolo he has sourced so carefully, get deliberately caught doing my hair in the front door reflection, calm down the new waiter after he stuffed up his first big order, clean up the mess from the children on table 12. I do this for a reason.

It was not always this way. I used to be a Killjoy. Buzzkiller, First Class. A senior employee or manager with perfectionist tendencies so stringent that even I couldn’t reach them. Someone who would stew on the previous night’s cross words during my way to work the next day. Get myself into such a frenzy that upon entering the restaurant, I would ignore all salutations, go upstairs, get changed and then scowl my way through the shift, picking on every micro detail, missing the big picture completely. I would make waitresses cry, drive bartenders to resignation, shatter confidences, all in the drive to achieve my perception of standard, or to make my presence felt. The visible financial success of the businesses was testament to my proven ability to run them. Forget about the morale of the staff. I was a great manager, right? Let’s not about what I was like as an owner. That is a different confession…..

Did you want to play your new mix CD? No chance. New cocktail idea? That’s not necessary, I’ve got it covered. A Latin American Week? Are you kidding? I’m in charge of marketing! You are late/your sales are low. No, you can’t have the night off for that concert. An advance on your wages? Those are not regulation jeans- tip deduction! Get the picture. After a while, I noticed that no-one was asking for extra shifts, or hanging around for a knock-off drink, or going out of the way to do anything more than their job. I thought it was their problem, not mine.

As a manager and an owner, there comes a point in your career that you realise that your staff do not work at your place for you, or your wages. They do the work because of the other employees they get to do it with. You may have their respect, they may even kind of like you, but otherwise you are an irrelevance. The little contact, the better, let’s just stay out of each others’ way. The real enjoyment comes from the fun they can have from the rest of the gang. Don’t get me wrong, there are great managers out there, I have worked for some. But they know the importance of the team.

This gang doesn’t include the Killjoys who are not managers. The men and women who have problems they don’t leave at home. Those that look at their phones after work when everyone else is laughing at Jonny and his short-sightedness. The sick cat, the unfaithful boyfriend, the cold sore, the loss at the soccer game, the sold out concert they couldn’t get tickets to, the weather, the visiting mother, the workload of school, the hangover, the drug comedown. Everyone’s got something. And they let you know.

The ones who do the least to set up yet are the first to ask to leave early. The ones who are jealous of your ability to be a tip magnet, even though you have the worst section. They do not use your name when talking to you, nor assist you when you ask for help, even though you have been carrying them all day, covering their behinds. Questions are answered by one minute manager responses, along the lines of “It’s on the run sheet.”, “Weren’t you at the briefing?” or my favourite-“How long have you worked here?” The martyrs, who tut when you sit down for your deserved meal break, look at their watch when you walk in on time, or redo the sweeping you just did, rather than let you know you missed a spot. With a grin, or a nudge as they give you the broom back.

I used to be one of them. Jack ass. Sometimes I still am, despite my best intentions. But two things happened to me, some years ago. My workmate Rex once gave me a pair of tweezers when I arrived in a particularly dramatic mood and told me to get the bug out of my arse, and that stopped me dead in my tracks. Then strangely I got very, very sick soon after. I was hospitalised. And no one from work came to see me. Not even my boss. That was when I realised what a prick I had become. And it hurt. A lot. When I eventually returned to work, humbled and humiliated, I asked for a lesser role. I didn’t want to be a manager anymore. I wanted to be part of the team that got led by someone else. I could then explain the reasons for hard management decisions to the other staff, and give feedback to the powers that be about the reaction to those decisions. I could be a team member. I made it my job to support the new staff, share my knowledge, praise, praise, praise and only then give constructive criticism. Soon I was getting invited to social events, patted on the back, and I became a mate. If I had to be, I was a nice prick.

Now you may think that this is the reason why I try to be a Spiritlifter. Not so. It is because I cannot do it all the time. Maybe my heart is broken, or my cat has died, or I someone told me the ending of the TV show I’ve been following for years. Whatever the reason, sometimes I need others to be Spiritlifters for me. I can’t do it every day. So if we all try to make others smile, there will always be enough of us to carry the sad ones amongst us. Then hopefully, the Buzzkillers will either realise that they are having no effect and will try to change, or will realise that they have to leave the job to find a more appreciative audience.

Here are some tips for Spiritlifters and Buzzkillers alike

• Before you speak, think about what you want to say and how it will be heard. Is the message clear, positive and non-confrontational? If not, make it so it is
• Give criticism at the end of a shift, not during. After some genuine praise.
• Leave your troubles behind, and if you can’t, let your manager know. They can help by taking pressure off you, and explain on your behalf to others
• Perfectionists are robbed of happiness by their own high standards. As long as the customer expectation is exceeded, everything else can be worked on if necessary
• Celebrate the wins. If staff do a great job, TELL THEM. This includes other staff members. Isn’t praise from a peer the highest accolade? When was the last time you were told you did a great job, or told someone else?
• Recognise that everyone makes a contribution. ALWAYS say goodnight to the pot wash, the cleaners and the bussies
• Always say hello to everyone when you turn up at work. Everyone. Even the ones who hate you. THEY HATE THAT!
• Have compassion for the Killjoy. Maybe you can show them that their way is not the best, by just been an annoyingly happy bugger
• Let the Killjoy realise they are having no effect. Anyone got any tweezers?
• Start your shift at least ten minutes early. The arrival of the cavalry can raise the spirits of any flogged FOH team, especially when it is unexpected
• Be genuinely interested in others. Conversely, try to be interesting yourself. We work with some of the most talented people alive. Be one of them
• Try to see things through the others. Managers have a crappy job, often unrecognised. Tell them when they are doing a great job. Watch them beam with an amazed smile
• Realise the pressure you create when you screw up an order, both in the kitchen or bar. Be caring enough about your job that further punishment is unnecessary as you are going to beat yourself to a pulp anyway when you get home
• No one wants to be a Killjoy. Not really. But like all abusive relationships, if they are not aware of their behaviour or called on it, don’t expect change. And even if they are made aware, they may not know how to change. I have personal experience of this
• Not everyone cares as much as you do. Accept it. That doesn’t mean they are not as good as you. All teams need defenders and star attackers. Recognise the contribution of the less glamorous members of the team. Without a pot wash or bussy doing their job well, no food or drinks can go anywhere
• Managing is hard, unrecognised and hard to quantify. Ask for impartial advice or criticism from staff you trust. See how well/ badly you are coming across. You may be surprised!
• Crack bad jokes, buy pastries for everyone, remember birthdays, celebrate wins, dance badly, sing out of tune, and go to the opening of the Maitr’d’s photography exhibition with the rest of the crew. Above all BE HAPPY. Most of the time. Your fellow Spiritlifters will get you smiling again, if you let them

Jonny Cortizo