Horrible bosses and how not to avoid them.

Hands up. Who’s worked in a business with a horrible boss? Most of us have at some time or another. It’s a fact of business life that we occasionally fall victim to a tyrannical, foul-mouthed, arrogant, rude, violent or just plain stupid “superior”, who exhibits one if not all of these traits.

I seem to have had more than my fair share over my forty plus years in business. Maybe because I worked in a tough industry – sales, or maybe because I worked in a tough sub-sector – media. Perhaps I was just attracted to them like a moth to David Walliams, or a chairman to a P&L spreadsheet.

The SME community and media in particular attracts more than it's fair share of meglamaniac owners. Bosses who have built a business from the ground up tend to share a few common traits; energy, passion, an eye for a deal, an unquenchable entrepreneurial thirst and occasionally, a propensity for overindulgence.

The media industry wields huge influence over the populace so it’s no surprise that those who seek the same are attracted to it. Somewhere in the early eighties I worked for an organisation run by, a then multi-millionaire (you know, back when a few ￡m was a lot of money), now multi-billionaire. The boss chose to announce himself on exiting the lift most mornings with a huge bestial roar as he approached the open plan sales office past his minions, beavering around tiny desk clusters (Q. how did we try to look busy before computers?). On hearing the sound many froze, aware that what might follow was predictably unpredictable but inevitable.

Something unpleasant happened most days. It could be that the sales teams’ chairs were removed until sufficient revenue had been achieved. Or it could be bog standard verbal abuse or something more sinister, like the day a nineteen-year-old female sales person was spat on for having the temerity to speak back under a particularly aggressive verbal outburst. It was shocking to witness this nearly forty years ago, yet I have seen similar events in businesses far more recently.

That same horrible boss was famed for keeping a Fawlty Towers style bell on his desk. If you were called into his office (which usually meant trouble) and invited to speak, you would be “belled” when he considered he had heard enough. Looking back, and having sat in the big chair myself (albeit not as big) listening to pallid, querulous sales execs attempting to make excuses for their below par performance - or that of British Rail - I can see the advantages of bringing a conversation to a swift close once the paradigmatic “dog ate my homework” excuses start to flow. Yet I have resisted the urge to bell, so far.

Another tyrant of the same era, when visiting an exhibition in the Midlands, invited his underlings out for dinner. Eight of us, media reps, sat in a swanky Birmingham Chinese restaurant awaiting our head honcho’s entrance. He arrived “Trumpishly”, trailing aides aside, one of whom was our immediate boss and another our bosses boss. Almost immediately three tablesful of media types upped and left, their occupants apparently did not wish to spend time in the same room with the man who they perceived had wronged them over some past negotiation or another. We never learned why. But we did have the trial of pitching our supposed talents one by one to the biggest of bosses (our bosses, bosses, boss) hoping that our deficiencies wouldn’t be examined in quite the same manner he had his salt and spicy spare ribs.

The same gentleman eventually succumbed to acquisition by (our bosses, bosses, bosses, boss) another ubiquitous media owner of the eighties who eventually disappeared, “Titanically” sinking along with the corporations’ pension fund. But that’s another story.

In more recent years I was involved with an SME which ran a call centre style sales operation in the online directory sector. The business, whilst operating entirely legally, was best described as morally flawed (there were none). Not a scam exactly but certainly bumping along the bottom of the ethical ocean. Recruitment was perpetual with a seemingly ceaseless flow of innocent hopefuls willing to try their hand on the sales production line. My role in the dynasty was to train the raw recruits into something more resembling a sales person.

The MD of the business could best be described as a rough diamond, a lovable rouge to some (including himself) but a self-serving, foul mouthed tyrant to others. He would not appear in the office every day. When he did it was often at the wrong end of a drink and drug soaked binge, which presumably involved sleeping, if at all, upside down in a hedge, such was his appearance when he arrived.

When I was offered the role the MD took me to see the sales room where forty or so telesales operators sat, both sexes, all ages and all facing the end of the room we where we stood. There was the usual hum of activity but (unfortunately) not a hum loud enough to drown out their boss’ voice. “They are all a bunch of $%&￡s!” he said loudly while I stood aghast and embarassed. Barely a head turned, they were completely attuned to the abuse. I took the job there and then. I knew it would be fun.

The MD’s route to his office, on the occasions when he deigned to come in, took him passed my training room. He would generally stop by to “welcome” his new recruits. This was not unusual as senior members of staff would often pop in to greet the new victims employees, share some wisdom about the business or invite them to introduce themselves in time honoured fashion. The last one can be a little intimidating for some, particularly those who haven’t worked in a sales environment before, as many hadn’t. More intimidating however was the MD who would burst into the room swearing, sweating and foaming at the mouth, dishevelled after a few days of self- abuse, ignoring the freshly scrubbed newbies and launching into a tirade about whatever injustices he imagined had befallen him the night before – the effing figures, the effing government, the effing kids, the effing Mrs, the effing dog, the effing Spurs result, the after effects of last nights' effing dodgy effing kebab . . . nothing was off limits. As an unwelcome interruption to my induction day it was unconstructive, although often hugely entertaining and, in equal measure, disturbing and deeply sad.

The new recruits reacted in a number of ways. Some were staggered, some bemused, some amused, others simply terrified. It didn’t help to slow the revolving door of recruitment and it was no surprise when candidates didn’t finish my three-day training course. Some didn't make day two. Some didn’t even get past the first fag break.

As we hurtle towards the third decade of this century we must hope that the archetypal “horrible boss” is in decline. We are living in more enlightened times where, in the workplace we hope that we are learning to be more understanding, tolerant and appreciative of others emotions and needs. Of course, we can’t always see eye to eye with everyone we work with, senior or junior to us. But differences of opinion, differing outlooks or points of view are some of the things that help make business interesting. Embracing diversity in any form can really help drive your business if you are open to learning from the opinions and experiences of others. We all see the world from a slightly different perspective.

In the interest of balance, I should tell you that horrible boss number three eventually hit the skids. Not really a surprise for anyone who worked for, or with him and sadly, inevitable. In recent times, after a period of drying out, a fair amount therapy and a few short training courses, he has found a new path as a life coach, motivator and enlightened “new age” trainer. You couldn’t make it up could you?

About the author

Stuart Hardy is a business management consultant and sales trainer with Growbridge Consultants a business consultancy based in the UK. He has over forty years of experience in management, sales, marketing and public relations across a broad range of sectors.