previous manager, this boss is much less efficient, and Lele does not see the situation improving. Although she would like to stay with the company, Lele does not want to remain working for her current manager.
“How can I get out of this?” she wanted to know, seeking a graceful way to be transferred. If she couldn't find any, she was prepared to resign.
I suggested she look at the problem in a different way. “Maybe it's better to ask, ‘What can I get out of the situation?’”
Obviously, Lele's position is not ideal. But she should consider her entry-level job an apprenticeship, as she knows the stages of the company's career ladder she will have to climb as she gains experience: assistant manager to associate manager to full store manager. The current job, while often frustrating, gives her the chance to work hard, show her competence, and to learn everything about retail management she can while the actual responsibility of management rests on someone else's shoulders.
Before coming to me for advice, she had raised the issue of her dissatisfaction with a higher-level manager in hopes of being transferred to a different store. But she had been far too tentative in her comments about the problem out of a sense of loyalty to her store manager. The discussion was inconclusive and left Lele even more frustrated. Her reticence and sense of professional isolation are typical, I think, of many young women who lack the cohesive social bonds of clubs and after-hours sports camaraderie that their men colleagues often enjoy. On the golf course and the racquetball court, for example, these men receive informal but invaluable feedback on their job performance. But young women often lack such support networks.
Regardless, I told her, now was the time to find out the specific professional skills she needs to acquire before promotion to associate manager. I told her not to miss this opportunity by continuing to remain reticent. Go back to that senior manager (or other knowledgeable people in the store) and ask him to help you learn the business. Don't worry about your mixed feelings toward to your current boss. Just focus on the work, the daily tasks, the myriad skills that go into your profession.
The important lesson here is that young women can act in their own self-interest while remaining loyal to their organizations and their values, if they discuss the professional situation dispassionately and without personal reference to others involved.
As a young WAC lieutenant, of course, I was yet to learn these lessons. In fact, I wasn't sure what my professional goals were. And the WAC Branch assignment officers weren't much help. The conclusion of my two-year minimum service obligation was approaching, and as much as I enjoyed the New England lobsters and winter snowfalls, I was seriously considering leaving the Army unless I got a more challenging assignment. The branch suggested a transfer that would have freed me from my administrative job a few months early, but then I asked if the new job would require training. I had requested a course in personnel management because at least that training would indicate that the subsequent assignment would be more demanding. But the new job required no special training.
“I'm not interested.”
Next came an enticing proposal to be interviewed for an assignment as the junior aide to the Commander-in-Chief-Pacific. “It's in Honolulu, Lieutenant,” the captain at Branch told me on the phone.
Now
that
did sound exciting. “What about training?” I asked.
“Not necessary.”
“Why did they pick me?”
“Well,” the captain said in a confidential tone, “they saw you in the LSD file.”
“What's that?”
She explained that the Little Sexy Doll file contained just the photo of junior WAC officers—no records of professional attributes—a system that was sometimes used to choose women for prestigious positions as aides to senior officers solely on the basis of their
“How can I get out of this?” she wanted to know, seeking a graceful way to be transferred. If she couldn't find any, she was prepared to resign.
I suggested she look at the problem in a different way. “Maybe it's better to ask, ‘What can I get out of the situation?’”
Obviously, Lele's position is not ideal. But she should consider her entry-level job an apprenticeship, as she knows the stages of the company's career ladder she will have to climb as she gains experience: assistant manager to associate manager to full store manager. The current job, while often frustrating, gives her the chance to work hard, show her competence, and to learn everything about retail management she can while the actual responsibility of management rests on someone else's shoulders.
Before coming to me for advice, she had raised the issue of her dissatisfaction with a higher-level manager in hopes of being transferred to a different store. But she had been far too tentative in her comments about the problem out of a sense of loyalty to her store manager. The discussion was inconclusive and left Lele even more frustrated. Her reticence and sense of professional isolation are typical, I think, of many young women who lack the cohesive social bonds of clubs and after-hours sports camaraderie that their men colleagues often enjoy. On the golf course and the racquetball court, for example, these men receive informal but invaluable feedback on their job performance. But young women often lack such support networks.
Regardless, I told her, now was the time to find out the specific professional skills she needs to acquire before promotion to associate manager. I told her not to miss this opportunity by continuing to remain reticent. Go back to that senior manager (or other knowledgeable people in the store) and ask him to help you learn the business. Don't worry about your mixed feelings toward to your current boss. Just focus on the work, the daily tasks, the myriad skills that go into your profession.
The important lesson here is that young women can act in their own self-interest while remaining loyal to their organizations and their values, if they discuss the professional situation dispassionately and without personal reference to others involved.
As a young WAC lieutenant, of course, I was yet to learn these lessons. In fact, I wasn't sure what my professional goals were. And the WAC Branch assignment officers weren't much help. The conclusion of my two-year minimum service obligation was approaching, and as much as I enjoyed the New England lobsters and winter snowfalls, I was seriously considering leaving the Army unless I got a more challenging assignment. The branch suggested a transfer that would have freed me from my administrative job a few months early, but then I asked if the new job would require training. I had requested a course in personnel management because at least that training would indicate that the subsequent assignment would be more demanding. But the new job required no special training.
“I'm not interested.”
Next came an enticing proposal to be interviewed for an assignment as the junior aide to the Commander-in-Chief-Pacific. “It's in Honolulu, Lieutenant,” the captain at Branch told me on the phone.
Now
that
did sound exciting. “What about training?” I asked.
“Not necessary.”
“Why did they pick me?”
“Well,” the captain said in a confidential tone, “they saw you in the LSD file.”
“What's that?”
She explained that the Little Sexy Doll file contained just the photo of junior WAC officers—no records of professional attributes—a system that was sometimes used to choose women for prestigious positions as aides to senior officers solely on the basis of their
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