sure what to expect from the training.
“Oh, don't worry,” an older woman told
him, in a tone that was equivalent enough to a motherly pat on the arm
to make Jackal wince. The junior man smiled, although not, Jackal
thought, very well. “He's really very nice,” the woman went on. “I
happened to meet him last week. He attended one of our Renaissance
choir performances and recognized my name on the program.”
It didn't take long to discover that they
had all happened to meet Neill recently. The junior man said slowly,
“It seems so manipulative.” Jackal, silent and watchful, was inclined
to agree, but some of the others argued, including the woman who had
spoken first. “Didn't it make you feel better?” she asked. “It
certainly helped me walk in here today.”
Jackal thought about that: it was true
that she'd been less anxious about the workshop since laughing with
Neill over the tomatoes. She realized that she had developed a little
script in her head of how this morning might play out: herself in a
room of strangers, Neill entering, looking over the room, catching her
eye and acknowledging her, giving her a metaphorical place at his
table. God, I've been rehearsing for it, she thought, and chuckled at
herself. She saw the man directly across the table become curious,
eye-brows wrinkling over blue eyes.
“I was just thinking it only seems
manipulative because he did it with everyone. I bet we all think it was
really nice of him. We just expected to be special on an individual
level when we walked in here.”
“Hmm,” he said. “You might be right.”
“Tell me your name again? I'm Jackal
Segura.” She leaned across the table and offered her hand.
“Jordie Myers.”
“What do you—” But Neill walked in, and
she shut up and straightened in her chair along with everyone else.
He gave a nod that managed to include
everyone individually on his way to the white board, where he stopped
only long enough to stuff a handful of colored markers into one loose
pocket. Jackal ran a hand over her own trousers, cut close out of the
dayglo leathers that were still trendy in lots of places, no matter
what Mist said…she liked the way they looked, but they were tight. She
wiggled in her seat, looked at Neill's clothes more closely.
“So,” he said, cocking his head to one
side and smiling a little, “what have you learned so far?”
No one said a word. It reassured Jackal
that managers half again her age would still rather look down at the
table than be the first person to make a mistake. Neill let them admire
the wood grain for at least fifteen seconds before he spoke again. “Did
my mother dress me funny today?”
Everyone looked; everyone laughed
tentatively.
He made a face. “It must be something.
None of you will talk to me.”
And that was all it took to make the group
relax; people shifted, reached for their drinks, became engaged with
him. “So, what have you got from this morning up to this point?
Anything? Jordie.”
“Well, we know that you made an effort to
meet everyone before the first session.”
“Mm hmm,” Neill said, nodding
encouragingly. He moved to one of the flip charts, wrote meet in advance in red block letters.
“And what's the benefit in that?” And they were off. Before Jackal had
time to become too self-conscious, she was caught up in a six-way
discussion of techniques for building a team fast and informally. Neill
encouraged everyone's ideas and wrote them all on the flip chart pages,
never missing a thought even though he was also playing traffic
manager, calling on people in order and making sure they all had a
chance to speak. When he put the pen down, there were at least four
chart pages stuck to the walls by the adhesive strips on their backs.
He said, “It looks like you learned
something after all.” Jackal saw how that pleased everyone at the
table. And she got the point: in less than an hour, sixteen strangers
had generated some four dozen strategies
“Oh, don't worry,” an older woman told
him, in a tone that was equivalent enough to a motherly pat on the arm
to make Jackal wince. The junior man smiled, although not, Jackal
thought, very well. “He's really very nice,” the woman went on. “I
happened to meet him last week. He attended one of our Renaissance
choir performances and recognized my name on the program.”
It didn't take long to discover that they
had all happened to meet Neill recently. The junior man said slowly,
“It seems so manipulative.” Jackal, silent and watchful, was inclined
to agree, but some of the others argued, including the woman who had
spoken first. “Didn't it make you feel better?” she asked. “It
certainly helped me walk in here today.”
Jackal thought about that: it was true
that she'd been less anxious about the workshop since laughing with
Neill over the tomatoes. She realized that she had developed a little
script in her head of how this morning might play out: herself in a
room of strangers, Neill entering, looking over the room, catching her
eye and acknowledging her, giving her a metaphorical place at his
table. God, I've been rehearsing for it, she thought, and chuckled at
herself. She saw the man directly across the table become curious,
eye-brows wrinkling over blue eyes.
“I was just thinking it only seems
manipulative because he did it with everyone. I bet we all think it was
really nice of him. We just expected to be special on an individual
level when we walked in here.”
“Hmm,” he said. “You might be right.”
“Tell me your name again? I'm Jackal
Segura.” She leaned across the table and offered her hand.
“Jordie Myers.”
“What do you—” But Neill walked in, and
she shut up and straightened in her chair along with everyone else.
He gave a nod that managed to include
everyone individually on his way to the white board, where he stopped
only long enough to stuff a handful of colored markers into one loose
pocket. Jackal ran a hand over her own trousers, cut close out of the
dayglo leathers that were still trendy in lots of places, no matter
what Mist said…she liked the way they looked, but they were tight. She
wiggled in her seat, looked at Neill's clothes more closely.
“So,” he said, cocking his head to one
side and smiling a little, “what have you learned so far?”
No one said a word. It reassured Jackal
that managers half again her age would still rather look down at the
table than be the first person to make a mistake. Neill let them admire
the wood grain for at least fifteen seconds before he spoke again. “Did
my mother dress me funny today?”
Everyone looked; everyone laughed
tentatively.
He made a face. “It must be something.
None of you will talk to me.”
And that was all it took to make the group
relax; people shifted, reached for their drinks, became engaged with
him. “So, what have you got from this morning up to this point?
Anything? Jordie.”
“Well, we know that you made an effort to
meet everyone before the first session.”
“Mm hmm,” Neill said, nodding
encouragingly. He moved to one of the flip charts, wrote meet in advance in red block letters.
“And what's the benefit in that?” And they were off. Before Jackal had
time to become too self-conscious, she was caught up in a six-way
discussion of techniques for building a team fast and informally. Neill
encouraged everyone's ideas and wrote them all on the flip chart pages,
never missing a thought even though he was also playing traffic
manager, calling on people in order and making sure they all had a
chance to speak. When he put the pen down, there were at least four
chart pages stuck to the walls by the adhesive strips on their backs.
He said, “It looks like you learned
something after all.” Jackal saw how that pleased everyone at the
table. And she got the point: in less than an hour, sixteen strangers
had generated some four dozen strategies
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